I Don't Know How You Runners Do It

There are some changes a'coming in my life (if everything goes according to plan), but those changes are going to require me to do more than just show up at the gym and hop on the elliptical machine or the rowing machine to get my cardio in.  I'm going to have to actually run.  R-U-N.  I hate running.  That's why I own guns, so I don't have to run. But, if this good thing happens (yes, I'm being vague, but it's still very up in the air) I'm going to be required to do the thing I hate almost as much as hair.

I routinely do four miles on the eliptical machine, walking on the treadmill, or on my favorite Precor machine, but I do. not. run.  Even the two 5Ks that RCC and I have done couldn't really be called "running".  We'd walk quickly for a bit, then run for a bit, back and forth, but I can't say I've done any real running since high school.

When I talk to a runner, I hear all about how they just get into the rhythm of running and let their mind go and a bunch of zen-like crap.  It doesn't work for me.  I can't get to that place in my mind.  I've tried.  Instead of going to that happy place in my mind, this is what it's like:

"God I hate this running shit.  Who the hell ever invented it?  I've been running forever...wait, what the hell do you mean I've only been running for ten seconds?  WTF?  Certainly the timer on this fucking thing is broken.  Great, just my luck to get a machine with a broken timer.  Damn I hate running.  My foot is cramping.  Ouchouchouch.  What the hell is that jabbing me?  Breathe, damn it breathe.  Great, is it time to stop yet?  I had to have made my one minute interval by now.  Shit!  I still have thirty seconds to go.  Really?  Damn it, I'm going to complain to the managers about this broken timer.  Comeonecomeoncomeon...twenty-eight...twenty-seven...twenty-six...twenty-five...fuck it. Done."

 And that's what it's like every. single. time.  I've tried running while watching the TV, I've tried running while listening to music.  Even El Poquito Diablo couldn't get me to run much without worrying that I might kill him in his sleep.  Doesn't matter that I don't know where he lives, I'd find him if I needed to.

But now, now I have to run.  Not even very fast.  Only two miles in 22 minutes.  Two eleven minute miles.  I've tried telling myself that I can do anything for twenty-two minutes.  Yeah, right.

I just don't know how runners do it.  Nebalee has offered to run with me, to get me to where I need to be.  She's a brave girl, 'cause running makes me rather homicidal.

The push-ups and sit-ups for this new direction in my life?  All day long.  I have no problem working through everything required strength-wise.  In fact, I could pass the strength requirements today.  It's this running crap that's killing me.

Any ideas?  I'm open to suggestions from any of you runners.

28 Hours of Hope

This is a re-post from last year, but it's as relevant now as it was last year.  I know money's tight all over the place, but this is a most excellent charity that does a whole heap of good for abused children.  --GunDiva

In the three years or so since I've been blogging, I've seen bloggers who have never met face-to-face pull together to help little girls with cancer, mommies with cancer, people just having a rough time who need a shoulder to cry on and have seen the bloggers stand together, strong, through good times and bad.

I've been lucky enough to participate in the blogging community and have been blessed enough to help some of our fellow bloggers.

This time, I'm asking for help.  Not for me, but for abused children in Larimer County.  I was lucky enough growing up that my mom got us out of a potentially abusive environment.  She took the beatings for us until she said, "enough!" and got out.  She had a very wise counselor at the time who told her that she was going to get out of the marriage no matter what - she either gathered her courage and left, or she'd get out of it in a pine box.  There were no options.  He also explained that wife beaters don't stop with the wives - they move on to the pets and the children and when he killed her, who was going to protect the kids?

People knew about the beatings Mom was recieving, but what is there to do?  Our close neighborhood friends knew, but, you know, what happens behind closed doors, how is it their business?

We kids knew.  Hell, Dad would line us up on the couch in birth order and command us not to move when the beatings commenced.  We knew, but we didn't say anything.  It was our own dirty secret.  If we told, we'd be the ones getting the beating.  Selfish, I know, but we were kids.  Dad was a big, strong firefighter.  What chance did we have against him?

Silence was our enemy. 

We didn't tell. 

The neighbors didn't tell. 

The teachers didn't tell.

Silence.

Thank God for Mom's counselor.  I don't know if she told or if he figured it out.  He was a smart man.  Smart enough that he knew the patterns of abusers.  When Dad started in on Junior, the youngest of the four of us, Mom realized her counselor was right and got out.

There are a lot of kids nationwide, not just in Larimer County, whose parents aren't as strong as Mom is.  There are a lot of kids for whom Silence is their enemy.

They don't tell.

Their neighbors don't tell.

Their teachers don't tell.

Silence...








...it's killing our kids.

The Good Morning Guys at K99 sponsor the 28 Hours of Hope every year in an attempt to break the silence and raise money to help abused children in Larimer County.  They will stay on the air for 28 consecutive hours, taking calls and pledges from the community and Country Music celebrities.  They will go on the air at 5:00 am tomorrow morning and will continue to be on the air until 9:00 am on March 23rd.  Jeez, and I complain about working fifteen hours straight - these guys will be working non-stop for twenty-eight hours for a cause they believe in.

RockCrawlinChef and I will be making a donation and I'd like to ask each of my followers to make one, too.  It doesn't have to be a lot.  Even $1.00 on your credit or debit card will help.  The change in your car's ashtray or change jar will help.  To donate, click here.  You can make a donation on-line, over the phone, or via mail.

If you can't afford to donate, then do something about the Silence.  If you suspect a child is being abused or neglected, tell someone.  Break the cycle of Silence.  All it takes is a phone call to break the cycle - either to the police department or social services.

And, please, please feel free to steal this post for your own blogs or link to it.  The more exposure we can get, the more we can help the children and break the Silence.

Randomness from the Nut House

Words of wisdom from the Ashinator:

• all I've learned about being an adult is that I can't fucking afford it.
• what screws us up most in life is the picture in our head of how it's supposed to be.

Original Digger quotes:

• "Don't worry, I'm something of an animal expert ... I watch Animal Planet."
• "On a scale from George Clooney to Ryan Reynolds, I'm better than all of them." <-- sometimes I think I'm too cocky
• "I hope I have fun in hell, I'm working really hard to get there."

RCC's At It Again

Ripley got another present from RCC.  It's been a while since she's gotten any presents.

This morning RCC hopped out of bed and started working.  When he told me his plan to paint the interior trim I was a bit hesitant, but so far everything he's planned for Ripley has worked out beautifully.

Before trim painting.
(The gear shift boot cover was the first thing RCC bought Ripley)

Alien green, just like her body color

Re-installed,
I can't get over how great it looks.

The paint even has the same flecks as the body paint.

I love this trim!

RCC has a new console cover on order from the lady who made the gear shift boot and then we'll begin modifying the console to be able to holster my 1911.  I like the idea of being able to have my gun with me, in the car, easily accessible, yet concealed.  Plenty of updates coming up!

My New Favorite Recipe

I totally stole this recipe from a Facebook friend who found it on Pintrest (no, I don't belong and have no desire to).  But, it sounded good and I tried it and fell in love.  Not quite oh-my-God-it's-bacon-wrapped-asparagus love, but still I'm pretty in love with this new recipe.

My very favorite asparagus recipe...

I don't have a picture of them cooked,
because I ate them as fast as they came off the grill :)

The new asparagus recipe is breaded and baked.  Yum.  Since I love it so much, I thought I'd share it.

It's pretty simple: asparagus, liquid chicken, bread crumbs and fresh grated parmesean.  Even I can cook something with only four ingredients.

Snap the ends off the stalk,
peel if desired, I prefer them unpeeled

Two beaten liquid chickens,
and Italian bread crumbs

Probably an unnecessary photo,
but I like it, so it's in :)

I'm not really good at the wet hand,
dry hand thing,
but I'm working on it.

Bake at 350 for about 15 minutes,
top with grated parmesean with 2-3 minutes to go.

RCC and I demolished about half a pan between us.  We might have demolished a whole pan, but we had plans for dinner that included this...

Homemade chicken parmigiana, breaded asparagus,
ceasar salad...yum!

The Liquid Chicken Saga Continues...

If you missed the Liquid Chicken post, you might want to read that first in order to fully appreciate this picture.

70s Porn Star

This morning, as I was just waking up, RCC came into the bedroom and announced, "I look like a 70s porn star".

I'd like to say that immediately grabbed my attention, but the two neurons required to form a synapse were still sleeping, so I pried my eyes open slightly to see him standing like a superhero in the doorway.  Though he was backlit, I could tell that he had clothes on, which caused me further confusion.

And he just continued to stand there.  He'd mentioned last night that he needed to shave before work this morning, but I didn't think anything of it.  Then it dawned on me - oh, hell to the no, he did not!

He must have seen the lightbulb come on because he proudly announced, "It's Moustache March!"

I gaped at him for a minute and then replied, "Don't you mean it's *No Sex March?".  And rolled over and went back to sleep.

*No Sex March is very closely related to No Sex November (No Shave November)

Happy Me

It doesn't take much to make me happy.

No, really, it doesn't.

Little things like being able to fit into my 5.11 tactical pants make me happy.

I bought them before Thanksgiving.  They were a tad on the too small size, but the next size up was way too big, so I bought them, intending to lose the weight to make them fit.  Then Thanksgiving and Christmas happened and they became a lot more than a tad on the too small size.  I cursed my poor choice in buying a size that was sort of too small.

This morning, I got up and got a wild hair up my butt to try them to see if I could wear them to my match today.  They fit.  I wouldn't say they fit perfectly - another five pounds off my ass will make them fit a whole heap better, but they do fit and I was able to wear them all day without becoming uncomfortable.

Tomorrow is weigh-in and I'm not really looking forward to it, but if I hate my weigh-in, I'll just put my 5.11s back on to remind me that maybe the scale's not always the way to go.

A Day In Nebalee's Life

A 6 year old little boy walks into the classroom and drops his backpack and coat on the ground. Another student, being the rule follower that he is, says, "Matt, pick up your backpack!." Matt replies in a matter of fact voice, "You must call me Double X." I intercede and respond, "in this classroom we will call you Matt, now pick up your backpack please."

The day (2 1/2 hours that feels like 12 hours) proceeds to go downhill rapidly. Matt wanders the room, refuses to do his work, walks out on the librarian...you know, things that would get a butt warming at home. Since Matt refused to do his work during class time, he and I continued the lesson through recess. Matt promptly finished his work so he could join the playground chaos. Oh, so sad that I am his teacher because he was informed that he was missing ALL of his recess EVEN IF his work was done.

Matt responds to me with, "I don't have to listen to you! I AM A SECRET AGENT!!!" Well, Matt, "YOU'RE FIRED!! Sit down and fill out your unemployment paperwork because you are no longer on my payroll."

"You can't FIRE me!" he sobs.

"I just did."

After a very long time of crying, we came to an agreement. He now has to earn his DOUBLE X name. Everyday he must earn two stickers--one for doing his work and one for listening to adults--then he will be called Double X and receive recess.