Two in the Bush.

See this little fucker?

Tonight, him and his twin brother flew into the store and acted like little fucking shitheads while me and another guy tried to shoo them out.

They can't stay for obvious reasons (Hello, eating stuff and shitting everywhere), but mainly because with them there, I can't set the alarm and go home - the motion sensors won't let me.

We used brooms, and were gentle, but if it had taken 10 more minutes I would have just turned on the ceiling fans, cracked a beer and watched the feathers fly.

Assholes.







Later.

No Rest for the Wicked.

Lately, sleep has been a bitch for me.

Not falling asleep - that I have no problem with - it's staying asleep.

Going to bed is easy - usually between 9:30- 10:30pm I start to get tired. (Being up at 5, hitting the gym or road, working, and having kids will do that to you.) When I do hit the sack, I read for about 5-10 minutes and then blissful slumber overcomes me.

(Unless the Wife wants to keep me up, if you know what I mean. Wink, wink.)*

So most nights I fall asleep for a good hour or so - until I wake up at about 12am...

And then 2am...

And then the alarm goes off at 5.

The last one I'm okay with - I want to get up at 5. There are the days, however, when I wake up juuust before then - long enough to watch the alarm go off. I can even take those days in stride - if it wasn't for 12 and 2.

When I wake up at those times, it's not for any specific reason - I'm not my Dad, having to pee 3 times a night - it's just that I "wake up". I roll over, look at the clock, groan, and then take about 5 minutes before dreamland (and the Supermodels it contains) comes back. I'm always surprised at the time when I do wake up - because it feels like I've been sleeping for a lot longer than I actually have.

I just had a recommendation for Magnesium supplements - which I'll try, after this weekend's race. My main fear is that the magnesium will course through my body and force me to align with the magnetic poles - meaning I'll be pointing Due North while I'm sleeping. (This is a problem because the Wife is a South-by-Southwest sleeper and she won't let me re-arrange the room.) It'll be interesting to see if my watch or random spoons stick to me as well.

It's not a major problem yet - I'm not a complete bag of shit when I wake up, and I am able to function in society - but I just want to tackle it before it's an issue and I end up looking like Christian Bale in The Machinist. (By the way - that is a completely awesome movie.)

If worse comes to worse, I know almost to the pint how many beers it takes to put me to sleep. (And trust me, it's shamefully low.) Let's hope it doesn't come to that.

You never know - after I've gotten this off my chest, maybe I'll sleep like a baby tonight - and I don't mean crying and shitting myself. (Let's hope so, anyway.)





Later.


*If you don't know what I mean, I suggest you look up Porn. Go ahead, Goggle it. I'll wait.

Train 'o Thought.

• After Monday's crazy, hurricane-like windstorm, Yesterday's beautiful sunshine, and then Today's horrendous wind/rain/trying to snow combination, I've come to the conclusion that my Country is bipolar, and needs to take it's Meds.
• Today is March 14th - Steak & a Blowjob Day. (The Male Valentine's Day) Congratulations to any man who gets both. Hopefully only the Blowjob is well-done - I prefer my steak medium-rare.

•  Looking outside makes me wonder how my Half-Marathon time is going to be - what's the record for running in a Hurricane? No reason - just curious.
• Yesterday I ran 5 miles, re-shingled and patched part of my parent's roof, cleaned up my yard, and skated for an hour with the Youngest Boy's hockey practice. At 9:30 pm last night I felt like I could have slipped into a sweet, happy coma.
• Did I mention that last night was also the first time I've had McDonald's in the past 4 months? That Grilled Chicken Bistro Burger might have had something to do with my body wanting to shut down.
• I think that Denny's Restaurant should just change it's name to Breakfast All Day. I have never been in a Denny's at any time where 99% of the people aren't eating a breakfast meal. That includes the 3am stop after the Bar closes.
• I had a haircut yesterday - how come the shorter my hair is, the greyer it appears? I'd call myself the Silver Fox, but I'm just too modest.
• Right now I'm wondering whether or not I should get ready for work and have my shower now, or wait until the power goes out just for the challenge of doing it in the dark.
• I've learned from Monday's mistakes in regards to power outages - I'm bringing the biggest fucking thermos of coffee with me to work. It's times like this I wish I could wear a Camelbak on the job.
• That my customer service skills would be outstanding if I could wear the Camelbak full of coffee and "Irish" it up a bit.
• I'm kind of envious of the Irish at this time of year - they are always portrayed as a passionate, fun-loving, hard-drinking people. (Ie: the "Irish" up a coffee remark) - no one ever wants to "Canadian" up something - what's wrong with adding some mangled french and politeness?

I'd write more, but as I tried to save this, Blogger had a brain fart and deleted everything - I think it's just best to quit while I'm ahead. Besides, that work thing is calling my name...






Later.

Blacked Out.

Yesterday, after the worst storm in memory, we went without power from 5am until 8pm at night.

Just a small breeze, really.

In the community of 30,000 that I live in, 23,000 didn't have power.

Finding coffee and a way to keep your phone charged were top priorities. (I know, First World Problems, right?) I stood in line at the only functioning Tim Horton's for 20 minutes and was tempted to ask if they could just hook an I.V. up and pipe it directly into my arm.

I view the person who handed me that steaming goblet of caffeinated goodness as something akin to a Saint.

Amazingly enough, I was also able to get a run in on my lunch hour.

Overall, the day worked out well, and the lights are back on.

However, after being stuck indoors with the kids and no power, the Wife will snap if she so much as glimpses a board game. (Who knew playing the Game of Life with a 6 and 9 year old would cause such rage?)

I've hid the Jenga - so I think everything is going to be okay.








Later.

In the Long Run: Taper Madness.

Gather round for another tale of the tribulations of Me and Triple T, as we both train for our upcoming races.

This week was the start of my taper before my Half Marathon on March 18th.

It's kind of driving me crazy.

I know the taper is designed to allow my body to recover from the rigors of training, but someone needs to tell my legs/brain that.

I'm still running the same amount of days, but shorter distances and at about 70% effort  - but it's the shorter distances that are bothering me.

(Is it a sign of dementia that I was disappointed that this week's run was only 8 miles instead of last week's 12?)

It just feels wrong to not be pushing to go farther - and if you combine that with the nervous energy of knowing my race is less than a week away, and you can imagine how much fun I am to be around.

I went into this week's run thinking that I would break from training a little bit and do the distance, but at a slightly faster pace than the Long Slow Run usually calls for. That way my disappointment about the lack of distance could be offset by trying to get my pace up.

Sounds cool, right?

Well it was, right until my brain started to do the worst possible thing: I started to think.

"What are you doing?" I asked myself. "Why are you going to potentially fuck up weeks of training because you feel you can push it a bit more?"

"But 8 miles just doesn't feel like progress - and training is all about progression, right?"

"You're going to progress yourself into a fucking injury if you don't slow down, you retard."

"It'll be fine - don't be such a pussy. Besides, maybe we can make sure we get closer to a good finishing time.."

"Are you completely fucking idiotic? I didn't think we were shooting for a time - I thought this was all about doing it right, following the plan, and just running it for the sake of the race?"

"It is..but wouldn't it be cool?"

"Shut the fuck up and run, asshole - and slow down - If I so much as feel that foot or hip tighten up, I'm giving you nightmares for a week."

"Whatever."

 "I'm not kidding - do you want to dream about running it naked? Surrounded by grandmothers? In bikinis?"

"Okay, okay - you win."

Now imagine that conversation repeated about 12 times during the course of my 8 miles and you can  probably see why my pace was so up and down it looked like I was doing fartlek.*

When I got home after the run, I looked at what next week's runs had in store for me - and disappointment set in again. To give you a hint, if you add up the distance of three of my Taper Week runs, it barely equals a Long Run from a week ago.

Shit.

It's called Taper Madness for a reason - because no sane person would bitch about having to run less.





Later.

*I love using the word Fartlek - just for the fact that whenever a non-runner sees it, they wonder what the hell we're talking about. It kind of just rolls off the tounge. I sometimes just want to run around an Ikea whispering "Fartlek" to everyone I pass.


Triple T is weeks away from even being close to a taper - but I'm pretty sure she's in a cut back week. She how she handles it here.

Coffola.

Fatty Me used to love this stuff.

Combining coffee and Coke may seem like some sort of gross miscarriage of justice, but take it from me - this shit was tasty.

Not-so-Fatty me thinks that if this came in a Diet or Low-Cal version, it would be a great I've-worked-my-ass-off-and-deserve-a-treat reward.

Plus, the bottle looked fucking cool.

C'mon Coca-Cola, get your shit together and make me happy.




Later.

I Feel:

- That sitting in the breakroom at work eating an apple with a knife makes me look like:  a) Crocodile Dundee, b) a total Badass, or c) an accident waiting to happen.

- That, as much as I like their clothes, wearing an Adidas track jacket to work on casual day was a bad choice - I've been asked 3 times if I'm in the Russian mafia. (Is it the stripes?)

- That after doing a heavy chest workout yesterday, I should get bonus points today if I can get my arms above my navel.

- That since the Kony video hit, everyone is an expert on Africa - yet no one can find Uganda on a map.

- That the minute you can prove to me that changing my Facebook status actually accomplishes anything, then I'll start using it for more than running updates and dick jokes.

- That the crazy, always-laughing-at-something coworker sitting across from me has no idea how much her voice makes me want to throat-punch her. (Luckily, I'm a peaceful man.)

- That the day I forget to bring my coffee from home is, of course, the day the work coffee pot decides to implode. If I don't get some caffeine, it won't be the only one.

- That people who don't take their stuff out of the microwave should be punched each time it does that annoying "reminder" beep. I'd implement this at home, but the Wife has bony fists that really hurt.

- That trying to reconcile a customer complaint when they obviously don't understand math, weights, or the metric system can be a challenge..

- That thanks to my sweet interpersonal skills, there's one more uneducated person out there who thinks I'm fucking great.

- That Canadian politics are so dull - even our scandals are boring. Robocalls? Really? I like my politics dirty and full of hookers and cocaine.

Later.

Face, Meet Pavement.

Standard Crappy Cellphone Pic.

On my weekend of Hockey and Drinks, I had a little accident.

As the group of us were leaving a pub to go for dinner at the swank restaurant, I tripped. With my hands in my pockets and some drinks under my belt, my face got to know the pavement on a personal level.

Luckily the restaurant was close, and one of the guys I was with is apparently some sort of Boyscout - we got into the bathroom and he started pulling First-Aid supplies out of his pockets. Gauze, alcohol wipes, band-aids - I thought he had robbed a hospital.

With a band-aid firmly in place, we had dinner and went to the game - although the home team lost, we still had a great time. (If you've never been to an NHL game, you're missing out.)

Can't beat the view.

Explaining my face at work the last couple of days has been a real treat - people who know me ask how drunk I was when I fell, people who work with me ask me if someone punched me (Supposedly I can be quite sarcastic at times?), and customers - well, customers are the best of all.

The customers who don't recall me from my heavier weight all ask if I hurt myself doing something active: Mountain Biking, Rock Climbing, Trail Running, etc. I'm totally taking it as a compliment, and am starting to think I should skip the truth and say that I scraped a mountainside while BASE jumping. I was going to say wrestling a Honey Badger, but I'm not sure if that's completely legal - even in Canada.

The customers who remember me as being heavier ask if I fainted or was jumped - as if my lack of size has made me frail and unable to take care of myself. (I will admit that my story that evening was that I was jumped by Ninjas, but that's only because no one would have believed Somalian Pirates.)

Every single one of them asks if it itches now that it's healing. Which it totally doesn't, until someone asks if it does. Then I feel like I want to scrape the left side of my face off.

I'll admit, tripping and falling when you're 6 or 9 is totally socially acceptable and easily explained - no one questions when my kids trip or stumble. Explaining it when you're 39? Everyone knows there's a story involved.

And they won't believe you no matter what you say.

I'll have to put up with the questions for at least another week or two - it's healing quite well - and then I can forget ever meeting pavement up close.

Thank God.








Later.

With a Little Help From My Friends.

For a guy who kind of puts his life out there for you to read, I haven't talked much about my weight.

I know I keep going on and on about all the miles I run, but there's been a big plus to overcoming the injuries of the past year and "finding" running again.

Since January 2nd, I've lost 27 pounds.

I know to some people that might not seem like a lot, but when you are 5'10" and pushing 40, it means quite a bit. I had put the weight on after stopping running (because of the Hip and PF) and eating like I was still doing 30+ miles a week. (Okay, I'll admit - donuts were involved.) Do that for almost a year and see where your pant size ends up.

There's a huge difference between 205 and 178.

How have I done it?

Here's some "Friends" that helped me:

Not pictured: The Smell.

 My Shoes:  If it weren't for them, I'd be sitting on the couch complaining about running in bare feet. I love these shoes. I've used them on treadmill, road, track, and trail and they've never failed me. They aren't flashy kicks, but they get the job done - and the white makes my pale-ass legs look darker.

I usually wear the Sportband on my wrist.

Nike+: I don't want to sound like a corporate shill, but the nerd in me loves my Nike+ Sportband. (I'd also like to say that the hat has been with me for the past 4 years and most of my races) The information it gives, the ease of use, and the reliability are huge factors for me. If it keeps working, the least I can do is keep running, right?

My Fitness Pal: I downloaded this app on January 1st, and I think it is what has made a huge difference in the weight that I've lost. I find it easy to use and stick with, and the fact that I can see and keep track of what (and how much) I'm eating makes thinking about correct food choices easier. It doesn't tell you what to eat: just lets you know what calories you're taking in and what you are expending. Your mileage may vary, but since I'm a geek who has his smartphone with him at all times, this works for me.

Triple T: I'm going to say that all the people I know through Blogger and all the encouragement you have all given me have helped, but I'd like to thank Triple T for being such a huge motivator. I'll admit - there are days when I don't want to go to the gym or hit the road - but knowing she's out there slogging through the Chicago weather so we can write about our runs makes me get my ass out of bed. I don't understand her fascination with Dog the Bounty Hunter, but I do understand what drives her to run. My Race is coming up soon, but you better believe I'll be doing my long runs well into May to help with her race.

My Wife: She doesn't complain when the alarm goes off at 5am. She makes sure I know ingredients and amounts in everything we eat. She even washes my Running gear if I haven't thrown it in the laundry. Having support like that is absolutely indescribable. If it wasn't for her, I'd still be a puddle of flesh sitting on the couch - and she'd love me anyways.


As you can see, with Friends like that, it's no wonder I'm looking and feeling better.


Here's to continued improvement!






Later.

In The Long Run: Feeling It.

Here's another installment in the ongoing documentation of mine and Triple T's Long Runs.

This last run was the longest that I'm going to do before my Half Marathon in two weeks. (March 18th) It was 12 miles, which is the farthest I've ran in at least a year.

Normally at the end of a run I have that happy, tired-but-still-gas-in-the-tank feeling. I'll admit that after this run, I was fucking exhausted - and honestly, I wasn't even going that fast. (It's called a Long Slow Run for a reason.)

Did I feel good about the run? Absolutely. Making that distance, after just 2 months of training, is a big boost - but how wiped I was has me a bit concerned with how I'm going to be after running a longer distance at a faster pace.

I've heard of leaving it all on the race course, but I don't think they meant my corpse.

I guess that feeling the effects of the run mean that I've pushed myself, and that is always a good thing - you can't get better if you never try harder, right?

I'll admit - In my head I still gauge my training and progress by how I used to be two years ago, before injury and everything afterwards. After I finished this run, I thought about how I used to do 22-23 mile training runs before my Marathon and then go and work 8 hours - the fact that I did 12 and still made it to work made me feel like a hero.

I guess it's just part of being that Middle-Aged Runner, which is way better than being that Middle-Aged-Guy-Sitting-On-The-Couch.

(The irony that I'm sitting on the couch as I type this is not lost on me.)

Triple T had a longer run than me this week, (As I think she does every week) go see how she felt about it here.





Later.

Scheduled Interuption.

So far, there are 3 things that have made my day today:

Coffee - Nectar of the Gods.

Don't knock the Vitamin D, y'all.

I was wearing 2 of these.

(Not necessarily in that order)

What didn't make my day? Being cut of by some ignorant parent pulling out of the parking lot at school, having to swerve onto someone's lawn, and getting a giant fucking rock wedged under my car. The Fuckerhead who cut me off didn't even notice what they had done and drove away blissfully - I was too concerned with making sure the kids were okay (They are) to get a plate number so I can hunt them down and kill them later.

Luckily I was so full of caffeine and endorphins that I was able to stay cheerful throughout the procedure of jacking up the car and removing the boulder. 

Now I get to go to work and start the countdown.

The countdown to what, you may ask?

Oh, just this:

Tomorrow I head to the Big City to see the Canucks take on the Sabres. 

For those of you who are from south of the border, this may seem as interesting as watching Women's Basketball of Midget Golf,

Trust me - for a Canadian guy, this is a big deal - especially one who lives out in the sticks like me.

So..

You probably won't hear from me (aside from Twitter) for a couple of days - If I have enough brain cells left, I'll have my Long Run blog post up on Monday.

If it's just a picture of shoes and words that look like kjghlfkjguigysgb,mfglgf - you'll know how my weekend went.

Later.

Fuck You, Wednesday.

Can we just cancel today?

I wasn't feeling well when I woke up this morning - stomach issues - decided to tough it out and hit the gym anyway, as it usually makes me feel better. (Endorphins are wonderful things.)

Get to the gym - it's closed. The opening guy never showed up. I waited around for a half an hour with other people who were just as mad as I was, and then drove back home through the snow.

I was super fucking pissed because I'm missing out on a scheduled run, which is also part of a Nike+ challenge. (Not that I need any motivation to run, but my competitive nature always makes me want to see where I end up in the worldwide stats.) All the way home my stomach was churning and rolling and getting more unruly.

After I made it home and vomited, I felt a bit better (too much information?) - and thought that I'd try to slog through work today as best I could.

I couldn't.

I finished up all my essential duties and then told my bosses I was going to call it a day. One of them is a major germ-a-phobe, so it really wasn't an issue that I was going. The drive home was a relief just for the fact that I could see there's a light at the end of the tunnel. (It's a metaphorical tunnel - there aren't any real tunnels on my way home.)

So now I'm on the couch, about to take a nap, and hoping the rest and fluids will do the trick.

Because today's run is moved to tomorrow - and Friday is my 12-miler.

And nothing is going to keep me from those.

So  fuck you, Wednesday - you're out of here.






Later.

Traded.

So the NHL Trade Deadline came and went yesterday.

There where teams that improved themselves, teams that made some questionable decisions, and others that just stood their ground.

There was another trade made yesterday as well.

I just found out that after only four months in my new location, I'm being "Traded" (transferred) to the location that I had just left. Apparently, things have fallen apart since my departure and my wisdom, experience, and shining personality are needed desperately.

Or maybe they are just telling me that.

So what does that mean?

• It means that starting on March 25th, I no longer get to go home for lunch or have a 4 minute commute to work.

• It means that I'm driving 20 minutes each way, and being stuck at that location all day. (Trust me, it's in the sticks - there is nowhere to go.)

• It means that on my lunch I can hit the trails between the river/beach again.

• It means that I can actually listen to and enjoy music on my commute. (I can listen to 4 whole songs!)

• It means more responsibility which hopefully leads to more pay.

I'm looking at it with a positive spin, and trying to avoid any negativity about it. Although it was kind of shocking because I had absolutely no knowledge or idea this was going to happen.

The plus? They are waiting until the 25th so that my Half is over before I go. (Believe me, this was a concern.) I'm glad that I won't have to deal with that schedule change until after my race is over.

Like any trade, there is upsides and downsides - teams that are winners and teams that are losers.

All I can say is that my former location certainly came out ahead in this trade.

I'm the fuckin' Wayne Gretzky of the Dairy world, yo.






Later.

In the Long Run: Injury

Another fascinating tale in the continuing saga of documenting mine and Triple T's weekly Long Runs.

Injuries are a bitch.

Because I lost* all my races last year due to injury (Hip Flexor and then Plantar Fasciitis), I decided to go about my training this year by doing something I've never done before: Actually listening to my body.

I'll admit, a lot of my previous success was due to the fact that I used to ignore any pain or discomfort and plow through the miles as best I could. After all, when you've just ran 13.1 miles your body is supposed to hurt a bit, right? The sad fact is that this isn't the naivete of a youthful teenager, this was me at 35 acting young, dumb, and full of...well - you know.

The fact that I used to treat stretching like it was some sort of fad that "only hippies did" and believed the term "cool down" didn't apply to me, meant that I shouldn't have been surprised when my first injury hit. I must have had some bad karma going on at that time, because right after the Hip felt better, the Foot went to shit.

Only someone who has had Plantar Fasciitis can appreciate the pain and discomfort involved. When Triple T mentioned that she had it in her left foot, I swear I had sympathy pains in my right. I equate it to childbirth or getting kicked in the nuts - it's easy to shrug off if you've never experienced the pain, but once you have you never want it again. (Although the Wife did want another after the first child, while I have never chosen to be kicked in the nuts a second time. I think that means I win.)

I completed my run before Triple T did hers - and to be honest, it went great. The only issue I had was that with Triple T's injury looming large in my mind, every time my right foot gave any sort of twinge I immediately went into panic mode and started planning my post run stretch and sweating whether or not I'd be running my Half.

It wasn't as bad a distraction as you may have thought - I found out that when you are paying so much attention to your feet, time just flies by, and before I knew it, I was done.

Afterwards I stretched like I was planning on attempting advanced yoga or going to an orgy - I'm sure I sweated more on that mat than I did during the run.

It was a lot like this. Minus the hat, and with pants on.

Fear is a great motivator for thoroughness.

My foot and hip feel fine now - no issues at all. I'm hoping Triple T's run was the same - You can check her out here.

Stay safe, people - listen to your body.

Except when it says to order extra banana peppers on your sub, Just ignore it - the flavor's great, but you'll pay for it in the long run, if you get my drift..







Later.

*By "lost" I mean pussied out and did not enter. Injury prevented me from training properly, and if I was going to go and fail, I wasn't going to play. (This would be the running equivalent of taking my ball and going home.) Classy, eh?

Bowlfull.

My cup - er, bowl runneth over. Ewwww,

The youngest started throwing up halfway through dinner at the restaurant tonight.

Those of you who have kids know how awesome that can be. For those of you that don't have kids, fuck you - your cat coughing up a hairball does not relate in any way.

He kept doing it periodically on the drive home, and was almost back to normal until we got him home and situated on the couch. He was so tired from swimming and other things we did today that he was upchucking while half asleep.

Yeah, I know - it's about as nasty as it sounds.

Since the Wife has to work early in the morning, I've taken it upon myself to be out here with him -  watching him while he sleeps, making sure he hits the bowl when he does bring something up, and of course, clean up duty.

It's 2am now, I've been up since 6 (damn me and my early rising) and I can tell you - I'm fucking tired.

But he looks so peaceful sleeping right now that it's all worth it.

Even when he grinds his teeth right before he hurls.






Later.

Saturday Science Class.

So -  I'm at home with the Boys today, and we are killing time before we go to the Pool and then my Parent's place for Dad's Birthday. (They know about the latter because we just made Birthday cards, but are unaware of the former 'cause that's my surprise for the day.)

I stumbled across this thread on Reddit (I find Reddit as interesting as others find Pinterest - I guess it's just the nerd in me.) and thought that trying an experiment or two with the boys would be great to pass the time.

We did this trick:

 And it worked out pretty cool.

We didn't get as elaborate effects as the video shows, but I think that's due to my inexperience with the experiment, the low fat content of the milk we use, and the fact that neither the Boys or I are currently using LSD.

I'm not going to tell the Wife I wasted food for entertainment, because I don't think she'll take "Science!" as an answer, and if if I started babbling on about how wasting essential dairy products showed the Boys all about surface tension and how soap works at breaking down fats, she'd slip into a coma and we'd never get her back.

So let's just keep it between us, Ok?

I was really tempted to try this really cool experiment involving cornstarch, water, food coloring, and a stereo speaker:

But my terror at inadvertently creating a sentient being and possibly messing up the house any more than I already have today made me re-think the whole thing. (That and I don't think I could rip our subwoofer apart and have it back together before she got home.)

Maybe next week.





Later.

Twisted Innuendo.

Just got these in at work today:

 

All I can say is that with all that twisting, licking, and dunking, Mr. Christie's secret ingredient must be Viagra.

Anyone want a cookie?

Later.

Customer Dissatisfaction.

Dear Valued Customer,

Thank You.

No really, thank you.

Thanks for making my experience serving you the highlight of my week. I know you may be amazed to hear that you surpassed events like my sweet 7 mile run or the cool picture that my youngest made for me in kindergarten, but you did.

The fact that you were on your phone and talking away as I opened a cash register to help you should have clued me into your greatness.  It must have been extremely important business because you were on there for almost the entire transaction.

You know, the transaction where I:

• unpacked the basket you had just thrown on the carousel, since removing your items would have been an interruption to the world-shaping conversation you were having.

•  made sure to remove and properly ring in the coupon that you obviously wanted, because you waggled your pork-sausage-like finger in its general direction.

•  politely waited for a break in the conversation to tell you the total, at which you glared at me like I charged you double.

•  informed you that yes, it did include the coupon you had indicated.

•  watched as you put down your phone, dug through your purse, and held out a crumpled wad of bills.

• didn't say anything as you pulled that hand back, sneezed into it and then handed me the germ-covered currency.

• didn't leap over the counter and stab you when you proceeded to sneeze again, directly into my face, because you were on your phone again. I get how contaminating me is preferable to the glass front on your phone.

So once again, thank you.

I have now realized that no matter what else I encounter in my life, be it a raging horde of emancipated fecal-covered midgets or someone breaking wind while I'm behind them in a race, nothing will phase me again.

Because today I met you.

God bless.*

Your Customer Service Specialist,
Me.








Later.
*By God bless, I mean fuck you, you stupid bitch. 

The Peril of Pillows and Sheets.

I did the worst thing ever this morning.

Got up, ran, did my weight workout, even had a tan. I then went home, made coffee, got the kids up, fed 'em, dressed 'em, and whisked them away to school.

Wait - it gets worse.

The Wife was still asleep, so I proceed to crawl back into bed, snuggled up behind her, and promptly fall asleep. Again. For at least an hour - maybe an hour and a half.

I'm paying for it now.

This morning I was feeling wonderful and energetic - now I'm at work feeling like a lethargic sack of crap. I'm not dumb enough to blame it on the Wife, so instead I'm assigning all blame to the sheets and pillows.

It's their fault.

If they would have been scratchy and itchy, we wouldn't have this problem. I wouldn't have even contemplated getting back onto bed. But nooooooo - they have to be soft and warm and crisp and inviting and it's their fault that I'm so fucking tired right now. I'm sure somehow a rock of crack fell into the dryer - that's the only way to explain the addictive qualities of my bedsheets.

I should have brought something with me to work - a sham, a swatch - so I could nap on my last coffee break. Just a fix to get me through the rest of the shift. I don't need it - I could quit cold turkey anytime I want - I just think a little hit to perk me up will make the day go so much smoother.

There should be a 12-step program for getting out of bed.

And I'd like to skip at least 11 steps.

Fucking pillows - they'll get you every time.




Later.

Booked & Paid For.

There's no turning back now.

Moments ago I entered my credit card number online and bought a midget paid for my Races.

One thing the Wife and I have always done with the kids is stress the point that once something's paid for, you're seeing it through until the end. Want to join soccer/hockey/swimming/karate? No problem - we'll find the cash to make it happen.

But know this - once we've paid for the registration/equipment/whatever, you are going to attend and participate no matter what. The moment you decided that you want to be a part of the team or event, you have an obligation to them (and to yourself) to be there and to try your best every time. (We gave them the exception of "I just lost a limb", but so far no takers.)

If it's good enough for the kids, it's good enough for me.

Don't let the logo fool you - it's a big island.

So now I'm 26 days away from the Comox Valley Half Marathon and 40 from the Merville 15K. They're paid for - the bibs are probably being printed as I type this.

There's no way that I can get out of this without sacrificing a leg or some other equally important appendage. Not that I'd want to - right now I feel great, and except for the fact that I had a dream about hills last night, I'm confident that I'm going to do well.

I guess now I just have to keep training and wait.

Oh yeah - and I have to pay the credit card bill next month, too.

That will probably be more painful than the races.





Later.