30 May 2010

I fell asleep around midnight last night; I woke up at 10 this morning.

I went to bed with shin pain and achy feet; I woke up with shin pain and achy feet.

I took that as a sign that I should probably not walk today, and instead give my feet a rest. Because really? I sometimes have these moments of intelligence, and have learned to capitalize on them. Capitolize? No, capitalize. Spell check says so.

So instead of talking a nice long walk, I rolled the scooter out of the garage and washed it...I think for the first time ever. It was pretty gnarly, what with all the dried dead bugs on the windshield and front grill and the fine coating of dust that just doesn't seem to blow off when I ride.

I also washed the cars...but once they dried I realized I did a really crappy job, so that doesn't count.

After I was done with the cars, there was still a little water on the scooter, so naturally I did what needed to be done to dry it off.

I took it for a ride.

I intended to just stick around town, but somehow found myself in was like the scooter had a mind of its own and just went there without my consent. I assumed that meant it wanted to really stretch, so I headed back to Dixon on the Interstate.

Now, people, if you see a motorcycle on the interstate, do you try to get beside it, match speed, roll your window down, and talk to the rider?

No, of course you don't.

That would be stupid and dangerous.

Yet, that's what happened to me. I had pulled into the middle lane to get around a slowish moving semi, and was just thinking about getting back into the right lane when a minivan was there beside me, the driver yelling something at me. I caught "Is," "fun," and "hoot" before cracking the throttle open and getting the phck away from the idiot driver.

Sadly, this is not unusual, though it's the first time it's happened on the interstate. People are curious about the 3 wheels. They see me take a curve and realizes it leans, and the want to know about it. And stupidly, they try to ask me while I'm moving.

Here's something to note: if you are tempted to talk to a rider in motion... they can't hear you. Between the sound of their engine, road noise, wind noise, your vehicle, and their helmet...they can't make out what you're saying.

At 25 mph, I'm annoyed; at 75, I'm pissed off. And that I had to open it up to 90 to get ahead and away from that moron...that's just insane.

When I looked back to check traffic so that I could finally make my lane change, he was catching up.

I took the next exit.

Yes, it's spiffy looking. yes, it's unusual. But for cripe's sake, finding out about spiffy things like that is what the Internet is for.

I-80 at speed is not.

There's your lecture for the day.

Leave riders on the freeway alone.


28 May 2010

Around mile 5 of my walk today I headed down one of the bike/walking paths nearby, and I came around a curve just in time to see a slender tuxedo cat stalking a bird that was very nearly its own size, and within a few steps it leapt high, paws and claws out, and took the bird down.

I was both fascinated and repulsed when it sunk its teeth into the bird's neck, the surprised WTF?! last squawk of the bird and the twitching as it died.

I kept walking towards the cat, though, because dead giant bird or not, that was the direction I was headed.

The cat didn't seem to be bothered by my presence; instead of running like hell at the sight of a strange human, it walked toward me, dropped the bird on the sidewalk, looked up at me, and meowed.

A more sane person would have just kept on walking, but I paused and said, "Good job, kitty."


"Uh...I had lunch already, thank you. Why don't you take that back to your people? They'll be proud."

Damned if the cat didn't meow one more time, pick the bird back up, and trot off, apparently quite happy with have some praise.

I started back up, hoping like hell that no one saw that or heard me praise some strange cat for the offering. I hope more that the next time I walk down that way I don't get offered something grosser...


25 May 2010

I may have mentioned that I'm walking this October in the Susan G. Komen 3 Day Walk for the Cure. Just one or twice, maybe. And maybe, it's a longshot, you've followed along so far on my training blog.

On the training front, things are going swimmingly. I'm not in athletic shape, I'm still all blubbery, but I'm holding my own.

I'm going to be able to do it. Sixty miles in three days.

So now the fundraising begins. Face it, one of the major points to this is to raise money. My goal is $2300.

Now...I have some pretty incredible friends. Knowing that I get a kick out of blog giveaways--we've done it a couple times on max;s blog--they've offered up some really nifty prizes to be used as donation bait.

And come on...if you're going to part with some of your hard earned cash, you should have at least a chance at getting something for it. I am promising much coolness over the summer, from handcrafted-with-love awesomeness to whoa-dude-I-want-that! spiffiness.

So starting tomorrow, check out Rockin' the Pink-Raisin' the Dough where the first prizes will be showcased.

And donate generously. Because the more you donate, the more chances you have to win something.

Rockin' the Pink-Raisin' the Dough


22 May 2010

Five and a half miles into my walk today I was passing McDonald's, and since they have all-size drinks for a buck, I paused my timer and went in to get a soft drink.

There was a guy in line ahead of me and he looked at me, looked puzzled for a moment, and then asked, "Haven't I seen you all over town today?"

I acknowledged that I'd walked a good part of it.

"Are you lost?"

No, not lost.

"Because if you are, I'll give you directions. I know where everything is around here."

The idea that I was just out walking seemed a little foreign to him, but at least he was nice enough to ask.

Because if I'd really been lost? Directions might be nice.


19 May 2010

UpThe Spouse Thingy walks these ramps at the hospital a lot.

They run 2 to a floor, and go up 8 stories; when he has a quiet night at work, he walks them. This afternoon he needed to go to the UCD bookstore across the street from the hospital, and took me to the ramps.

It's like voluntary torture, but now I really want ramps of my own. Doing that 2 or 3 days a week would give me killer calves if nothing else.

My heart rate definitely went up while I was walking up them...probably too high. I get into the high 150s on the Trikke and have gotten into the 92% of my max HR range before, and I'm pretty sure I edged a little over that, just going up them once.

I need something, in any case. Tomorrow I take my "official" weight for the week, and I'm going to be up again.

My diet is good; I don't blow over my calories for the day. Between the walking and the Trikke at least 4 days a week I'm chewing through 700-1000 extra calories.

Yet, I'm gaining.

I think I'm at the weight I was last December.

I'm getting very, very frustrated, and very, very pissed off.


15 May 2010

Things one ponders while walking:
  • If you just let your dog poop in the grass, and you didn't bother to clean it up, don't look so horrified when the tattooed lady spits a mouthful of warm water onto the grass.
  • Why don't they make doggy jockstraps for intact male dogs? I saw this gonadally gifted yellow lab running with his owner, and that poor thing had to be hurting.
  • If you see someone walking towards you with a determined stride and ear buds in ears, why bother asking "Going for a walk today?" because it's kind of obvious, isn't it?
  • For the love of God and peoples' shoe soles and senses of smell, don't let your dog poop on the sidewalk, and if you do, pick it up. Cripes.
  • Whoever designed our little town had walkers in mind. Wide sidewalks, and tons of them.
  • Really, that poor dog had to be in agony...


13 May 2010

Ok, this is farking annoying. I'm up another 2 pounds. I didn't overindulge in anything--my daily calorie counts were pretty much right on the money--and I worked out; when I worked out, I pushed a little. I had honestly expected to lose the 2 pounds gained last week, not add to them.

I don't think it's gained muscle; I've been doing cardio work, not even light weight training.

I am not happy. Nope.


11 May 2010

You know, when you're already feeling cold, the smartest thing you can do is get yourself some frozen yogurt, right?

And when you're having that frozen yogurt and get that knife-through-the-head icy cold headache, the smartest thing you can do is to keep eating it, right.

I am a freaking genius.


10 May 2010

Partly to keep training clutter off this blog, and partly to give myself a place to keep track, I'm starting a blog to chronicle my efforts to get in shape enough to survive walking 20 miles a day for 3 days. A Wabbit Walking will be the main place I talk about the walking, how I'm doing, any progress, and any frustrations.

That doesn't mean I won't mention it here, but I also won't inflict it on everyone on a daily basis.

It started today with the purchase of walking shoes.

Yep. Walking Shoes.

Like I don't walk in the shoes I already have every day...


9 May 2010

Personal revelation, probably not something my kid wants to know about me, but I'm sharing anyway, because it's marginally relevant to the topic at hand.

My boobs have hurt for the last 25 years. It's not agonizing, and compared to Fibromyalgia and arthritis, it's just an annoying ache, but they still hurt. And there have been periods of some significant pain. Enough to seek medical treatment that didn't work: estrogen blockers, androgens, the pill. I've learned to live with it, always with the message in the back of my head, something repeated to me often: breast cancer doesn't usually hurt.

I've always taken some comfort in that, the idea that yeah, this is annoying, but the Big C doesn't typically cause pain when it's in the breasts, at least not at first. Yes, there are some forms of it that do, but typically...not.

That doesn't mean the what-if isn't hovering in the background.

I've known many women who have gone through the agony of breast cancer; from the anguish of the initial diagnosis, through treatment, surgery, more treatment, it's a roller coaster of constant emotional and physical pain. The unfairness of it all; the uncertainty of it all; the stripping of femininity that can come with mastectomy, with chemotherapy.

And the most unfair of all, when treatment doesn't work.

When I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia in 1997 I sought out information about it online, and found a newsgroup filled with people who shared the pain. One of those people was Anne Burkinshaw; we became part of an email ring and became friends. We shared a birthday, albeit a few years apart. When he couldn't find it in North Dakota, she sent the Spouse Thingy real English Breakfast tea. We shared a love of convertibles.

About six months before I was diagnosed with a pituitary tumor, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. And right about the same time I got the good news about my tumor--it wasn't cancer and probably wouldn't ever return--she was given the all clear.

She'd beaten breast cancer down, and won.

Until she didn't.

In 2002, she was going to be fine; she was going to live.

In 2005, she was gone.

She was only 50 years old.

Anne Burkinshaw had so much to live for. She had a family that loved her like crazy; her sons were grown and getting married, starting families. She looked forward to retirement with her husband Dave, and to being a grandmother. She'd gotten her coveted convertible, and just wanted beautiful days filled with enough sunshine to ride with the top down.

She wanted to live.

She died when she was 50; I'll be 49 on my next birthday.

Yesterday, in a comment on Max's blog, I was invited to participate in the Susan G. Komen 3 Day Walk for the Cure in San Francisco on October 1-3 as part of a team. I was filled with two things when I read the comment: an immediate sense of wanting to do this, and pure terror.

I flipped back and forth about it all night and most of today. Walking has not been my friend for a very long time. It hurts. Between FMS, myofascial pain, and arthritis, it just hurts.

What hurts more is the idea that there are more women like Anne out there, women who want nothing more than to live, and who won't.

So I'm going to suck it up and train for it. On October first I will be there for the start of the Susan G. Komen walk in San Francisco, and I'll give it everything I can.

I'll walk for Anne, and for all my other friends who have battled breast cancer.

Here's the thing about walking for things like this. They require money. I have a goal of $2300, and I'm determined to make it.

Most of the fund raising will be done through Max's blog; over the next couple of months I'm hoping to come up with some fun ideas, and some worthy prizes. But I am not opposed to outright donations.

I'm easy that way.

Link is in the right sidebar.

My boobs thank you in advance for your support.


8 May 2010

For years, I have resisted the wearing of shorts. For one, my legs are blindingly white. I have the kind of white legs that people can't help but comment on and make fun of... “Are you part albino???” That doesn't bother me because, hey, they are white.

But...I also have fat calves. No, that's not a self-involved slam on my weight and a whine about chunkiness; my calves have always been fat. Even when I was training in TKD and was thin, fit, about 15% body fat, I had fat calves. They were big enough then that I had issues with shin guards and getting a pair that didn't cut my circulation off.

I hated shorts back then, too, because cripes, who wants to show off albino-white flabby calves?

Hell, who wants to see that?

When I was younger, I could handle the discomfort of summers spent in long pants, but now? I went out this morning to Trikke, it was only 70 degrees, but I was in jeans and after just a mile and a half realized I was miserably hot. Hot and getting nauseated. I sat on the first bench I found, slugged back some Power Aid, and really began to wonder how the hell I was going to make it home.

I did another mile and was really feeling it; it might have only been 70 but the sun was eating down on me and it felt like 85. I stopped to drink more, whined to myself that the giant bottle I thought I had didn't really hold much, and started kicking myself for forgetting my earphones so I could Trikke to some music (that helps, it really does.)

So I headed home. I only got a total of 3.25 miles in, but was overheated enough that I felt sick to my stomach.

Later, when the Spouse Thingy was awake and wanted to take his Trikke out, I threw some shorts on and went with him. It was warmer by then, but I had my tunes, and I had on shorts, I didn't feel the heat at all.

I felt the wind...holy crap I felt the wind...but I didn't overheat and didn't start feeling nauseous.

So. I really have to get over this thing about my calves and just wear the damn shorts. I will never have slender calves, not ever, and I'm not typically one who gives a damn about what other people think, so I'm embracing the comfort of blinding the world with my abject whiteness.

This would, however, be a good time for you to invest in sunscreen stock. Probably Coppertone or Banana Boat. I'm gonna be buying a lot of it.


6 May 2010

Today's weigh in was not a happy one. I expected the results I got, but still.

Two pounds up.

Part of it I blame on the Spouse Thingy's birthday; the Boy's homemade pizza was especially good, and there was cake. And because it was his birthday week we let ourselves slide off the dietary wagon a little bit, trying out a new Chinese restaurant, and then going back because it was so good.

We balanced the increased food intake with some hellacious working out; we both Trikked quite a bit (he more than I, admittedly,) we spent a couple of days going up and down ladders as we primed and painted the kitchen, and worked our asses off doing other things around the house. We spent a day walking around Six Flags, and if we didn't get 5 miles in that day I'd be surprised.

We burned a lot of calories, a nice balance to the indulgences.

But...I've also been off my HGH for 3 weeks. We have both civilian medical insurance and military medical, and between the two things got hosed up and no one would pay for it. We sure as hell weren't paying out of pocket, not for a $1200 a month medication. The problem with not taking it is that no growth hormone circulating in my body = inability to create and maintain lean muscle mass = lower metabolism = adding body fat.

If I'd been on it the whole time, I suspect today's weigh in would have been a break-even kind of thing. And I would have whined about that, too. Because if it's not a loss, I whine.

Hold the cheese.

The insurance has been straightened out, for 3 months anyway, after which I think we go back to square one, but at least I can go back on it until then and hopefully regain some lost muscle and burn a few more pounds of fat off.

I'm pretty far behind where I wanted to be; I had hoped to hit my goal in July, but with just 3 months to go and over 35 pounds, it doesn't seem likely, not even if I kill myself on the Trikke.

Which I might.

It would be a hell of a fun way to go.


1 May 2010

:::Whispering because the official cast list has not yet been released, but:::

My kid totally got cast as Mercutio!

The play runs in August at the Harbor Theater in Suisun City, CA, and as luck would have it there will be some weekday performances so the Spouse Thingy will be able to see it (and more than once if he wants...)

When he said he was auditioning for that part, I got a little excited because my gut feeling was that he'd be a great, yay!

Everyone is invited, but you gotta pay your own way...