Spinning Class

(Part 3 of My Adventures in Death.  A.K.A: Training for a Triathlon)


If you've never participated in a spinning class then you shouldn't start now don't know what you're missing.

I'll describe spinning to you as if it were a 4th grade diorama project.  I'm doing this because I am no longer capable of thinking straight.  All of my blood has pulled to my thighs which currently feel like they are on fire. Does anyone smell smoke? This rush of blood to my flaming thighs means no blood is getting to my brain, and I can no longer think or write logically.  Where was I? Oh, yeah...that 4th grade diorama of a spinning class.

You will need:
A cardboard box
Glue
25 q-tips
A clementine
A good sense of humor

Get a cardboard box and open it.
The box is the fitness room.
Inside the box carefully glue the q-tips so one cotton end is attached to the box and the other cotton end is sticking straight up.
Place each q-tip just two inches apart from one another.
Each q-tip is a stationary, spinning bike from hell.
The tip of the q-tip is the seat on the bike.

Now imagine your butt as a large, round clementine.

Take the clementine and shove it down hard onto one of the q-tips until juice is flowing out of the fruit and the tip of the q-tip is completely in the clementine.  The juice is your blood, sweat, and tears.

That's spinning.

Anyone who loves spinning is a total fruit who can endure pain in places I've never imagined.

I've gone from being a barge to bruised fruit.

Tune in next week when we will run. I'm hoping to be able to walk by then.

I Am a Barge

(Part 2 of My Triathlon Training Experience)


I think I am on the cusp of transitioning from a boring ol' blog writer to an intense, melodramatic soap opera writer.  My soap opera is the triathlon course I signed up for in a moment of shear stupidly.  Again, what was I thinking?

I am most delighted to report I survived the first day of "I-hope-I-don't-die" class (that roles off my tongue easier than triathlon preparation class).  I am blessedly not writing from Davey Jones' locker.

The first class occurred at an indoor pool.  Surviving was actually no small feat as there were plenty of life threatening moments, and only a couple of them actually happened in the water.

For starters, I do not have appropriate swimwear for this type of class.  All of my swimsuits have skirts.  I love swim skirts, but I don't love swimming.  Apparently true swimmers feel skirts are a hinderance to lap swimming.  Fashionistas they are not.

None-the-less, appropriate swimwear might temporarily make me blend in with others so I buy the cheapest athletic swimsuit I can find.  And unfortunately by "cheapest" I also mean "ugliest."  It is made of the tightest of spandex.  It looks like it is made for a tiny, little doll versus an actual human being, and all of it could miraculously fit in the palm of my hand like a barbie dress.  Its ability to stretch to over 8 zillion times its unstretched self size and cover my frame is nothing short of amazing.  Getting into and out of this suit requires an absurd amount of agility and strength.  I'm pleased I did not strain a muscle or break my neck while trying to maneuver in and out of that swimwear contraption.

In my effort to blend in and look less a fool, I also wore a white swim cap and goggles.  Again, apparently true swimmers feel these are necessities.  I was feeling rather proud of my faux athletic look until my swim buddy told me the cap made me look like a giant sperm.  This would have hurt less if I could actually swim as well as sperm, but sadly the likeness ends there.

I'm not sure if swim caps come in sizes, but I either have an extra small cap or my head is obscenely large. That swim cap left lines on my head for hours, and I believe the lightheadedness I felt in the pool is attributed to the cap cutting off circulation to vital brain parts.

Now it's time to mention the actual swimming part.
The first part of this particular class involved swimming 4 lengths of a ginormous pool while being timed.  Let's just again celebrate the fact that I survived the experience.  No records were broken, but not drowning should count for something.

I think it's also important to note that I remained well hydrated during the lesson by drinking gallons of pool water.  I neither planned for this nor do I recommend it as a means to stay hydrated.  I just want people to know that the pool is a few feet shallower due to my heroic efforts to drink myself out of the pool.

After witnessing those 4 painfully long laps, the coach encourages us to swim like torpedoes.  We need to be long and smooth and fast in the water.  He then proceeds to get in the water and show us how it is done.

It becomes painfully obvious that while he swims like a torpedo through the water, I look very much like a drowning victim waiting to happen.  I create enough splashes and gurgling sounds that I fully expect a lifeguard to attempt to rescue me from myself.

"Be like a torpedo.  Don't be a barge," the coach says to me no one in particular.

That's when I realize that although I may look like a very thirsty, drowning sperm, I am actually a large barge.  Which is worse?


Stay tuned for whether or not our heroine and her friends will survive spinning class...

5 Ways to Tell When You've Had Too Many Snow Days

I absolutely love the first snow day.
The second snow day is neat.
The third snow day is challenging.
After that third snow day, it's every man, woman, and child for himself.

In our house it's pretty easy to tell when the snow days need to end.

The following unbelievable things start to happen:

5.  The kids wake up begging for pancakes.  You oblige because its another snow day.  Why not celebrate by having pancakes for the 10th consecutive day?  At 3:00 PM you realize no one has had lunch.  At dinner time your kids are essentially having chocolate milk and a bowl of syrup.  You cared about their diet on snow days #1-5, but at this point you've lost your will to parent effectively so you give them straws to help slurp up the rest of the syrup.

4.  On the first few snow days routine is important.  By now, your children haven't been out of their pajamas in a week and you don't remember the last time they took a bath.  When they ask you if they can put their snow suits on over their pajamas, you half heartedly agree.  After all, what is the point of getting dressed?

3.  A certain toxic atmosphere starts to develop.  It's difficult to describe, but you start to wonder if this is what Hunger Games feels like.  Your children can go from loving one another to being rabid, feral children faster than the snow coming down.  You actually start to wonder which of your children would most likely win Hunger Games. You cheer on the underdog.

2.  Your children cry when you tell them it's another snow day.  Seriously. Tears.

1.  Your husband decides to spend an obscene amount of money on inflatable sleds because he absolutely believes this expenditure will cause all of the snow to melt and the temperatures to rise above freezing.

Cabin fever is alive and well in our house.  I wish they had a vaccine for that!

What Was I Thinking?

What was I thinking?
Who hasn't done something stupid and had to ask themselves that very question?

You're on your way to the store and you wind up at work.  Your car was seemingly on autopilot and you ended up not going where you intended.

What were you thinking?

You're busy yelling at talking to your kids while unpacking groceries, and you later find your car keys in the pantry by the peanut butter.

What were you thinking?

Well, I know the answer.  You weren't stinking thinking!  Your brain literally shut off and you were no where close to thinking.  Lucky you. Your excuse for doing stupid stuff is that you were not thinking.  Simple enough.

So what's my excuse?  What was I thinking when despite all logic I signed up to take a 14 week exercise class on how to prepare for a triathlon?  Yeah.  A triathlon preparation fitness class.   If you are reading this because you know me and feel obligated to read these little vignettes (Hi, Mom!) then you'll need to take a moment and let that sink in....

Yes.  I signed up for a class that will prepare me for a triathlon. (I'm not sure that's even possible so I'm using the word "prepare" rather loosely.)

What was I thinking?

Let's reflect on my definition of a triathlon:
A fanatical health nut spends money to swim 500 meters, bike 15 miles, and then run 5 kilometers.   Easy enough, right?  But here is the kicker.  These masochists do those three things consecutively and do it all in less than a day.  Some people apparently can even do it in just over an hour.

So why would I sign up to train for such nonsense?  What was I thinking?

Do I love to swim?
My idea of swimming is to put on my favorite swim skirt and sit by the water with a book in one hand and a cocktail in the other.

Do I love to bike?
I own a bike and I rode it exactly one time in 2013.

Do I love to run?
I only love to run if I am being chased by a large scary creature. This has yet to happen.  I have run, but love has never been a word I've associated with running.  On top of that, my exercise bra has tried to kill me in the past, and I own a car so I can drive places.

Again, what was I thinking?

I actually made a decision to do this.  It involved paying money and agreeing to wake up before the sun.  I was thinking something......

If nothing else, this should give me fodder for some interesting writing.

Speechless at the Golden Globes

Dear Speechless Golden Globe Awardees,

I watched the 2014 Golden Globe Awards, and I've got a pointer for you should you ever be nominated again.

Please prepare a speech.  Please.

You've been nominated for a Golden Globe Award, and some can only dream of that.
Going into the evening you didn't know if you would win or not.  Yes, I know you only had a 20% chance of coming home with that shiny little trophy.  You may not have needed that speech.  It is still better to be prepared than to stand up in front of all your peers and be broadcast across America saying, "Oh my gosh.  Oh my gosh.  I didn't prepare a speech, and I don't know what to say."

Yeah, we can tell you don't know what to say.

Let me see if I have this right:
You are nominated for a prestigious award based on your job performance.
You get all dolled up.
You smile and pose on the red carpet.
You take your seat with fellow movie stars and television icons.
Your heart may be racing.  Your palms may be sweaty.  You may not be expecting to win.  You may be nervous even though you are a movie star. Are you thinking, "Maybe I should have prepared a speech?"
Your name is announced as the winner, and 45 seconds later you go from looking like a glamorous movie star to a bumbling fool.

Really?  You didn't think a speech could prove useful?

Please go sit back down because your speechlessness is annoying.

Why is it annoying?

Well, for starters I am raising two children.  Like me, my children are a work in progress.  Although it pains me sometimes, my kiddos look up to famous people.  They are fascinated by fame and what it means to be famous.  While watching the Golden Globes with my kiddos, it becomes apparent that the dress you wear is more important than what comes out of your mouth.  And apparently being prepared is really underrated in Hollywood.

It's also annoying because you babble something about thanking your manager and it begs the question, why am I not a movie star manager?  I would certainly have advised you to prepare a short speech!  I think you may need a new manager.

Finally, you memorize lines for a living for crying out loud!  Can you not memorize a few sentences about who to thank for the award?  And please don't forget to thank your mother!

Sincerely,

A Clearly Not Speechless Fan

Things I Learned During the Polar Vortex

Greetings from the former Polar Vortex!

As the temperature dropped lower, and lower, and lower I made a few observations.  I would have written them down sooner, but I needed to wait until I had thawed.

Here are my brilliant observations:

1.  People say ridiculous things when they are cold.  It's 5 degrees outside but with the windchill it feels more like negative 6 billion.   (This is not a direct quote from Al Roker, but it's pretty darn close.)

2.  And related to #1, what is it about the windchill that I find so annoying? It's as cold as a witch's titty outside. After a certain point, the temperature ceases to matter. It. Is. Supper. Cold.

3.  The super cold temperature causes flashbacks to my idyllic childhood when my own  mother would say on a cold winter morn, "It's as cold as a witch's titty."  What kind of mother would say that to their impressionable, young, naive, children?

4.  During the Polar Vortex when Al Roker is telling me the windchill is the root of all evil, I exclaim to my kids, "Geez, it's as cold as a witch's titty outside!"  I am my mother.

5.  My car knew this arctic weather was possible.  Which right away means my minivan is smarter than most of us.  That's right, my minivan knew negative 5 degrees was possible because when I started the car one morning, that's the temperature the car showed.  My minivan can show negative numbers and perhaps its the sign of my frontal lobe freezing, but I was amazed by this. My minivan knew it could get that cold.  This begs the question, "How low do you think the car can register?"  Seriously, does anyone know the answer?

6.  Strange stuff happens to my house when the temperature gets wicked cold.  For example, my garage door doesn't want to close automatically.  It will open just fine, but then it won't close.  Another strange thing that happens is I allow my kids to play electronics until they actually ask if they can do something else. Yeah, it's like the twilight zone over here.

7.  The Polar Vortex makes keeping New Year's resolutions nearly impossible.  When the temperature dips below 5 degrees outside, my instinct is to curl up in a ball and eat chips (lots of chips) right out of the bag.  So much for my goal of moving more and eating less!

8.  Freezing temperatures cause everyone with electricity to begin obsessing about electricity.  If the electricity goes out then we all know we will freeze to death.  My frozen body will be found in bed, in the fetal position with my hand deep in a bag of chips.  There are worse ways to go, people.

9.  Everyone acts as if freezing temperatures should be used as a teachable moment with our children.  Remind me why I'm standing on the porch in subzero weather with a boiling pot of water? Screw science. It's cold outside!

10.  Children cannot go to school in these temperatures because its just too cold.  This means disgruntled parents cannot send them outside to play either.  This leaves the children no alternative but to peck each other to death.  New Christmas toys?  Nah....  Way more fun to just annoy the begeezers put of one another.

Those are my observations now that the Polar Vortex as moved away and my bones are thawing. It's a balmy 20 degrees today.

I suppose I can credit the Polar Vortex for making 20 degrees feel like a day at the beach!

Bow-Wow

Once upon a time I fell in love with a beautiful stray dog.  She found us and chose not to leave. We tried unsuccessfully to find her original family.  However, we quickly knew she was our dog.  Our first family dog.  We named her Nicole Oreo.  'Cole wasn't the smartest dog.  In fact, Cole's trainer referred to her as "thick," but she really just fit in the the rest of us.  Seriously.

I wish I could say we lived happily ever after, but our sweet dog was tragically killed when she ran into traffic just three months after she found us.  We were devastated.  Devastated.

Her death left us all feeling grief-stricken, guilty, and .... desperate for another dog.  We had buried plenty of fish, hermit crabs, and toads, but my children had never experienced the death of a beloved pet.  The tears seemed endless, and I was tempted to run out and bring back a puppy for each of us.  I wanted desperately to make their grief end. I wanted my sad children to be happy again.

But we waited.  We waited until the daily tears turned into happy reminiscing.  We waited until Cole's ashes had been spread across her favorite stomping grounds.  We waited until her name brought us smiles instead of tears.

Then we started stalking the pound.  We were ready for another dog to love.

During all of this (finding a dog, losing a dog, wanting a dog), I learned about Friends of the Shelter Dogs.   They are group of local citizens dedicated to the welfare and rescue of dogs from the area Dog Shelter. All the dogs in their care are medically checked by a veterinarian, given all their immunizations and are spayed/neutered before being adopted into loving homes.  They also contribute to the medical welfare of dogs remaining in the shelter by donating vaccines or paying for veterinary expenses when the need arises and they have the ability to do so.  Truly an amazing organization!

Friends of the Shelter Dogs organized a fundraiser this past weekend.  These people know how to throw a party!  "Purses for Pooches" is a purse auction for ladies only.  Can you imagine?!?

I went with some of my favorite ladies. These gals are funny, smart, beautiful, and an all-around good time. Some may need a few lessons on how not to accidentally bid during a live auction, but I love them just the way they are!

Now for those of you who have never been, imagine climbing a staircase and when the doors open you are standing in a room full of purses, your favorite people, and a bar.  I'm pretty sure I heard a chorus of angels singing.  Talk about a stairway to heaven!  That's my vision of heaven, people. Purses, friends, and drinks -- not necessarily in that order!

To the talented organizers of the Purses for Pooches I say, WOW!!

AND...I'm happy to say, my family eventually found a wonderful dog from the shelter. Her name is Sandy, and she brings us happiness every day.

To the Friends of the Shelter Dogs, Sandy says, "bow-WOW,"

Sandy enjoying a nap after arriving home from the dog shelter