The Big Le-Eight-sky

Eight miles. 2:04. Wasn't that bad.

Aaaawesome. Dropped a water thingie from my Nathan4 and tracked back to get it. I was sad; it had been murdered by a vehicle. Perhaps we'll bury it in the backyard and erect a tiny cross.

Now we're taking R to the dentist while AB and I lunch, then to a fall fest. I'm excited. I'm hoping I won't pass out in a folding chair at the fest.

It's an unspeakably beautiful day.

Off to shower. Amazing how much road dirt you attract after a 9-mile circuit.

OMFG

Ever read a news blurb that made you sob with happiness? I have.

It so happens I have it here.

I cried because I hoped it signaled the beginning of a new era, though I know it was likely just an isolated incident and that the "offenders, " if they were actually released at all, were beaten for bringing "dishonor" to their families.

It is my wish that they died with grace, or that they took these beatings with their heads held high, eyes dry, mouths closed, knowing they were right to defend themselves, that they remain in the right, and that millions of men and women across the world cry for, and with them.

But... please... please... someone find that video!

People Do What They Want To

I have come to realize a profound truth about human nature. It's so simple I can't believe it took me so long to put it into words.

People do whatever the fuck they want to do.

Pretty simple, yes? I know! Let me elaborate. There are no saints. There are no sinners. There are only people doing whatever the fuck they want to do, and if it happens to be defined as "good," then they receive a "good" label. If it's "bad," the opposite. No one does deeds, be they good or bad, because they are being altruistic or evil or whatever. They're just doing whatever the fuck they want to do.

So when we praise someone for a great thing they did, they did it because they fucking wanted to. Why? I don't know or care. Maybe they wanted to be praised. Same thing for the other side. Negative attention is still attention.

Become a firefighter? Noble? No, you fucking wanted to.
Become a criminal? Evil? No, you fucking wanted to.

Donate thousands to a worthy cause? Are you good? No, you just fucking wanted to. I'm glad you wanted to, but that doesn't matter.

Makes accolades seem a little hollow, does it not? It's beneficial to society to have these accolades, since many people are not internally motivated. They need a little help. So let's give it to them, I'm not discouraging anyone from it.

But they fucking wanted to.

OK, I'm done. See? Wouldn't you rather me wax poetic about the mundane happenings of my life over go off on you on the nature of human motivation?

Oh yeah, one other thing.

Having all your needs met is boring. Remind me of this the next time I'm complaining about not having enough time to do all the personal shit I want to do.

Have a great Sunday, people. Because you fucking want to.

Dirty, Rotten Scoundrels

At night our heart-rendingly beautiful and stomach-floppingly brilliant daughter tells us she is not tired.

Every night we tell her:

"All you have to do is lay in bed for ten hours, then you can get up."

Every night she responds with a cheery, "Okay!"

We are evil incarnate.

All For a White Shirt

I got a cool shirt. I like it.

Last night I went to bed at 10:30, determined to sleep well and be ready. No alcohol. No sugar (just a little). Water only. All carb'ed up.

So naturally I overslept.

The phone woke me at 6:44 a.m. My alarm was set for 5:00. P.M. Whoops!

I'm up. Ask R to help me get my stuff together. Hair - ponytail. Contacts in. Teeth brushed. Dressed.

Grab my crap. Get in the car. Dressing in the car. Dangerous. Chewed two clif bloks.

Arrive 7:07 a.m. M's there. Pin my tag, put on mah shoes. No warmup.

Was passed by a man running barefoot. Was passed by countless elderly runners. I did not care. I tried not to care. I cared a little.

It went well. Long, but fine. I wasn't last but... well... I wasn't far off it. Time? You want to know my time? Um... it was a record time, for me. Over an hour, OK? You don't need to know just how slow I am. You really don't.

I'm tired. Can't believe I'm even posting. Went to the mall to buy birthday gifts. Some asshole stole our little cart we rented for AB. Probably to return it for the DOLLAR deposit, but maybe they thought it had been abandoned, since R left it outside a store. No biggie. People are assholes, especially mall people.

Hokay. Depressing. Your fault for reading it, IMO.

Go do something fun and tell me about it in the comments.

10K 'O Pain

Somehow I'm running a 10K Saturday. That's 6.2 miles to those of you unfamiliar with kilometres (snooty spelling). It should be fun, if it's not painful. My SIL is the one who roped me into it, so if there is a lot of knee pain I am going to transfer it all to her in the form of whining. It's going to be AWESOME!

She's already made me feel like a rank amateur by noting she won't need any gu or clif bloks for such a short distance. Bah! Every 45 minutes for me, baby. You other people can burn your fat all you like. For something like this I'm getting fuel. 2 miles? Fine without it. 3? Fine. 4? I want it. So shuush to all of you skinny fat burners.

Shuush I say!

Check out my new old friend Franki.

Traitorous Joints

I'm going to just resume like I haven't been not blogging for several weeks. I could go into why I haven't been, but you don't care and I don't care to share. So there.

This morning was supposed to be a 6 miler. No worries. I was ready. Four miles... going well... doing ok... 4.5 miles my knee decides he is getting a little pissed off. Not really pissed off, you know, just a little irritated at the treatment it's receiving. He (let's call it a 'he') starts to telegraph this displeasure to me in fits and starts, causing me to walk more than my fatigue would have dictated.

Around five miles my knee is really mad. He is fucking angry. Just over 1:22 into it he decides he's HAD IT and he's NOT going to take it anymore! He tries to give out on me. Little bastard. Rat fuck knee. I tell him, oh no you don't, you're not going to fucking do that, you're walking me home whether you like it or not! He did. He got a little less angry as we went along, so I guess you could say we negotiated an uneasy truce.

I can see him right now, that little shit. Just hanging out, like he's not a walking (ahem) time bomb waiting to cause me excruciating pain and/or risk my ability to finish the half. ::smacks knee:: There. Just in case he thought I'd forgotten about his treason.

Tomorrow according to my schedule I have the option of cross training. I'm going to march (hear that, knee?) my arse down to the clubhouse and do some quad presses. Maybe some arm work for good measure, so I feel like I'm going some good. That little craptastical mass of cartilage is getting some reprieve - he had better use it to heal and get stronger so the next time I try to run more than 5 miles he doesn't go all apeshit on me.

Because I will kick him.

Brother Shabazz for Mayor of Savannah!

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