Stretch Armstrong Runs a Race

It's been a few years since I started running.  I started at... Christmas... of 2009.  So, a few.  I ran a race last weekend, my fourth time in this race, which was my first race ever.  I have run this race with two other people, now, and twice by myself.  It was both of their first races ever, too, and it's so much fun to be there for that experience.

This race is 2 miles.  Last year I finished in 18 minutes.  Boom.  The year before that, 19 and change, and I PLACED and got a trophy.  I still don't know how I missed my trophy last year.

This year, I was coming off of pneumonia and had not run for a solid month prior to the race.  I was nervous going in, actually, afraid of how bad it was going to feel to finish last, or, you know, second to last.

There's this big ass loser in our town that I cannot stand, for whom I have a visceral dislike that I can't even pinpoint, there's really no reason for it.  This guy typically plays the National Antehm at this particular race, on trumpet.  He's all right on the trumpet.  Whatever.

This year, he also ran.  Make no mistake, I don't care if I did one solid cough the entire race, I was DETERMINED to beat this guy.

The first year I ran this race, and I ran every step, I finished in 24.40.  That's not at all a good time, that's super duper slow, but whatever.  I don't give a shit what you think.  I am a runner, goddammit.

Anyway.  This year, I ran about a half mile, then walk-ran the rest of the race.  It was a gorgeous day, warm and sunny, and I decided, well, fuck it.  I don't even care.  I enjoyed myself.  In that first 1/2 mile, I noticed the tubby yellow shirt of The Trumpeter, just ahead of me.  I looked at Mel- let's do this shit.  We pulled ahead of him, and even though a little while later I started walking some, and Mel ran on, go ahead her, his bright yellow shirt stayed behind us.

In the end, I finished in 24.40 - I KNOW - and was pretty satisfied, considering the state I was in.  Had time for some animal crackers and gatorade, when I heard the announcer call the Trumpeter's name, and announce his time.

30.something-or-other.

HAHA.  Fat fucker.  I beat the shit out of you, and I'm out of shape.

Oh, how unsportsmanlike I am.  Fuck it.

I had fun racing, and I'm pretty much ready to get back on the pavement.  Daylight savings is here, it's warm enough, and I've got to maintain a significant lead on trumpeters.

In other news, there's been some sad times lately, but during the sad times, there is often a moment where I can see people I love, and this was one of those.  Look at these cute girlies:

Now, look at my left arm.  It's freakishly long, and bent at an odd angle, and extremely thin.  Stretch armstrong.  That's me.

The baby is writing in a diary.  I did that, when I was little.  He doesn't know I took a picture.  He also doesn't know I'm going to post a picture of his diary on the internet.  PARENTING WIN.

"I went to a britthay at crassgates."  I went to a birthday at Cross Gates.  He had fun at that birthday party, a party of triplets, who live across the street from me.  I'm so glad.  I feel no compunction about letting him go over there to play, because I'm pretty sure she can't remember how many first graders are supposed to be there anyway, and so one more doesn't really make an impact.

Oh, how hilarious is the life.  Happy Tuesday, everybody.  I wish you a long arm, a britthay and a good run, beating out a yellow shirted trumpet playing asshole.

Label wearer. In case I lose my V.

And so this one time, I said, "I've got a cold thing going on."

You all know just how very much this girlie likes to be sick.  Well, if you don't, you definitely should.  Pales compared to how much I like a band-aid, but still.

As an aside, my friend Mel's daughter is EXACTLY like me.  Girl fell and hurt her wrist like two weeks ago.  After much whining, Mel took little bit to the urgent care for an x-ray and it wasn't broken.  But girl child really seriously considered that perhaps they screwed up the x-ray.  God, how I love that kid.

Anyway, despite my delight in ailments, I do not really go running off to the doctor with every little sneeze.  No, no.  I like to be martyr-like, stoic in my rapid decline.  And thus it has been for the last two weeks, what started off as a little sniff, a dry cough, turned into a big ol' shaking fever and a cough that sounded like, in my mother's words, the cough of a dog with heartworms.

Delightful.

Anyway, after coming to work one day last week, I decided that there was a definite issue and did, in fact, make an appointment with my Doctor.  I got to go and see the fabulous and slightly sexy new PA, whom I will call Doctor Dirty Dianna, her name being Dianna, and me being 12.

DDD called me "thin," though, so please note, I'm pretty much in total love.

And guess what?  My cold?  Not a cold.  Pneumonia.  She took a PULSE OX, which you just know I fucking LOOOOOOOOOVED.  I took another day off and resolutely, stoically returned to work, just so they could send me home because my cough was scaring them.  I like being scary.

It's been a week now, and I'm well medicated (five prescriptions - HIGH FIVE), and I'm improving, although I still have a little cough.  But good gracious.

In the midst of that nonsense, the little boy of my household SCORED A GOAL playing soccer (BOOM) and then attended a birthday party for TRIPLETS.  Because we are awesome.

Here are some pictures for you, of random crap.

Here is me, kissing an alligator.  I asked them to un-tape his mouth.  They said no.  I asked them if I could have him.  They said no.  Please note, I had the phone with me at the time.  I'm a very good worker.  I love alligators.  Especially their feet.  That's some cute feet.

Here is me, trying on a dress (while wearing my "winter flip flops", shoes which really ought to be thrown away) at the mall.  Which is, in and of itself, really fucking weird because I don't go to the mall.  Anyway, I tried on this dress, me with my little tiny white legs, because I thought it was cute, completely unaware that it was also a label for my v.  V.  Because, you know, I might lose it.  Nope, there it is!  Righty thery, ho ho!  That's my V!

When I am sick, I knit at about half speed.  Which is to say, still really fucking a lot faster than you do.  I imagine.  Whatever.  But anyway.  I knitted an elephant.  A pneumoniaphant.

With little, black, island-of-misfit-toys eyes.

And a little penis nose!  Hooray for penis noses!