I just finished the first week of a training program that is supposed to get me off the couch and running a 5K (3.1 miles) in nine short weeks. The first week involves a 25 minute workout that alternates 60 seconds of jogging with 90 seconds of walking, three times per week. As the program progresses, walking time will decrease and jogging time will increase. Yikes!
In the spirit of not taking myself or this very minor accomplishment too seriously, here are the top five things I learned prior to 7am today during my 25 minutes of jog/walking:
1. Ants, apparently, get up earlier than I do and are tougher than I am. As I was stretching at the track before my workout, I noticed little bits of "stuff" moving slowly on the ground beneath my feet. I realized they were hundreds of tiny ants carrying food-stuffs many times their body weight to an unknown location. They reminded me that I have a hard enough time carrying my own body weight. Show offs.
2. An idea of blogging about a Taylor Swift song and relating it to a deep spiritual truth, is probably the runner's high talking. Mid-way through my jog/walk, I actually had this "brilliant" idea to somehow relate Taylor's single "Our Song" to my relationship with God. Those endorphins can create CRAZY TALK in your brain, I tell ya. Beware!
3. The only place it is acceptable for me to wear spandex shorts is at the track at 6:00am when no one else is around. I think I burned more calories constantly adjusting those crazy shorts to keep them from sliding down or riding up than I did while actually jogging/walking. Thank God for long, baggy t-shirts.
4. Getting spiritual while exercising is for the advanced, not the amateur. Toward the end of my workout, as I finally realized this was going to end (eventually) and wasn't, in fact, going to kill me, I had the bright idea to pray for my friends and family during each of the 90 seconds of walking (praying for myself was all I could manage during the 60 seconds of jogging... more specifically, praying that I'd suck it up and not be a wuss and quit). Sounds reasonable enough, right, except that when I would pray while I walked I would lose track of time and the 90 seconds of blessed walking would go by too fast or I'd feel gipped somehow or I'd go longer than 90 seconds and mess up the rules of the workout plan (I'm nothing if not a rule follower). Bah! #AmateurProblems
5. Having something poking you in your shoe while jogging can make you look insane. If you were hiding behind a tree or sitting in a car somewhere, or were flying overhead in an airplane, or had concealed yourself in some other way this morning, and you had the misfortune of watching my workout while I thought I was all alone - I apologize and I feel I must explain. I HAD SOMETHING IN MY SHOE! All those crazy moves, random kicks and shakes, and the stomping, and toe tapping all while trying to continue moving in a forward direction without falling down, must have made me look a bit off my rocker. Perhaps I am...
Starting on Friday, I will be jogging for 90 seconds and walking for 2 minutes for a total of 25 minutes a day, three times per week. Heaven help me! I'll keep ya posted on the hilarity that ensues and the poignant lessons learned. I know you're on the edge of your seat.
PS - I love the little girl in the picture above. I don't know her, but I love her. I found her on Pinterest. I am not making fun of her, I am making fun of myself... she is, quite obviously, trying to dodge the bubbles that are about to land on her head and that is serious business indeed.
Today I took Timmy and three of his buddies (ages 9-11) to an amusement park and water park for the day to celebrate Timmy's 11th birthday. We met up with another family (including 2 more of Tim's friends) when we arrived.
Someone at some point commented that I am brave. Someone may have been right, however, I am also BLESSED. I laughed so hard today... I had to have burned some serious calories, right? Preteen boys are nothing if not funny. I got a kick out of listening to all of their silly conversations and joining in, when it was cool to do so, and I vowed to remember as many funny moments as I could and write them down when I got home... here's what I can recall:
- Cameron (after going on a ride called the Crazy Mouse): "Miss Carla, My stomach feels turned over." I hear ya buddy!
- When it was time to sing Happy Birthday to Tim at lunch, somehow, they broke out into the hallelujah chorus instead. We put two candles in a watermelon and he blew them out. Nontraditional is kind of our thing. (pictures below)
At one point the boys were pretending to predict what each others' futures would be like. Here are some of their predictions:
1. Timmy will marry a very short woman and move to Europe where he will tend to Alpacas for a living. He will have seven children and all will be well until one of the Alpacas decides he doesn't care for him and he will kick him so hard he'll be sent into orbit. (What a way to become an astronaut!)
2. Daniel will join the circus and be a clown. He will not make people happy. He will make them anxious and sad. (I can't remember the rest of this one, but for whatever reason it made us laugh like the dickens, even Daniel.)
3. Cameron will be a lion tamer with a whip until the lion one day gets hungry and eats him. (So sad...Imagine the funeral! I think his little brother came up with this one.)
4. Morgan requested that his future include some sort of athletic prowess, so the boys decided that Morgan would be playing professional football one day and that during a game he will go up to catch a pass and somehow instead of catching the ball he would catch his sister and spike her in the endzone for a touchdown. He would do a jig to celebrate.
OVERHEARD ON THE WAY HOME:
Tim: "Can Morgan sleep over tonight?"
Me: "Nope. We already have company. Aaron Batdorf is staying over, remember?"
Morgan: "Aaron Bad Elf???"
Tim: "No! Aaron Bad-Orf. He's not an elf, he's like really really tall."
Morgan: "Maybe he is an elf, he just has a height impairment."
Cameron: "Let's sing a song! You guys start with 'Wimoweh, wimoweh' and I'll come in."
All the Guys: "Wimoweh, Wimoweh, Wimoweh, Wimoweh"
Cameron: "In the jungle, the quiet jungle, the lion sleeps tonight, In the jungle the quiet jungle the lion sleeps tonight."
Me (really loudly, out of no where, and high pitched): "Ahh Weeeeeeeee Weee Oh Mamba Weh"
Morgan: "What was THAT?!?!" (laughter all around)
Daniel: "Wait, let's do it again and I'll sing and then we can all come in on that part."
All the guys: "Wimoweh, Wimoweh, Wimoweh, Wimoweh"
Daniel: "In the bathroom, the quiet bathroom, the lion goes tonight. In the bathroom, the quiet bathroom, the lion goes tonight."
All the boys (through giggles): "Ahh Weeeeeeeee Weee Oh Mamba Weh"
If you are ever in need of a good laugh and enough activity to make you sleep through the night - I highly recommend you round up a bunch of 9, 10 and 11 year old boys and take them out for a day of fun. These days are flying by. I am glad today was one for the memory books!
Today we go to a wedding! We had the honor of hosting the minister who will be performing the ceremony at our home last night. He came in from out of town to do the honors and needed a place to crash. We are renting a big house with lots of extra space, so it was a no brainer... the more the merrier! By the time he arrived at our house last night after the rehearsal dinner it was dark, and after he brought in his belongings from the car, we sat around and talked for awhile before everyone hit the hay. This morning we all slept in late and then as we were enjoying coffee and breakfast in the dining room, our son came in carrying a pair of dress pants. He went straight up to the visiting minister, thrusting the pants at him and said, "Are these your pants? They were on the ground." I was flabbergasted! Immediately my mind was racing... Did the pastor leave his bedroom door open? Did one of our dogs go in his room and mess with the poor man's pants, leaving them slobbery and wrinkled on the floor? Did Timmy have something to do with this? Oh Dear! Then the details started to come out... "Where did you find the pants, Tim?" I asked, in a somewhat accusatory tone. "On the ground, outside," he replied. "Why were you outside?" "I was scootering!" Okay, it appeared he was innocent, but we were still baffled. Eventually we put the pieces together and realized that the minister's pants must have slipped off their hanger last night in the dark as he brought in his belongings after his long car ride, and ended up spending the night on our front lawn.
Is it mean and heartless that I can't stop giggling about this? Is it weird that this video keeps popping into my head now? I don't care. It made me laugh and we all need a good laugh now and then. :)
So when I was in first grade or so (that's when teeth start falling out, right?) I had a wiggly tooth. It was one of the front ones - I'm not sure which one... I'm not sure if I could give you the name of it even if I did know which one... I know teeth have names: canines, incisors, eye teeth, etc... but I'm a bit fuzzy on which is which, except the molars... it wasn't a molar, that much I know. Anyhoo, I know some of you come from homes where your precious, doting parents had no problem letting loose teeth become more and more wobbly until they are hanging by a thread (a thread of what I don't even want to know) and eventually fall out on their own... Please take a moment right now and thank God in heaven for blessing you so richly... Alas, I did not grow up in such a home. As a child I remember being afraid to admit to my parents that I had a wiggly tooth - at the first mention they would make an "appt" with me (typically immediately following dinner and right before bed THAT VERY NIGHT) to YANK the poor tooth right out of my face.
On this particular day, I did NOT, I repeat, I did NOT admit that my tooth was wiggly. Somehow, my clever parents figured it out on their own - (perhaps I shouldn't have moved it back and forth with my tongue throughout supper)... "Fred, It looks like you'll need to pull Carla's tooth tonight," my mom said. "Noooooooooooo!!!!!" I shrieked. I knew it was going to hurt. I KNEW it was going to hurt. I was horrified that my parents would willingly CHOOSE to hurt their only daughter, their precious little girl! Savages! (Note to my parents who may be reading this blog now or in the future: I don't really think you are savages... I love you... you are wonderful parents... just go with me on this and we'll all have a good laugh in the end.)
Finally the time for my appointment with my father came. He met me in my parent's bathroom. I was already in tears. He didn't waste time on reassuring words... just reached in, grabbed my tooth and yanked. I gasped, and then, realizing that the tooth didn't come out, began to cry anew, knowing he'd have to do it all over again. He tried a couple more times (with the same result and the same reaction from me) then got a piece of toilet paper and dried the tooth off, trying to get a better grip.. YANK... no luck. That tooth was still there. At this point - I think most rational, adoring, devoted parents would have said, "Hmmm, perhaps that tooth just isn't ready to come out yet. Let's give it another day or two." Not my Dad. This had become a challenge! You see, my Dad is a fixer. When things went wrong with one of our cars - my Dad fixed it. When something broke at home - my Dad fixed it. My Dad would lay underneath the sink grunting and sweating and yelling at the pipes ("You sorry sapsucker!"), but he would eventually fix it. And NOTHING waited until tomorrow. If it was broken now it needed to be fixed now. So, you see, my poor tooth didn't stand a chance. It needed to come out NOW!
I squirmed as I sat on the toilet seat watching and waiting as the wheels spun in my Dad's head and he plotted his next move. The next thing I knew he was pulling out the dental floss from one of the bathroom drawers. WHAT!?! He tied one end of the length of floss around my tooth and wrapped the other end around his middle finger, as I wimpered and my eyes became as big as saucers... YANK... no luck.
"Humpf," my Dad said. I suppose he decided that he hadn't used enough force or perhaps didn't have the right angle or leverage... because the next thing he did - brace yourselves - was to tighten the floss on my tooth and then tie the other end to the doorknob on the bathroom door!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Did I mention that this is a TRUE STORY?!?
What a sight we must have been at that moment... my Dad with a maniacal gleam in his eye, not ready to be shown up by a measly baby tooth, me - tear stained face, eyes bugging out, backside barely touching the toilet seat lid while my toes gripped the carpet (why oh why do they put carpet in bathrooms?) and my torso leaned as far forward as it would go (the length of floss my Dad used wasn't quite long enough for me to sit up straight and remain connected to the door - waste not, want not after all), my wobbly tooth tied with floss attached to the doorknob, vanity mirror capturing this ridiculous scene and, in affect, doubling it all.
Finally, my Dad stepped outside the door, counted to three (why is it always three?) and SLAMMED THE DOOR. What happened next is all a blur. I tentatively reached up with the tip of my tongue PRAYING that the tooth was gone so that the carnage could end... Thank You God! My Dad opened the door, looked in my mouth, and triumphantly declared, "GOT IT!" Then he turned around to retrieve my tooth from the limp piece of floss hanging from the doorknob. A second later he turned back around to me and said, "Where is it?" I was shocked. "I don't know," I said. Bewildered, we both began a thorough search of the tiny bathroom... it wasn't on the floor, in the sink, in the bathtub, in or on the toilet... it was gone. "It must have gone down the drain," my Dad deduced, then reassured me that the tooth fairy would come anyway... we would simply put an IOU under my pillow instead. (They may have been savages (not really Mom and Dad), but my parents were not cheapskates when it came to tooth fairy money... then again, perhaps it was just hush money - in which case, writing about it in this blog may be a breach of contract... I think I'll risk it.) Relieved that the whole ordeal was over and satisfied that I would, in fact, receive my just reward... I took a bath, put on my jammies, brushed my remaining teeth, said my prayers, put the IOU under my pillow and went to bed. I laid there for awhile, tossing and turning and listening to the faint sounds of the TV show my parents were watching at the other end of the house... then, my nose began to itch... I rubbed the outside a few times, but eventually that wasn't sufficient... and as all 6 year olds have been known to do, I took matters into my own hands, er, pointer finger... and out came my tooth... right out of my nose! I'm not making this stuff up, folks! I wasn't a physics major, so I can't explain to you how that tooth ended up in my nose... something to do with torque, velocity, force, e=mc squared, etc. I suppose, but that is where it ended up. Somehow, I doubt there is another child on the planet who has had the unique, disturbing, wonderful experience of finding their lost tooth in their very own nostril! (I always knew I was special.)
Normally, getting out of bed after one has been put to bed at the Anderson house would have been a "spanking offense," so believe me, I weighed my decision VERY CAREFULLY before climbing out of bed and heading down the hall to show off my discovery...I decided that this was, in fact, a unique situation. Now I know that since that moment, my parents have had occasions where they laughed just as hard as they did when I showed them my tooth and explained the situation to them, I just can't think of one of those occasions at the moment. =o)
And now you know...
Carla Ritz. Proof positive that God uses cracked pots!