I know it's been a while. I've been busy wallowing in self pity and hatred of work and life. I do believe I have turned a corner and I am happy to say this was not a very long episode. Don't get me wrong I would still rather have all of my self diagnosed diseases, including the new Ebola diagnoses, at the same time than go to my office. Add a little gangrene in there and I think it would be perfect. The bills have to be paid so I have to work, but I am not going to let it get to me until the next time it gets to me. At least I'm not delusional about that. To be honest when I started training again is when I started to turn the corner. Exercise is an amazing depression killer, at least for me. It just takes a while to get out of bed sometimes. HA HA
Happy, happy, back to training! Happy, happy back to ridiculous shit happening to me!
I titled this blog post as "Bikes Hate Me" because I believe the devil has a pact with Huffy to kill me. A few months ago I was running around the bay, just clip, clapping
along like I normally do when I heard a grunt behind me. Next I know, there are handle bars between my waist, a bike pedal (literally) in my calf and something hit me in the ass. O.k. Wait- read this again and then imagine what it looks like. It felt like I was hit from behind by a Mac Truck! Only, not a truck... 7 year old girl with a new bike that can't use her brakes yet. The thing that hit my butt was her helmet protected head. Remember, I was running so I almost fell down because I got caught up in the spokes of her bike with one leg and my other leg had her pedal stuck in it. I swear to God I couldn't believe it.... I still can't believe it. So, her straight out of Lakeside Dad, complete with missing teeth and Rascal Flats T-shirt turned his bike around and looked at me and mumbled sorry. Her Mom caught up to us and started to comfort her daughter (the devil) and didn't say anything to me. I pulled her bike out of my leg and hastily decided to use the adrenaline rush to my favor and start running again. Good training for possible racing injuries, no chance of getting any diseases, the bike was brand new, no rust. Very mad running. Bleeding. I deserved a crown!
I ran for about ten minutes and I kid you not the parents had the nerve to ride past me with the little devil. If this were my child I would have stopped riding bikes, ran to the car and gotten the hell out of dodge. But NOOOOOOOOOOO, they had to ride past me all happy while my leg was bleeding all over the sidewalk. The little devil even had a No Fear license plate on the back of her bike! RUDE!
As I'm contemplating my next move the little girl almost takes out two other runners. Now I was really getting upset. So while the parents were talking to the child I happened to run past. I stopped looked at the family and said
" You should really have your child in a bicycle safety class. They offer classes at R.E.I., it is on Convoy."
The Mom got all crazy eyes on me and started yelling " She's only had her bike for five hours....."
Wait.... is that supposed to make me feel better about the bike accident? Looking back I feel bad for the girl. Her parents are retards and she'll likely never get back on a bike. My leg was pretty bloody and they past me twice after the accident. So being the bigger person. I gave the Mom a disapproving, I am so much better than you are look and started running.
- Heres the part of the story I'm not so proud of and most of you know me well enough to not believe this for a second, but please believe the following did happen. Prologue: My gift to myself for my thirtieth birthday was this " I will no longer let anyone walk all over me. I will not be afraid to tell people that!" (hence the work issues) My gift has really worked out for me, not so good for others. OK back to the story-
So I'm running angrier than ever and they pass me again! YES AGAIN! The Mom says something really snotty to me (I don't know what it was). So I waited until the kid got far enough away, ran up to the Mom and said " Why don't you go and F*** yourself!"
I started running so fast I could believe how fast I made it home.
A few weeks have past and I have a lovely scar on my leg the size of a snausage, yes the dog treat. Wen I see it I do the "Snausages!" jingle in my head. I can no longer run for Miss America because of me scarred up legs but, but I'm coming to terms with it.
I just proof read this and realized how long it is. Stay tuned for bikes hate me part two. It's way better than this as it was a self-inflicted injury. With my own bike- my precious.
Showing posts with label Running. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Running. Show all posts
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Triathalon training part 1
I have decided to start to train for a triathlon. I know your thinking: My god why? Well, it is because I have not embarrassed myself enough in San Diego and I have found a new opportunity to do so. Why not? Lets remember who we are dealing with here. It's still me. I still go to bed thinking I'm going to be an overnight sensation in everything. Makes for fantastic dreams and a bizarre reality.
I bought a used bike from a girlfriend at work. She gave me a great deal on it and I love, love, love it as if it were from my womb. It is a Giant compact aluminum frame with a carbon fork and Uletegra components. Translation: So F'in cool! I call it: my precious.
I have also started swimming which I really love and I actually got a lesson from a for real pro swimmer (Lizard). Thank you! I feel like I am doing well after her coaching. I am a member of the local Jewish Community Center, which has a great pool. When speaking with the "new memberships" girl, I whispered to her "I'm not Jewish." She said "We'll still let you in, we don't persecute based on religion." Sincerely took me a minute to grasp what she was saying.
I went to buy a bathing suit for swimming with a purpose. I put with a purpose because I have plenty of bathing suits but their only purpose is to be worn underneath my clothing or when drunk, by themselves. If I am drunk and I start to disrobe, save yourself. I repeat save yourself and pray I remembered the bathing suit. If you have ever seen a racing suit it has absolutely no support built in. Bad news for Sara. I thought however this wouldn't be an issue for me (remember delusional). I struggled to get it on number one, number two my boobs were smashed down against my belly button. I looked nine months pregnant. I swear to god. I can't even make this up. It was the first time I was flat chested and had a beer gut! It was suggested that I wear a sports bra or just a plain bra underneath my racing suit and I almost burst into tears. I REFUSE! People would talk about me mercilessly. I believe the words "she's special" might even be used if I wear a bra under my bathing suit. Can you even imagine a giant Playex 18 hour, wet? No way.
I started this week by riding my bike to and home from work. It is a very nice gradual uphill to work and downhill home. Remember I'm used to a tank beach cruiser to run errands with on the weekends and I foolishly tried to run to blockbuster with my road bike. NO GOOD. No basket. I had to stick the movie under my boob. Third hand. I won't name names, but some of you know what I'm talking about. If you need a pen and there is nothing in my hands and one suddenly appears. Ask yourself the question, am I comfortable with Sara's boob sweat? I told a girl at work I tried to run to blockbuster and the movie and blah, blah... she looked at me oddly and said, "I've never heard of that before" Naturally I think shes talking about riding the bike around town and not for training. The next time I saw her she looked at me oddly and it dawned on me that she must be freaked I stuck a movie in my boob for safe keeping. They don't do tricks guys, but sometimes you need an extra hand and there it is. Attached to my body. They can't perform surgery or do a jig but they hold things just fine.
Anyway, so I've been riding to work and it's really fun. I put my suit and all of my junk for the day in a messenger bag and go. I have to leave at 5:30 am to get there in enough time to clean up, but it's worth it.
I am scared of the cars in the morning. I never pay attention when I'm in my car. To combat crazy drivers I stuck a big button my my bag that proudly states:
You can't hit someone that hearts being awesome. Period. A nice boy yelled something out if his car window today, I can only assume he was agreeing with my cool button.
I'm sure there will be more to talk about later.................
Monday, June 4, 2007
A tale of two races
Finish? Yes.
Finish with dignity? No.
My original goal was just to finish the marathon. I told myself that would be good enough for me. Then the goal became finish with dignity, the more I though about what I was doing. I will start by saying, in my imagination, yesterday played out quit different and I wasn't in any way prepared for the mostly mental and somewhat physical journey.
Saturday night was exciting! I started laying out my gear early in the morning. I was completely organized down to the care package Brandon was to meet me with at mile 19. Brandon and I went to dinner, all was right with the world and I laid in bed all night daydreaming of winning the marathon and becoming an overnight sensation in the running world. Yes, I am delusional. For real, delusional.
My secret goal was 5:30:00 which would have put me at a 12 minute pace for the entire marathon, and that is what I trained to do. At the very least, 6 hours was acceptable in my book as not a failure.
At 4:00 a.m on Sunday I got out of bed and started my morning race routine. Spotless execution of all tasks! I was so excited I made myself nauseous. We took a secret way to the start line, as to avoid the traffic which was backed up from Washington Street to Old Town. I hear it backs up to Sea World and I am grateful for Brandon and myself that we didn't get stuck. I found my running group and we did a warm up and then it was off to the start line!
When you do a big enough race you are put into corrals based upon your estimated finish time. This is so the slower and inexperienced runners are not up with the elite racers. I was in corral 21. Ready to go! A woman sings the star spangled banner and I start to choke up, and think about how cool this was going to be. The start gun went off and 10 minutes later I crossed the start line (25,000 people)! Note, I made it a point to explain corrals. I spent the first five miles dodging walkers. Thanks to Team in Training, I can only imagine they tell their participants: "Screw the rules, the more inexperienced you are the closer you have to be to the start line." I dare anyone to prove me wrong on that. Period. Team in Training is easily the worst outfit known to man. It is a cult that teaches their participants to only help one another, only cheer for their own and take out everyone else.
I call this the tale of two races because it was entirely two different races. The first half. The second half. Guess which half was best?
The first 13 miles.
What a race! I was running the race of a lifetime. I was with the 5:30:00 pace setters. Solid execution! I felt fantastic! I started to convince myself that 5:30 wasn't a goal but an easy reality. Just settle into the stride and wait until the five hours pass. No Big Deal! There were the same old funny things happening along the course: costumes, a juggler, people peeing. Same old story! I took to running along the sidelines and giving high five's to spectators. If no one was cheering I was screaming: "Come on, I can't hear you!" On the approach to a child I did the same thing throughout the race "Come on buddy, I'm going to need five to keep going." Hand in the air, if a child was sitting, I waited. I stopped at every water station to hydrate, I cheered for every band. This was my race! I beat my La Jolla Half Marathon time, not by much, but I beat it and I was very proud. I was taking it all in. I felt that I was mentally prepared for the mind games you inevitably start to play with yourself at his type of event. I knew what to tell myself to block out the pain, I knew which songs on my IPod would keep me lifted. I didn't need it until:
Mile 17, or what we can refer to as the second half............ I started to feel a blister around 163, which is about mile 15. It felt like a bad blister, but nothing I couldn't run through. By mile 17 I was begging for Vaseline from the medical tent. Vaseline on, foot inspected, all good! By the time I hit mile 19, which was in front of our house and I saw Brandon, it was over. I had given up. Honestly, it's embarrassing but I really did. The pain was more than I could handle at that point and I knew there was still a long way to go. Brandon rode his bike along side me for a mile or two and then I asked him to go. I feel terrible because I can only imagine how worried he was. Miss Optimistic the night before: "If I'm not at mile 19 by 10:30 am, something is drastically wrong!" I got to mile 19 at 11:15 a.m. I just needed to be alone. I was still giving high fives to kids along the course only now I was crying. I'm sure their parents are thanking me for the "crazy, crying lady nightmares" their children are sure to have. Asking for high fives turned into a demand. I decided it was best to walk the majority of the mileage left and screw the time. The time was already long gone I couldn't even see the pace setter flag any longer. It was a ship in the distance I would never run fast enough to catch. Mile 19-23 are a blur of crying, cursing, talking myself out of quitting, warm water at the water stops and cheerleaders that were tired of cheering. It had already been a very long day for the volunteers. I must have been begging the right God for a miracle because literally out of now where, Julie jumped in front of me.....
"SARA! YOU LOOK GREAT! I"M SO PROUD OF YOU! Your doing it."
Crying turns to sobs............
I didn't even notice that Julie was scratched up. In her haste not to miss me she tripped and fell. That is how she came out of nowhere, she slid right past me and jumped up. Very sly, Julie!
"Julie, I can't do this any longer. It hurts so much and I want to quit. What is stopping me from quitting?"
"I AM!" She grabbed my hand, laced her fingers in mine and walked me in the remaining three miles. The last three miles took over an hour and she talked and told me funny stories the entire time I was sobbing and breathing heavy as if birth was imminent. I couldn't have been more miserable of a person. I couldn't even attempt to run at this point. My beautiful dancers feet had been replaced by bloody stumps and I can only pray they return to their former glory so I can face a pedicure. At mile 26 all of the coaches, bikes, non runners are stopped from entering M.C.R.D. Marines are standing at the gates to make sure non runners can't enter without going through security.
"O.k., this is where I drop you off!" Julie let go of my hand and hugged me. She is the bravest woman on earth for hugging me at that point, the smell alone. I became hysterical. I was that girl. I did run the remaining 200 yards to the finish line. Run is relative. It was more like a shuffle. Sobbing. Embarrassed. People stopped to cheer for me as I looked like I was going to commit suicide at the finish line. For one second after I crossed the line I sucked it up. I heard you all cheer as I knew you would have done and Brandon sigh in relief. I immediately demanded a medal put around my neck and I collapsed in a pile of orange rinds and banana peels by the slipper station. I begged the volunteers to throw me some sandals and then I was on my way home. Julie found me at the end. I believe she bartered a piece of chocolate for entry to see me finish. Julie walked me to the shuttles about 1/2 mile from the finish. She started her own trek the over three miles back to her car....... Finish time 6:35:00, Time at the half: 2:43:00
I'll win it next year. Thank you Julie.... Thank you Brandon........
Finish with dignity? No.
My original goal was just to finish the marathon. I told myself that would be good enough for me. Then the goal became finish with dignity, the more I though about what I was doing. I will start by saying, in my imagination, yesterday played out quit different and I wasn't in any way prepared for the mostly mental and somewhat physical journey.
Saturday night was exciting! I started laying out my gear early in the morning. I was completely organized down to the care package Brandon was to meet me with at mile 19. Brandon and I went to dinner, all was right with the world and I laid in bed all night daydreaming of winning the marathon and becoming an overnight sensation in the running world. Yes, I am delusional. For real, delusional.
My secret goal was 5:30:00 which would have put me at a 12 minute pace for the entire marathon, and that is what I trained to do. At the very least, 6 hours was acceptable in my book as not a failure.
At 4:00 a.m on Sunday I got out of bed and started my morning race routine. Spotless execution of all tasks! I was so excited I made myself nauseous. We took a secret way to the start line, as to avoid the traffic which was backed up from Washington Street to Old Town. I hear it backs up to Sea World and I am grateful for Brandon and myself that we didn't get stuck. I found my running group and we did a warm up and then it was off to the start line!
When you do a big enough race you are put into corrals based upon your estimated finish time. This is so the slower and inexperienced runners are not up with the elite racers. I was in corral 21. Ready to go! A woman sings the star spangled banner and I start to choke up, and think about how cool this was going to be. The start gun went off and 10 minutes later I crossed the start line (25,000 people)! Note, I made it a point to explain corrals. I spent the first five miles dodging walkers. Thanks to Team in Training, I can only imagine they tell their participants: "Screw the rules, the more inexperienced you are the closer you have to be to the start line." I dare anyone to prove me wrong on that. Period. Team in Training is easily the worst outfit known to man. It is a cult that teaches their participants to only help one another, only cheer for their own and take out everyone else.
I call this the tale of two races because it was entirely two different races. The first half. The second half. Guess which half was best?
The first 13 miles.
What a race! I was running the race of a lifetime. I was with the 5:30:00 pace setters. Solid execution! I felt fantastic! I started to convince myself that 5:30 wasn't a goal but an easy reality. Just settle into the stride and wait until the five hours pass. No Big Deal! There were the same old funny things happening along the course: costumes, a juggler, people peeing. Same old story! I took to running along the sidelines and giving high five's to spectators. If no one was cheering I was screaming: "Come on, I can't hear you!" On the approach to a child I did the same thing throughout the race "Come on buddy, I'm going to need five to keep going." Hand in the air, if a child was sitting, I waited. I stopped at every water station to hydrate, I cheered for every band. This was my race! I beat my La Jolla Half Marathon time, not by much, but I beat it and I was very proud. I was taking it all in. I felt that I was mentally prepared for the mind games you inevitably start to play with yourself at his type of event. I knew what to tell myself to block out the pain, I knew which songs on my IPod would keep me lifted. I didn't need it until:
Mile 17, or what we can refer to as the second half............ I started to feel a blister around 163, which is about mile 15. It felt like a bad blister, but nothing I couldn't run through. By mile 17 I was begging for Vaseline from the medical tent. Vaseline on, foot inspected, all good! By the time I hit mile 19, which was in front of our house and I saw Brandon, it was over. I had given up. Honestly, it's embarrassing but I really did. The pain was more than I could handle at that point and I knew there was still a long way to go. Brandon rode his bike along side me for a mile or two and then I asked him to go. I feel terrible because I can only imagine how worried he was. Miss Optimistic the night before: "If I'm not at mile 19 by 10:30 am, something is drastically wrong!" I got to mile 19 at 11:15 a.m. I just needed to be alone. I was still giving high fives to kids along the course only now I was crying. I'm sure their parents are thanking me for the "crazy, crying lady nightmares" their children are sure to have. Asking for high fives turned into a demand. I decided it was best to walk the majority of the mileage left and screw the time. The time was already long gone I couldn't even see the pace setter flag any longer. It was a ship in the distance I would never run fast enough to catch. Mile 19-23 are a blur of crying, cursing, talking myself out of quitting, warm water at the water stops and cheerleaders that were tired of cheering. It had already been a very long day for the volunteers. I must have been begging the right God for a miracle because literally out of now where, Julie jumped in front of me.....
"SARA! YOU LOOK GREAT! I"M SO PROUD OF YOU! Your doing it."
Crying turns to sobs............
I didn't even notice that Julie was scratched up. In her haste not to miss me she tripped and fell. That is how she came out of nowhere, she slid right past me and jumped up. Very sly, Julie!
"Julie, I can't do this any longer. It hurts so much and I want to quit. What is stopping me from quitting?"
"I AM!" She grabbed my hand, laced her fingers in mine and walked me in the remaining three miles. The last three miles took over an hour and she talked and told me funny stories the entire time I was sobbing and breathing heavy as if birth was imminent. I couldn't have been more miserable of a person. I couldn't even attempt to run at this point. My beautiful dancers feet had been replaced by bloody stumps and I can only pray they return to their former glory so I can face a pedicure. At mile 26 all of the coaches, bikes, non runners are stopped from entering M.C.R.D. Marines are standing at the gates to make sure non runners can't enter without going through security.
"O.k., this is where I drop you off!" Julie let go of my hand and hugged me. She is the bravest woman on earth for hugging me at that point, the smell alone. I became hysterical. I was that girl. I did run the remaining 200 yards to the finish line. Run is relative. It was more like a shuffle. Sobbing. Embarrassed. People stopped to cheer for me as I looked like I was going to commit suicide at the finish line. For one second after I crossed the line I sucked it up. I heard you all cheer as I knew you would have done and Brandon sigh in relief. I immediately demanded a medal put around my neck and I collapsed in a pile of orange rinds and banana peels by the slipper station. I begged the volunteers to throw me some sandals and then I was on my way home. Julie found me at the end. I believe she bartered a piece of chocolate for entry to see me finish. Julie walked me to the shuttles about 1/2 mile from the finish. She started her own trek the over three miles back to her car....... Finish time 6:35:00, Time at the half: 2:43:00
I'll win it next year. Thank you Julie.... Thank you Brandon........
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Ever wonder how I got my glamorous job?
I worked briefly at Wells Fargo before embarking on my career at Smith Barney. I got the tip on a receptionist job in the Downtown branch from my boss at Wells Fargo. Her daughter, Lisa, worked in that office. My interview was nothing short of a complete nervous breakdown:
I was dressed in the only suit I could afford at the time, purchased from Sears. It was machine washable, couldn't afford dry cleaning. Black and brown polyester, with shoulder pads! I believe the skirt covered my ass, but I'm sure just barely. I didn't have an attache so I carried my resume in a manila folder. I also didn't have a purse so all of my crap was also shoved in the manila folder, think: keys, wallet, sunglasses. You get the picture.
This was my first driving experience downtown so you can imagine my excitement in trying to maneuver around. I was armed with directions and 15 minutes late. Needless to say I was panicked and I parked at what I thought was the office, 401 4th Street (Dicks Last Resort, hardly a Smith Barney). I figured I was at the wrong place so I used a payphone to speak to my interviewer, Debbie Lucus:
" Mrs. Lucus,I'm sorry I'm late but I'm lost. I'm at Dick's Last Resort and I don't know where to go."
"Look up, do you see the building that has Wells Fargo on it?" go figure.
"yes."
"That's us. We're on the 23rd floor. See you soon"
I hung up the payphone and started to walk/run towards the building which didn't look that far away. (20 blocks) I noticed a creepy man start to walk the same time I did so I crossed the street, then he crossed the street. I crossed the street and turned back to the car, which is where I sat until the coast was cleared. As minutes ticked by, I kept walking towards the office, the closer I got the more horrifying things started to happen to me. I believe Horton Plaza is the hotbed of all that is evil downtown because this is where most of the carnage took place. By the time I reached Horton Plaza I was beyond panicked, being about 30 minutes late and sweaty from run/walking 20 blocks. As I stood at a crosswalk I didn't notice the large white van pull up to the stop light as I was juggling my wallet, trying not to wrinkle my resume and not drop my keys. When the crosswalk light turned green I began to walk across the street, as I crossed the front of the white raper van a man leaned out of the drivers side window and yelled:
"excuse me ma'am you dropped something...."
Naturally, I'm juggling a bunch of shit. This only took 30 seconds but imagine in in slow motion...
I turned around in the middle of the crosswalk looked down, didn't see anything and then looked up at the van. The man hanging out of the van had his face painted like a clown and was giant holding a horn.
"You dropped your SMILE!!" Toot- toot-toot
I've never run so fast in my life. I started to cry, which now seems to be a theme. I was running so fast that a few seconds later I was in Horton Plaza and 2 blocks to the office which for me was safety. As I was running through Horton Plaza a Hare Krishna tried to hand me a pamphlet.
"NO!" I brushed him off, not breaking my stride..
"Karma will get you......." Now ain't that a bitch? Who says that to someone else? Nice Hare Krishna! Nice hex asshole! Welcome to THE LIST clown boy and Hare Krishna, you've been bumped to the top!
I finally made it to the office a disheveled mess. I had obviously been crying, I was sweating and you can imagine the state of my resume. Debbie, so kindly came to get me....
"Sara, I'm glad you made it. I'm sorry you had trouble finding us." We got to her office and she asked how my day had been thus far.
" I'm having a really shitty day." I really did say shitty. At that point, I figured I had nothing to loose I was already 45 minutes late, I wasn't going to get the job anyway. I proceeded to tell Debbie about all that happened on my little journey. I even think I started crying (it was the clown). We ended my interview with her offering to give me a ride to my car.
"I'm really worried about you. I'm sorry you had such a hard time."
"Thank you for your time.... Sorry again I was late."
I immediately went to my friend Erin's house to discuss the dirty details, exclaiming to her that I was most likely blackballed from all financial firms from that day forward. We laughed about it well into the evening. When I got home I had a message from Debbie Lucus offering my the job. To this day, I know I got the job because I said "shitty". That takes guts!
I was the only applicant.
8 1/2 years later......
One of the brokers I work with called me a clown, not more than a few weeks ago. He meant it in the Joe Pesci way ( "Am I a clown? Am I here to amuse you?") I started to cry. I think I might have a phobia.
I was dressed in the only suit I could afford at the time, purchased from Sears. It was machine washable, couldn't afford dry cleaning. Black and brown polyester, with shoulder pads! I believe the skirt covered my ass, but I'm sure just barely. I didn't have an attache so I carried my resume in a manila folder. I also didn't have a purse so all of my crap was also shoved in the manila folder, think: keys, wallet, sunglasses. You get the picture.
This was my first driving experience downtown so you can imagine my excitement in trying to maneuver around. I was armed with directions and 15 minutes late. Needless to say I was panicked and I parked at what I thought was the office, 401 4th Street (Dicks Last Resort, hardly a Smith Barney). I figured I was at the wrong place so I used a payphone to speak to my interviewer, Debbie Lucus:
" Mrs. Lucus,I'm sorry I'm late but I'm lost. I'm at Dick's Last Resort and I don't know where to go."
"Look up, do you see the building that has Wells Fargo on it?" go figure.
"yes."
"That's us. We're on the 23rd floor. See you soon"
I hung up the payphone and started to walk/run towards the building which didn't look that far away. (20 blocks) I noticed a creepy man start to walk the same time I did so I crossed the street, then he crossed the street. I crossed the street and turned back to the car, which is where I sat until the coast was cleared. As minutes ticked by, I kept walking towards the office, the closer I got the more horrifying things started to happen to me. I believe Horton Plaza is the hotbed of all that is evil downtown because this is where most of the carnage took place. By the time I reached Horton Plaza I was beyond panicked, being about 30 minutes late and sweaty from run/walking 20 blocks. As I stood at a crosswalk I didn't notice the large white van pull up to the stop light as I was juggling my wallet, trying not to wrinkle my resume and not drop my keys. When the crosswalk light turned green I began to walk across the street, as I crossed the front of the white raper van a man leaned out of the drivers side window and yelled:
"excuse me ma'am you dropped something...."
Naturally, I'm juggling a bunch of shit. This only took 30 seconds but imagine in in slow motion...
I turned around in the middle of the crosswalk looked down, didn't see anything and then looked up at the van. The man hanging out of the van had his face painted like a clown and was giant holding a horn.
"You dropped your SMILE!!" Toot- toot-toot
I've never run so fast in my life. I started to cry, which now seems to be a theme. I was running so fast that a few seconds later I was in Horton Plaza and 2 blocks to the office which for me was safety. As I was running through Horton Plaza a Hare Krishna tried to hand me a pamphlet.
"NO!" I brushed him off, not breaking my stride..
"Karma will get you......." Now ain't that a bitch? Who says that to someone else? Nice Hare Krishna! Nice hex asshole! Welcome to THE LIST clown boy and Hare Krishna, you've been bumped to the top!
I finally made it to the office a disheveled mess. I had obviously been crying, I was sweating and you can imagine the state of my resume. Debbie, so kindly came to get me....
"Sara, I'm glad you made it. I'm sorry you had trouble finding us." We got to her office and she asked how my day had been thus far.
" I'm having a really shitty day." I really did say shitty. At that point, I figured I had nothing to loose I was already 45 minutes late, I wasn't going to get the job anyway. I proceeded to tell Debbie about all that happened on my little journey. I even think I started crying (it was the clown). We ended my interview with her offering to give me a ride to my car.
"I'm really worried about you. I'm sorry you had such a hard time."
"Thank you for your time.... Sorry again I was late."
I immediately went to my friend Erin's house to discuss the dirty details, exclaiming to her that I was most likely blackballed from all financial firms from that day forward. We laughed about it well into the evening. When I got home I had a message from Debbie Lucus offering my the job. To this day, I know I got the job because I said "shitty". That takes guts!
I was the only applicant.
8 1/2 years later......
One of the brokers I work with called me a clown, not more than a few weeks ago. He meant it in the Joe Pesci way ( "Am I a clown? Am I here to amuse you?") I started to cry. I think I might have a phobia.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Only five miles to Hell. I know, I've been there.
It is no secret, I'm running a half marathon in April. If your wondering why, it is also the same reason I'd like to summit Everest or go to Easter Island or perfect the keg stand. Just because I want to... No particular reason, it sounds fun. On Friday night I received a copy of Her Sports and Fitness in the mail. I really like this magazine as it always has articles that pertain to want I'm currently doing. Magic? I think so.
On this month's cover is a man- bodied woman and the following banners:
Knock out abs! ( yes, please)
Organic, worth the splurge? ( you tell me!)
Then, shining from the page as if it were the chosen article itself :
Half Marathon Made Easy ( Sweet Jesus, I've hit the jackpot! )
Quickly, quickly I turn to page 54. It has a running plan that includes: run two minutes, walk one minute.
(I can do that! 21 week training program! I have just enough time!)
I can hardly contain my excitement!
(I'm really going to run a half marathon and look beautiful while doing it and everyone will be jealous!!! Moo- Haw haw!! Watch out veteran runners I have the easy plan complete with veteran and beginners column.)
Naturally I choose the beginners column. Week 1- run 5 miles.
(Five Miles. Easy.) My longest running venture to date was a 5 K last October.
Saturday
I gave up the smokes (day 53), and the booze because I can't have the smokes so I've turned my wretched addictive personality to coffee... How I love you coffee... Dunkin Donuts Coffee to be exact. With three cups of coffee in my belly and a handful of crackers I start dressing for my five mile trek to stardom.
Ipod. Check!
Knee Brace. Check!
Heart Monitor. Check!
Pedometer. Check!
Favorite running shoes. Check!
New ultra cool running hat (thanks Jules). Check!
I've got five pounds of crap on and I'm ready to go... It's 12:15 p.m. I'm tired of running around the bay so I start by running around the neighborhood. Two minutes run, one minute walk. (Easy is right!) I get tired of running around the neighborhood so I start running down Crown Point Drive towards Sea World. The side walk runs out at Sea World so I turned around and ran back to the Bay. (stopped for two minutes to look at stingray from atop the bridge, didn't now anything lived in the Bay)
Look at pedometer.
(1.5 miles? There is no f'in way! I hate two minutes run and one minute walk and I hate the last guy that ran by and stared at my boobs. I really hate you! I might turn around a try to catch you and tell you how much I hate you right now!)
I ran down to the Bay. The great part of running at the Bay is every 1/4 mile is spray painted so you know how far you've gone. Please, for god sake do not reply and ask why I just didn't do this in the first place. The reason is because I'm dumb. Why would I go for a five mile first time run on a stomach full of coffee? WHY? I start at the 3/4 mile marker.
One mile. Bahia Hotel 1.5 miles.
(I'm finding my pace! I love you two minutes run and one minute walk, I really love you!)
This is about the time it starts to get ugly. Don't let any children read the horror that is about to unfold: I'm running toward Mission Beach I'm at 1.75 miles per the marker. 3.25 total. I decide to make it to Santa Clara which is about 2 miles. Then turn around and head for home. Unfortunately my threshold for pain is gone, I'm thirsty, tired and all I can think is just don't quit. I start to cry. I have to stop. I get off the sidewalk and cry for my one minute walk break. Then I lay on a grassy patch and pretend to stretch whilst crying. Lucky for me I look as though I have been running for days so no one stops to check that I'm OK. Obviously, I know what I'm doing with all my gadgets. My next mood swings starts a little something like this:
(OK Stop crying and start running. You only have to run for two minutes. It's not that tough. Only 2 miles to home. Once the pedometer hits five miles, you can walk. Easy Street!)
I do a little less than half a mile before I can't run two minutes, I cut it to one minute run two minutes walk.
(Feel-in Good! 1.5 miles to go.)
It is at this very moment my entire world, which is very fragile at the moment, crashes. A girl I will only refer to as "gazelle" easily runs it by. She passed me once before but I was so delirious I didn't notice much about her. I start to cry again. I really want to shout "Whore" But I don't even know if I can make words right now. I use this anger to kick every piece of me that's giggling into high gear and I pass her all the while think. "Can't beat me. I might look like an animal right now, but I'm a hot little wifey. So you just take that."
I didn't see Gazelle after that, she must have gotten off of the track or maybe she was so upset by how bad I dusted her, she just decided to leave. I choose to think the later.
Heading home! Feeling like death. Blisters on the bottom and arches of my feet. Check pedometer.
4.1 miles
(Not possible!!) I walk the 300 feet home. A mere shell of myself before my run to stardom began. I Rambo kick in the door and start to take off my gear. Brandon peaks out from the kitchen.
" Do you know how long you've been gone? Two hours. How far did you run?"
"4.1 miles, but it can be right. I'm really hurting and there is no possible way it took me two hours to run four miles. I just might shoot myself."
Monday
Still angered over the 4.1 miles crisis and running for two hours, Brandon charts my course.
8.5 miles total. Thank you Weight Watchers for having a total piece of crap pedometer! In your face half marathon! In your face Gazelle!
My body has started to seize and this is now an entirely too long of an email. Just thought it was pretty funny and I'm very proud of myself!
I totally got to see a stingray!
On this month's cover is a man- bodied woman and the following banners:
Knock out abs! ( yes, please)
Organic, worth the splurge? ( you tell me!)
Then, shining from the page as if it were the chosen article itself :
Half Marathon Made Easy ( Sweet Jesus, I've hit the jackpot! )
Quickly, quickly I turn to page 54. It has a running plan that includes: run two minutes, walk one minute.
(I can do that! 21 week training program! I have just enough time!)
I can hardly contain my excitement!
(I'm really going to run a half marathon and look beautiful while doing it and everyone will be jealous!!! Moo- Haw haw!! Watch out veteran runners I have the easy plan complete with veteran and beginners column.)
Naturally I choose the beginners column. Week 1- run 5 miles.
(Five Miles. Easy.) My longest running venture to date was a 5 K last October.
Saturday
I gave up the smokes (day 53), and the booze because I can't have the smokes so I've turned my wretched addictive personality to coffee... How I love you coffee... Dunkin Donuts Coffee to be exact. With three cups of coffee in my belly and a handful of crackers I start dressing for my five mile trek to stardom.
Ipod. Check!
Knee Brace. Check!
Heart Monitor. Check!
Pedometer. Check!
Favorite running shoes. Check!
New ultra cool running hat (thanks Jules). Check!
I've got five pounds of crap on and I'm ready to go... It's 12:15 p.m. I'm tired of running around the bay so I start by running around the neighborhood. Two minutes run, one minute walk. (Easy is right!) I get tired of running around the neighborhood so I start running down Crown Point Drive towards Sea World. The side walk runs out at Sea World so I turned around and ran back to the Bay. (stopped for two minutes to look at stingray from atop the bridge, didn't now anything lived in the Bay)
Look at pedometer.
(1.5 miles? There is no f'in way! I hate two minutes run and one minute walk and I hate the last guy that ran by and stared at my boobs. I really hate you! I might turn around a try to catch you and tell you how much I hate you right now!)
I ran down to the Bay. The great part of running at the Bay is every 1/4 mile is spray painted so you know how far you've gone. Please, for god sake do not reply and ask why I just didn't do this in the first place. The reason is because I'm dumb. Why would I go for a five mile first time run on a stomach full of coffee? WHY? I start at the 3/4 mile marker.
One mile. Bahia Hotel 1.5 miles.
(I'm finding my pace! I love you two minutes run and one minute walk, I really love you!)
This is about the time it starts to get ugly. Don't let any children read the horror that is about to unfold: I'm running toward Mission Beach I'm at 1.75 miles per the marker. 3.25 total. I decide to make it to Santa Clara which is about 2 miles. Then turn around and head for home. Unfortunately my threshold for pain is gone, I'm thirsty, tired and all I can think is just don't quit. I start to cry. I have to stop. I get off the sidewalk and cry for my one minute walk break. Then I lay on a grassy patch and pretend to stretch whilst crying. Lucky for me I look as though I have been running for days so no one stops to check that I'm OK. Obviously, I know what I'm doing with all my gadgets. My next mood swings starts a little something like this:
(OK Stop crying and start running. You only have to run for two minutes. It's not that tough. Only 2 miles to home. Once the pedometer hits five miles, you can walk. Easy Street!)
I do a little less than half a mile before I can't run two minutes, I cut it to one minute run two minutes walk.
(Feel-in Good! 1.5 miles to go.)
It is at this very moment my entire world, which is very fragile at the moment, crashes. A girl I will only refer to as "gazelle" easily runs it by. She passed me once before but I was so delirious I didn't notice much about her. I start to cry again. I really want to shout "Whore" But I don't even know if I can make words right now. I use this anger to kick every piece of me that's giggling into high gear and I pass her all the while think. "Can't beat me. I might look like an animal right now, but I'm a hot little wifey. So you just take that."
I didn't see Gazelle after that, she must have gotten off of the track or maybe she was so upset by how bad I dusted her, she just decided to leave. I choose to think the later.
Heading home! Feeling like death. Blisters on the bottom and arches of my feet. Check pedometer.
4.1 miles
(Not possible!!) I walk the 300 feet home. A mere shell of myself before my run to stardom began. I Rambo kick in the door and start to take off my gear. Brandon peaks out from the kitchen.
" Do you know how long you've been gone? Two hours. How far did you run?"
"4.1 miles, but it can be right. I'm really hurting and there is no possible way it took me two hours to run four miles. I just might shoot myself."
Monday
Still angered over the 4.1 miles crisis and running for two hours, Brandon charts my course.
8.5 miles total. Thank you Weight Watchers for having a total piece of crap pedometer! In your face half marathon! In your face Gazelle!
My body has started to seize and this is now an entirely too long of an email. Just thought it was pretty funny and I'm very proud of myself!
I totally got to see a stingray!
sap-o-meter straight to ten
I made a very solemn promise to myself that I wouldn't bug all of you with a blog every time I convinced myself that I was ambulatory, but I have actually received requests for more stories of pain and suffering.....
On the eve of what is my second race, (5K Breast Cancer Race) I reflected during my training run today. I'm up to about 4.5 miles. The first 1.5 are like torture but after that it's as if the god Hermes himself, sends down a pair of his winged shoes and I take off. If he'd like to attach a handbag to that, I wouldn't stick my nose up.
I noticed a woman, this is no joke and no exaggeration involved , I swear: not a day over 65, missed the last few hair appointments, boobies to her knees, sporting a neon pink shirt proudly expressing the fact that she is a "GOOD KISSER". It took everything I had not to yell out, "me too" or "prove it" as I ran past. I believe if you advertise it, you had better be. Lots of mommies with strollers. No Gazelle in sight. I think I may have scared her off with my running prowess.
I also noticed I clench both of my hands. My right hand is always clenched like Bob Dole. I know you remember the hand with the pen. So help me if you send an email about how he is a war hero. I could possibly do better in a Presidential election too. It's OK, I'm a Republican, I can throw stones. My left hand is clutching my IPOD, which broke possibly due to my super human strength, like Charlton Heston with a rifle at an NRA rally. I fight the urge to raise my IPOD and spit "From my cold dead hands" almost every ten minutes. It makes me laugh, which is a change from stopping to cry. (See photo, notice hands, this is a photo from last year!)
Don't believe for one second that I'm Flo Jo, but now I can enjoy my time plunking away at the pavement.
I did almost start to cry today, (sap-o-meter straight to ten) when I saw two women obviously tired, walking, decked out in all of their Breast Cancer garb. The Breast Cancer three day is very soon and when my eyes were opened to these ladies I started to see more and more during my run today. Everyone out this morning was walking for Breast Cancer, a jogger in the mix every once in a while. I figured "my" ladies needed a boost so when I passed them I blurted out "Great job ladies, keep it up!" Not surprisingly they hollered back "Hey.... You too!" ( I raised my IPOD in the air. tee-hee)
Tonight before bed, do me a little favor. Pick a person with breasts to think about all day tomorrow. Send out good thoughts. (Men have breasts too.) Also send a special thought to my pal Chris. He's running for his mom and tomorrow will be a very hard day for him. His mom is an angel that watches over his children, so I'm told. I'm running for Patty Plumbleigh. She is the angel that makes the flowers bloom in spring. I always think of her in April. If you live in the Midwest or East you know what I'm talking about. She brings that little rush of joy when you notice your first spring flower, no more snow! I think of her often, powerful, considering I only met her a handful of times.
Enough sap for today. I'll write again soon with my post times. Last year I ran a 5K in 36 minutes... I hope to shave off some of that time.
Be good to your breasts. (Shout out to my favorite three day walker Bethany Zabrosky)
The Sports Bra Incident, I can't even make this stuff up.
First things first, language in this one is rated R. Delete this if you can't take a little B word.
When I tried to clasp my sports bra the other morning the clasp broke. It was metal. I think I corroded it from the amount of bleach I use on my whites. I love the smell of a bleachy white shirt. I like smelling bleach at work when I have a crisp white dress shirt on. Call me crazy, but don''t hate that I smell clean and lemon fresh.
The last time I bought a sports bra I slipped and fell in a puddle of urine. I swear to God. I wouldn't lie about that and don't think I'm bragging either. Brandon and I should be zillionaires right now, but I'm a wimp. The clerk at Walmart tried to tell me it was Mountain Dew but believe me when I say I can recognize the smell of piss. I still even bought the items in my cart, covered in urine. I waited in line. I must have looked mortified because a little boy came over to me, whilst I was rolling on the floor in pee and said, "Don't cry, someone else fell before you". Obviously this person was not wearing very absorbant clothing. Could they have been naked? Was this Walmart (Clairmont Mesa Blvd) where you shop naked and pee on the floor? Where was my memo? Walmart is on my list, and yes, those pee soaked clothes were discarded after we got home. (He still married me.)
Now that we have that out of the way, imagine my sheer and utter delight in knowing I had to go shopping for a sports bra. There is no fate worse than bra shopping other than bathing suit shopping. It shouldn't even have a great word pinned after it like "shopping". It should be called, "who wants to feel really shitty about their body today?" and the store would only carry bras, swimwear, lycra and chocolate cake. Armed with my purse and a whole helping full of self esteem I went to Macy's. I figured a department store would have what I was looking for, if Walmart carries it, surely Macy's has it. I found the lingerie department and went directly to the counter, no need to mess around. I asked the clerk- young girl- where the sports bras were located.
"What size are you?"
Keep in mind there is no one within 100 feet of us, but I lower my voice to almost inaudible. Only maybe a pigmy could here me. " 34F, but..."
She jumps backwards, rears her head back like the little devil that she is and screams, and I mean screams...... "WHOA!! I DIDN"T THINK THEY MADE THEM THAT BIG!" and starts to stare directly at my boobs!
Normal Sara would say "Bras or boobs you pigmy bitch?"
No, no that is what normal Sara would do. Normal Sara is however occupied, trying to keep her crazy psycho personality from pistol whipping the clerk with her fake Louis Vuitton bag. The magnitude of the war deep inside me must be showing by the way my face is contorting. It has been so long since I had to use my "Oh hell no look." (ask to see my drivers license). I'm just about to get the look on my face good and nasty when pigmy says: "I'll see what we have in back."
You bet your ass you'll go in back and while your at it send someone else back out. Of course pigmy returns with what can only be described as a bandeau. Please. Isn't Macys slogan "Way to shop"? I tend to agree, this was a real "way" to shop. Which "way" I don't know.
I refuse to return to Macy's and they are number 1,467,549 on the list, which is exactly the amount of money Brandon and I should sue Walmart and Macy's for in the name of my boobs. I will continue to wear a playtex 18 hour bra underneath a sportsbra for now. It is like fixing your bumper with bondo, but it works, better than any sports bra I might add. Brandon, don't act surprised when I spit on the TV during the Thanksgiving Day Parade. I hate parades anyway, but that parade is sanction by a store that only hires pigmy devils!
I got a new iPod! How was your day?
When I tried to clasp my sports bra the other morning the clasp broke. It was metal. I think I corroded it from the amount of bleach I use on my whites. I love the smell of a bleachy white shirt. I like smelling bleach at work when I have a crisp white dress shirt on. Call me crazy, but don''t hate that I smell clean and lemon fresh.
The last time I bought a sports bra I slipped and fell in a puddle of urine. I swear to God. I wouldn't lie about that and don't think I'm bragging either. Brandon and I should be zillionaires right now, but I'm a wimp. The clerk at Walmart tried to tell me it was Mountain Dew but believe me when I say I can recognize the smell of piss. I still even bought the items in my cart, covered in urine. I waited in line. I must have looked mortified because a little boy came over to me, whilst I was rolling on the floor in pee and said, "Don't cry, someone else fell before you". Obviously this person was not wearing very absorbant clothing. Could they have been naked? Was this Walmart (Clairmont Mesa Blvd) where you shop naked and pee on the floor? Where was my memo? Walmart is on my list, and yes, those pee soaked clothes were discarded after we got home. (He still married me.)
Now that we have that out of the way, imagine my sheer and utter delight in knowing I had to go shopping for a sports bra. There is no fate worse than bra shopping other than bathing suit shopping. It shouldn't even have a great word pinned after it like "shopping". It should be called, "who wants to feel really shitty about their body today?" and the store would only carry bras, swimwear, lycra and chocolate cake. Armed with my purse and a whole helping full of self esteem I went to Macy's. I figured a department store would have what I was looking for, if Walmart carries it, surely Macy's has it. I found the lingerie department and went directly to the counter, no need to mess around. I asked the clerk- young girl- where the sports bras were located.
"What size are you?"
Keep in mind there is no one within 100 feet of us, but I lower my voice to almost inaudible. Only maybe a pigmy could here me. " 34F, but..."
She jumps backwards, rears her head back like the little devil that she is and screams, and I mean screams...... "WHOA!! I DIDN"T THINK THEY MADE THEM THAT BIG!" and starts to stare directly at my boobs!
Normal Sara would say "Bras or boobs you pigmy bitch?"
No, no that is what normal Sara would do. Normal Sara is however occupied, trying to keep her crazy psycho personality from pistol whipping the clerk with her fake Louis Vuitton bag. The magnitude of the war deep inside me must be showing by the way my face is contorting. It has been so long since I had to use my "Oh hell no look." (ask to see my drivers license). I'm just about to get the look on my face good and nasty when pigmy says: "I'll see what we have in back."
You bet your ass you'll go in back and while your at it send someone else back out. Of course pigmy returns with what can only be described as a bandeau. Please. Isn't Macys slogan "Way to shop"? I tend to agree, this was a real "way" to shop. Which "way" I don't know.
I refuse to return to Macy's and they are number 1,467,549 on the list, which is exactly the amount of money Brandon and I should sue Walmart and Macy's for in the name of my boobs. I will continue to wear a playtex 18 hour bra underneath a sportsbra for now. It is like fixing your bumper with bondo, but it works, better than any sports bra I might add. Brandon, don't act surprised when I spit on the TV during the Thanksgiving Day Parade. I hate parades anyway, but that parade is sanction by a store that only hires pigmy devils!
I got a new iPod! How was your day?
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