Ben and I have been together a bunch of years (11 so far) and we still manage to have the most ridiculous debates/conversations. I think our friends sometimes believe they are witnessing a true disagreement and feel uncomfortable when they hear us bantering back and forth about whether someone can be "more" racist than someone else (how can there be levels of racism? aren't you just racist, or not racist?). I find most of our topics are just funny. Take this morning for example.
B is filling my car with gas while I wait patiently inside. I see a deceased beaver near the gas station, fairly intact, seemingly fresh, the victim of vehicular manslaughter. It seems odd that a beaver would be wandering across four lanes of fairly busy roadway where lots of gridlock happens during the morning and evening commutes (well, as much gridlock as a Vermont city can get). I cannot marvel alone, so I say:
Me: Hey Babe, check it out. Is that a beaver?
Ben: I think it's a rockchuck.
Me: I'm pretty sure it's a beaver. It's got a black flat tail. What the hell is a rockchuck?
Ben: It's like a big groundhog.
Me: But don't beavers have big black tails?
Ben: Yeah.
Me: So that's a beaver.
Ben: I don't think so, Babe.
At this point, the pump is spent, the Kia is topped off and he's back in the car. I pull into the nearby parking lot to gain access to the streetlight so I don't have to put our lives in danger turning around. I'm also a bit creepy sometimes about roadkill. I wanna see this thing up close, and pulling a wide U-ey is gonna help me do that.
Me: Ok, fine, when we get up to the light you can see for yourself there's a big black tail. What is a beaver doing around here anyway?
Ben: Probably came up from the woods. It's been pretty wet and rainy lately. Maybe he was lost.
Me: Ok, here, we are passing by - take a look. See? Big black tail. Totally a beaver.
Ben: Oh, wow. Yeah, that's a beaver. Can I touch your boob?
Me: What?
Ben: I bet your boob is all warm and soft under that sweatshirt. Lemme just feel the bottom part. No wait, side boob. Side boob is awesome.
Me: Dude, your hands are cold! How about I just take my cold hand and say I want to touch the underside of your balls?!
Ben: That would be fine.
Me: It would be fine with my cold hands? Not so sure you would feel that way if they were actually there.
Ben: It's ok, you can just warm them up touching my balls more.
Me: What does this have to do with the beaver?
And then he smiles.
I guess he knows what a beaver looks like after all.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Panda: 1, Nature: 0
It snowed last night. I woke up this morning, and there was snow on the ground.
Gaw-dammit.
Yes, I know it's March, and it's Vermont, but in the past couple of weeks we have seen temps in the 50s and that's damn near summer for us. I'm trying to get my ass outside and snow (the very stuff that bought me a visit from the Couch Fairy) is really not helping.
I did take my first official voyage on the USS FiveFingers yesterday. I wore those babies ALL day. Through rain, and mud, and dark of night. The best part? My feet feel awesome. No pain. I expected pain, since many people have said the Veebs take some getting used to, but I guess I'm a natural.
Granted, I didn't go for a long walk or anything, but I did wander around a grocery store and drive. Nobody asked me what was going on with my feet, and no children ran screaming from the store seeking protection from the horrific monstrosity that was my footwear, so overall, successful venture. Bonus - my ankle feels good too. I thought I would become a human barometer since I have metal in my bone, but it's feeling dandy.
My driveway is gravel and I rather enjoyed feeling the stones without FEELING the stones. The ground was squishy and cold, but not uncomfortable. It was oddly liberating, not just because my toes were free to flex and wiggle, but I was triumphant against Mother Nature (What? Is that all you got beeotch?) while still being me and not layered in TechWick or ThermoGuard or FrigidBeGone fabrics.
The driving was weird though. I stalled my little standard Kia a couple of times because I was just a tad bit farther than usual on my clutch.
Here are some photos of my beloved Veebs. We're gonna step it up a notch this weekend and do 3 miles of walking! Bam!
You can see how my right ankle is still bigger than my left. Complete with scar.
Gaw-dammit.
Yes, I know it's March, and it's Vermont, but in the past couple of weeks we have seen temps in the 50s and that's damn near summer for us. I'm trying to get my ass outside and snow (the very stuff that bought me a visit from the Couch Fairy) is really not helping.
I did take my first official voyage on the USS FiveFingers yesterday. I wore those babies ALL day. Through rain, and mud, and dark of night. The best part? My feet feel awesome. No pain. I expected pain, since many people have said the Veebs take some getting used to, but I guess I'm a natural.
Granted, I didn't go for a long walk or anything, but I did wander around a grocery store and drive. Nobody asked me what was going on with my feet, and no children ran screaming from the store seeking protection from the horrific monstrosity that was my footwear, so overall, successful venture. Bonus - my ankle feels good too. I thought I would become a human barometer since I have metal in my bone, but it's feeling dandy.
My driveway is gravel and I rather enjoyed feeling the stones without FEELING the stones. The ground was squishy and cold, but not uncomfortable. It was oddly liberating, not just because my toes were free to flex and wiggle, but I was triumphant against Mother Nature (What? Is that all you got beeotch?) while still being me and not layered in TechWick or ThermoGuard or FrigidBeGone fabrics.
The driving was weird though. I stalled my little standard Kia a couple of times because I was just a tad bit farther than usual on my clutch.
Here are some photos of my beloved Veebs. We're gonna step it up a notch this weekend and do 3 miles of walking! Bam!
Monday, March 22, 2010
Finding FiveFingers
Honestly, I'm not a chick who cares about appearances. I go for cleanliness and not stinking, but that's where it ends. I tend to share jeans with my hubby, and I still have clothes from high school (which either makes me damn lucky because I can still fit into them, or it makes me waaay out of date...probably both).
Long before I considered running, I wanted a pair of Vibram FiveFingers. I loved them before I even held a pair in my hands. Which is completely ridiculous since how the hell would I know if they even fit right, or whether they annoyed the shit out of me? Didn't matter. I LOVED them. And I knew I had to have them.
I follow VFFs on Facebook, and over and over I read how people loved them, but many were having a hard time finding them (Why are they backordered?? I've been waiting for 2 months! The Earth is going to split apart and engulf me if I don't get my FiveFingers!").
I live in the little state of Vermont, and as far as I can tell, these suckers haven't caught on here yet. This baffles me because we love our natural hippie stuff. We can pioneer gay marriage but we can't get stores to stock shoes that look like feet?? True, we are busy caring for our cows and maple syrup, but we got all that free time we aren't spending on our teeth. (Cheap shot, I know, but I had to get it out of your system for you).
Thinking that I would be on the FiveFingers waiting list, I figured I had to suck it up and drop some cash on these babies to get my spot in line. I almost shat myself when I revisited the website and found a store that was carrying VFFs...only 10 minutes away.
I dropped everything and ran to the store (figure of speech, I still can't run) with only an hour to spare until closing. With visions of VFFs in my head, I entered.
Just in case you too have seen the VFFs and fallen in love, as I have, I shall include a bit about my experience with sizing. The website is a bit vague on width - while it states some men might fit women's sizes, and vicey versey, that's pretty much it. There is more information on proper length sizing - measuring your foot to the longest toe and finding your size in inches.
I have a pretty wide foot. Back in the day, this flipper foot was awesome for getting me through hours of swim practice. Combine that width with an arch that Mickey D's would salivate over and I rock the men's E-widths in sneakers. I had reservations about the women's sizes - no offense to women out there, you are strong and beautiful, and I love you, but your gender specific shoes are so damn small.
Knowing all this, like a good girl, I measured my foot. Apparently, Panda requires a 38. Or do I?
I held the 38 women's KSO (Keep Stuff Out) shoe in my hand and knew right away that this wasn't going to work out. There is no way in hell the mesh could stretch the required amount for my toes to fit let alone my Kilimanjaro-like arch. My heart sank. What if I can't wear these shoes? What if the foot size is right, but the toes are too long, or the toes fit, but my foot is squashed??
Darkness warshed over the Panda.
A thought crossed my mind...FUCK THAT. What actually came forth from my mouth was "I think I'll try the men's sizes."
Instead of a 38 in women's, I left with a 40 in men's. And I'm wearing them right now. Even though the recommendation is to wear them only 1-2 hours per day, I went so far as to clean them off when I got home so I could keep wearing them in the house.
In the end, yeah, they do look a bit weird. But conventional is boring and I'm up for trying something new. I'm hoping we can pound some pavement together soon!
Long before I considered running, I wanted a pair of Vibram FiveFingers. I loved them before I even held a pair in my hands. Which is completely ridiculous since how the hell would I know if they even fit right, or whether they annoyed the shit out of me? Didn't matter. I LOVED them. And I knew I had to have them.
I follow VFFs on Facebook, and over and over I read how people loved them, but many were having a hard time finding them (Why are they backordered?? I've been waiting for 2 months! The Earth is going to split apart and engulf me if I don't get my FiveFingers!").
I live in the little state of Vermont, and as far as I can tell, these suckers haven't caught on here yet. This baffles me because we love our natural hippie stuff. We can pioneer gay marriage but we can't get stores to stock shoes that look like feet?? True, we are busy caring for our cows and maple syrup, but we got all that free time we aren't spending on our teeth. (Cheap shot, I know, but I had to get it out of your system for you).
Thinking that I would be on the FiveFingers waiting list, I figured I had to suck it up and drop some cash on these babies to get my spot in line. I almost shat myself when I revisited the website and found a store that was carrying VFFs...only 10 minutes away.
I dropped everything and ran to the store (figure of speech, I still can't run) with only an hour to spare until closing. With visions of VFFs in my head, I entered.
Just in case you too have seen the VFFs and fallen in love, as I have, I shall include a bit about my experience with sizing. The website is a bit vague on width - while it states some men might fit women's sizes, and vicey versey, that's pretty much it. There is more information on proper length sizing - measuring your foot to the longest toe and finding your size in inches.
I have a pretty wide foot. Back in the day, this flipper foot was awesome for getting me through hours of swim practice. Combine that width with an arch that Mickey D's would salivate over and I rock the men's E-widths in sneakers. I had reservations about the women's sizes - no offense to women out there, you are strong and beautiful, and I love you, but your gender specific shoes are so damn small.
Knowing all this, like a good girl, I measured my foot. Apparently, Panda requires a 38. Or do I?
I held the 38 women's KSO (Keep Stuff Out) shoe in my hand and knew right away that this wasn't going to work out. There is no way in hell the mesh could stretch the required amount for my toes to fit let alone my Kilimanjaro-like arch. My heart sank. What if I can't wear these shoes? What if the foot size is right, but the toes are too long, or the toes fit, but my foot is squashed??
Darkness warshed over the Panda.
A thought crossed my mind...FUCK THAT. What actually came forth from my mouth was "I think I'll try the men's sizes."
Instead of a 38 in women's, I left with a 40 in men's. And I'm wearing them right now. Even though the recommendation is to wear them only 1-2 hours per day, I went so far as to clean them off when I got home so I could keep wearing them in the house.
In the end, yeah, they do look a bit weird. But conventional is boring and I'm up for trying something new. I'm hoping we can pound some pavement together soon!
Monday, March 15, 2010
A Journey of 13.1 Miles Begins with a Doctor's Note
I have never been a runner. I'm kind of a big girl (if I may quote Eric Cartman - "I'm not fat, I'm just big boned.") so I'm completely surprised that I have become fascinated by running. Especially since three weeks ago I wasn't even walking.
I wish I had some sweet story about how I was snowboarding and caught an edge and laid some knarly yard sale all over the side of mountain and crunched my right fibula. Alas, no. I took a digger in a parking lot. While shuffling over ice that I KNEW was there, yet I was powerless to stop it.
Hearing my fibula crunch, however, was true.
But check this out: I fell in front of an ambulance. I don't just slip and fall, oh no...if I'm gonna slip and fall I'm sure as hell gonna break something and make sure I have a nice cushy ride to the hospital. One of the EMTs asked if I wanted to try to walk it off on the scene - it took me all of half a second to remember the sound of bone snapping and I respectfully declined the offer.
A week later I was the proud owner of four medical grade deck screws. The anesthesia was blissful and I was sad to see it go later that day as it was replaced by the sensation of a hot metal poker skewering my ankle like a shrimp on the barbie.
And there I was, broken, surgically screwed back together, and dependent on my gimpy sticks (crutches). I had never broken anything before...never even had a cavity. And I don't have internet or TV at home. Yeah. I know.
For a while I had Stephen King's newest 1000+ page novel to entertain me, but I plowed through that in three days (damn you sir, for writing shit that is so good I can't put it down). Then a friend of mine lent me Christopher McDougall's book Born To Run.
Initially I thought, "What the hell?! I can't even walk, and she loaned me a book about running? Why don't we go taunt zoo animals while we're at it?"
Then I read the book. And yeah, I let a few tears fall at the end. Because it wasn't just a story about running, but a story about getting back to what it means to be human. Hey, I'm human! Maybe I CAN run! And maybe I haven't had running success in the past because I haven't been running the right way!
The clouds parted and the heavens shined down upon my broken ankle and said, "Rise up...and walk again...whoa, I didn't mean NOW. Wait another 6 weeks."
I have friends who marathon. The full ones too, not just the half-sies. I wished I could run and even ENJOY it too, but I grouped running into that category of things I just wasn't meant to do, like be a jockey or Man of the Year.
But the funny thing about not being able to run made me want to run more. And not just running, but minimalist running - barefoot, or anything pretty damn close.
Today I saw my surgeon - an orthopaedic trauma surgeon who has been a bone mechanic over 30 years ("Ice? Eh, I don't think it helps. Where's the study?"). I told him about my half marathon aspiration in January 2011 ("You sure you don't want to take up cycling or something?") and I told him I wouldn't be running with a heel strike, but utilizing the forefoot to absorb shock, etc. He reminded me that I should be as good as I'm gonna get in 3 months, but I might expect some funky behavior from the ankle in the future. But if that's how I wanna roll, then go for it. (I'm paraphrasing, of course).
So there it is. I've got the go-ahead, now I've just gotta go ahead and register. And I've started this blog to chart my adventures, good and bad, on my sneaker-less journey to the Disney Half Marathon in 2011, three days after my 32nd birthday. And also because I need you, Dear Reader, to hold me accountable if I start to park my ass on the couch again.
I wish I had some sweet story about how I was snowboarding and caught an edge and laid some knarly yard sale all over the side of mountain and crunched my right fibula. Alas, no. I took a digger in a parking lot. While shuffling over ice that I KNEW was there, yet I was powerless to stop it.
Hearing my fibula crunch, however, was true.
But check this out: I fell in front of an ambulance. I don't just slip and fall, oh no...if I'm gonna slip and fall I'm sure as hell gonna break something and make sure I have a nice cushy ride to the hospital. One of the EMTs asked if I wanted to try to walk it off on the scene - it took me all of half a second to remember the sound of bone snapping and I respectfully declined the offer.
A week later I was the proud owner of four medical grade deck screws. The anesthesia was blissful and I was sad to see it go later that day as it was replaced by the sensation of a hot metal poker skewering my ankle like a shrimp on the barbie.
And there I was, broken, surgically screwed back together, and dependent on my gimpy sticks (crutches). I had never broken anything before...never even had a cavity. And I don't have internet or TV at home. Yeah. I know.
For a while I had Stephen King's newest 1000+ page novel to entertain me, but I plowed through that in three days (damn you sir, for writing shit that is so good I can't put it down). Then a friend of mine lent me Christopher McDougall's book Born To Run.
Initially I thought, "What the hell?! I can't even walk, and she loaned me a book about running? Why don't we go taunt zoo animals while we're at it?"
Then I read the book. And yeah, I let a few tears fall at the end. Because it wasn't just a story about running, but a story about getting back to what it means to be human. Hey, I'm human! Maybe I CAN run! And maybe I haven't had running success in the past because I haven't been running the right way!
The clouds parted and the heavens shined down upon my broken ankle and said, "Rise up...and walk again...whoa, I didn't mean NOW. Wait another 6 weeks."
I have friends who marathon. The full ones too, not just the half-sies. I wished I could run and even ENJOY it too, but I grouped running into that category of things I just wasn't meant to do, like be a jockey or Man of the Year.
But the funny thing about not being able to run made me want to run more. And not just running, but minimalist running - barefoot, or anything pretty damn close.
Today I saw my surgeon - an orthopaedic trauma surgeon who has been a bone mechanic over 30 years ("Ice? Eh, I don't think it helps. Where's the study?"). I told him about my half marathon aspiration in January 2011 ("You sure you don't want to take up cycling or something?") and I told him I wouldn't be running with a heel strike, but utilizing the forefoot to absorb shock, etc. He reminded me that I should be as good as I'm gonna get in 3 months, but I might expect some funky behavior from the ankle in the future. But if that's how I wanna roll, then go for it. (I'm paraphrasing, of course).
So there it is. I've got the go-ahead, now I've just gotta go ahead and register. And I've started this blog to chart my adventures, good and bad, on my sneaker-less journey to the Disney Half Marathon in 2011, three days after my 32nd birthday. And also because I need you, Dear Reader, to hold me accountable if I start to park my ass on the couch again.
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