Tough Mudder – Rant and Roll

Sometimes fabricated, always real

For almost two straight years I wrote faithfully here at Rant and Roll.

Without exception, I published posts on Monday, Wednesday and Friday (and often Tuesdays and Saturdays, depending on when extra inspiration would strike.)

Nowadays, it’s less that I am uninspired to write (in fact I find myself reaching for my laptop more often than not – what with the unending stream of ideas percolating away inside of my brain. Sometimes I actually imagine these conceptions as small nuggets of gold, and my mind as one giant, ever swirl-swirl-swirling miner’s pan.)

It’s just that, I just can’t seem to keep track of days, hours, space, and time – let alone said nuggets.

Flip open my computer on any given day and you will find three or four half-finished posts (as well as three or four half-read Grantland, Jezebel, and Deadspin articles.)

There may even be a Youtube video or two for your viewing pleasure.

So where does that leave me? Where does that leave us?

Pretty much at the same place where I have been treading water for the last six or so odd months.

You see, I just don’t ever remember life being quite this bonkers – always barmy yes, but never to the extent where I feel as though days are simply slipping between the crooks of my fingers and the dips of my toes.

But the crazy thing is (and the big difference from six months ago), is that I don’t feel scared or upset by this.

(At least not anymore.)

Because these days, the warm weather, and fantastic runs, and fabulous friends, and fantastical reads – and all the other magical magic that make up this incandescent, resplendent, and transcendent life of mine – make me want to cut each day up into one million of the finest fragments and carefully sew each one into a soft and sinuous blanket that I may wrap myself in for all of the ages.

And they make me want to share it all with you.

Whenever,wherever the time may be.

Some things.

Sugar (da da da da da daaaaa)

I haven’t eaten junk food in six days.

That is six more days than my previous longest record.

Prior to this almost-week, I am fairly confident that had I ever been the subject of a medical autopsy (as opposed to all of those recreational autopsies), the corner performing the operation (always Dana Scully in my imaginaiton) would have found my corpse to be comprised of 1/3 Rogers product.

However, in a bid to curb my anxiety, up my health-quotient, improve my running (just in case I ever decided to full-on try that competitive racing thing), decrease my chance of familial-susceptible diseases, and just in general TRY SOMETHING NEW – here I am.

The ex-chocolate bar queen.

And you know what?

It’s been the absolute best six days of life.

(It would seem as though in a bid to replace my discarded crown, I am now the queen of excessive use of hyperbole.)

Marc and I have been cooking amazing dinners, eating the delicious produce grown from our very own backyard, and taking the time to sit outside and enjoy our meals.

I cannot quite explain to you how nice it is to bide my time and prepare a delicious and nutritious dish, instead of eating seven oreos and then complaining about how much my stomach hurts, and then dreading the task of forcing a few bites of a meal down my throat (only to be starving three hours later and repeat the first step which would then ensure a redux of the hurt tummy blahs.)

I think this renaissance (can it be a renaissance if you never remember living the process a first time around?) will be one I stick with.

She was looking pretty beat.

A post-Tough Mudder snap:

On the plus side, I carried my 180 lbs partner 100 meters and was the fifth woman to finish the course.

On the downside:

and

Old friends.

Revisiting this genius:

So if Bradbury is my all-time favourite author of life, Heinlein is definitely in my top-20. The dude can not only write, but sweet mother of pearl does he ever make you think.

He may not make me quake, and cry, and shake, an die like ol’ Ray, but Bobby A too has a few tricks and treats up his sleeve.

Dance break.

About a boy.

Look at this dude.

HE IS SO CUTE I CANNOT EVEN.

This August will mark eleven years that I have had this brilliant, bonkers man in my life.

That is like – more than one third of my life.

(That is like, MORE THAN A LONG TIME OF MY LIFE.)

How do you even spend that much time with someone and now bludgeon them to death with a pineapple one morning over brunch?

I have no idea.

Good thing we never eat brunch.

Anywho, he’s just such a marvellous person who makes my silly little heart smile all the time, and sometimes I feel like a broken record just waxing eloquent all the live-long day about all of the full-stop brilliant things he is doing with his life, but I don’t care because he is a difference maker and world builder and all of his energy and brilliance shines light into the lives of his many students, and his words, and deeds, and thoughts and passions impact so, so many who come up to him and say “thank you thank you” and those who may not even know it, but who will wake up one morning, on a sun-drenched Thursday morn, and just think to themselves, “wow.”

Because that is what I do.

Everyday.

And the itsy bitsy spider

Dear readers,

It’s May 5^th.

I am sitting on my couch. There is a sleepy cat in my lap, and an even sleepier husband dozing in the sunroom just behind me.

My butt is sore from all of the jump squats I completed yesterday.

Strangely enough, I feel no side-effects from the seventy-fish push-ups.

This must mean I am getting stronger.

(At least arm-wise; not ass-wise.)

In the past two months these things have happened:

Marc and I sold our townhome and bought and moved into a new house. We have a beautiful garden and grassy yard, with a large patio and gas bbq. On days when the weather cooperates, we like to sit under the sun’s strong rays and wax poetic about our little piece of heaven.

Our home was built in 1907.

If there are ghosts, they are friendly.

On April 6 I ran a personal best in the Sunshine Coast half-marathon. Completing the course in 1:31:13, I came 11^th overall for all of the ladies, and 7^th in my age group.

It ended up being a very warm day to run 21.1km. Regret, they name is an Under Armour long-sleeve shirt.

(I need to really remember that start-line gooseflesh is fleeting.)

I’ve been re-reading quite a bit of Robertson Davies. Six months ago it was the Salterton Trilogy, and now I’m halfway through The Depford Trilogy.

Oh! For that man’s way with words.

Marc and I have also made a budget.

Things be serious, folks.

In June I am visiting Chicago for four days. In August, Hawaii for nine.

Tough Mudder is June 21.

I will be the strongest.

(Seriously, I am Linda Hamiltoning this race like a bamf).

The one true fly in the ointment is that I haven’t been sleeping very well for the past month. In fact, there are only two days since perhaps the birth of the New Year that I can remember sleeping soundly through the night.

Sometimes I believe it might never happen again.

Sometimes I get so overwhelmed with work, and life, and thoughts, and fears, and loves, that there is no room left over to live (let alone sleep).

What I want is to live purely and plainly, without early-morning heartaches, without bed sheets soaked through from my rising panic and clammy sweat, without the sensation of a lead weight pressing down on my chest, through my chest, into my heart, through my heart.

Only I’m not sure how.

…

Dear readers,

Today is June 16th.

I recently returned from a five day trip to the land of deep dish, skyscrapers, and wind.

Seriously, Chicago is the best.

(The only thing that isn’t the best is Chicago baseball. But take my word for it when I say that this opinion isn’t a knock on the White Sox themselves per se, but more so on the sport in general. Because good grief is that crap ever boring.)

SORRY NOT SORRY.

I’ve been sleeping much better of late – trying as I might to get my anxiety in check and buckle down on long-term, effective coping mechanisms that will quiet and quell the run-run-running of words throughout my head on a second to second basis.

It’s a work in progress, but my nose is grinding away on that stone like a grinding thing.

Of late I feel like I could run forever.

Of late I like to imagine myself as swift-footed Atalanta, charging past her would-be suitors (and in the act, signing their death warrants), racing free from all worldly constraints. The only difference of course being my penchant from outlet mall spandex and race t-shirts.

One day I will spend a whack load of cash dollars on expensive beautiful running gear.

But until that day, I’m going to keep on keeping on looking like I belong on the cover of a 1979 copy of Runner’s World.

And that’s hot stuff.

…

I’ve never once stopped thinking about all of y’alls.

Thank you for your comments, emails, and words of concern and encouragement.

Tune in next time – same bat time, same bat channel.

(Same batty writer.)

I’m climbing up that spout.

A brief peek through the blinds

Friends!

Some things:

I have a confession to make.

And this time, it’s not about Orson Scott Card.

Oh no.

I must confess that I keep hearing Selena Gomez songs.

And I keep liking them.

ACK.

HOW DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN TO ME!?

Good gravy…

This latest realization came tonight when I was working out. We have this insane little “amenities room” here in our complex (a supposed stand-in for a gym whenever anyone is selling their place!) and it’s where Marc and I go to work out when the days turn frigid, and the daylight has all but vanished by 4:17pm.

(Aka November – February of every year.)

Anyways, whilst in this room, I like to pump up the crappy pop tunes and just go at it.

Tonight, while getting through my push-up/jumping lunge super-sets, I found myself dancing like a silly thing during my one minute rest period.

You can imagine my chagrin when the DJ announced at the end of the song, that my latest jam was in fact the newest release from one S. Gomez, former belle of DA BIEBZ, and overall auto-tune queen du jour.

I feel like I really must get my music palette looked out, and stat.

And yet, at the same time, I know that as long as I don’t listen to that stuff all the time (such as I don’t just eat candy all of the live long day, despite how much I enjoy it,) I’ll be fine.

We are family.

There are times in my life when I realize just how quickly time is speeding by.

This realization is sometimes correlated to specific milestones: graduations, marriages, mortgages, or child births. It may come after running into someone I haven’t seen in a long time, only to knocked over by how much they have aged, changed or matured.

Sometimes, I start thinking about it for no reason at all.

However, if you are a part of my family, there is a very good chance that this will happen to you, and at a regular basis at that.

With fourteen grandkids, there are always something new to celebrate: a job, a child, a wedding, a degree.

Often times I have a hard time remembering that we are no longer twelve years old, on the hunt for five cent candies and slurpees, to quench our summer-sunshine driven thirst.

So you have to understand how discombobulating it can be, when my now twenty-four year old cousin (who in my mind, I still eight) makes me look like a little girl:

What an absolute trip!

Tough it out

Well, it’s official.

Next summer I’ll be back in Whistler, running Tough Mudder for the second time in my life.

I am on a team “Armed and Dangerous” (aka – DA GUNS) with three fabulous friends of mine, and as the only girl I am going to be repping hard for all my BAMF ladies out there.

(Tell me – can you tell it’s a team of mostly dudes with a name like that?)

But mostly, I am just the most excited.

I had such an amazing time completing the course in 2012 with Marc, and I know that next year too will be a tremendous adventure. (I just need to find a way to 1. Cure my husband of his chronic ankle injuries so that he can 2. compete as a member of our team.)

We’ve all got to have goals, don’t we?

Because if we don’t, what’s propelling us through all this cosmic cat food in the first place?

I could hardly begin to guess.

Tricks and treats

Happy Halloween boils and gouls!

(That will never not be funny to me.)

Tonight, as the rain coats all that is living (and all that is undead – MUAHAHAHA!) M and I are sitting by the fire, playing some Skyrim, and handing out candy to all the little ones skipping about our neighbourhood in their fancy dress clothes.

We were supposed to be heading out to a murder mystery party, however poor Mr. M is sick as a dog and the thought of transforming himself into the Grim Reaper without at least one clear nostril to breathe through wasn’t exactly topping his “must-do” list, 2012 edition.

Completely side note: In 2008 he went as the Headless Horseman and it was absolutely phenomenal. Unfortunately, when it came time to cut out his eyeholes, I was laughing so hard that I accidentally poked him in the face with the scissors. As such I was immediately relieved of my duties as vision granter and he tried to do it himself.

Let’s just say it wasn’t the best.

Fast forward to us dancing our faces off at an absolutely packed Media Club to the musical stylings of our friend Marco’s Celtic-punk band.

At one point I looked over at M who was just careening about and thought, “WOW. He’s really going for it.” Right then though he lunged at me, grabbed a hold of my forearm and shouted, “I CAN’T SEE!!! HELP!!!”

Of course this set off a massive laugh attack like nothing, so I had to really work hard to get myself together AND drag him to safety.

Needless to say, he spent the rest of the evening very much with head and clear vision.

And to this day, just thinking about it makes me bust a gut like crazy.

Anywho, getting back to what I was saying, yesterday as I got into bed, I too could feel an itchy-tickle in my throat, so I thought it best if I also sat this one out, much to the chagrin of my inner drama queen.

I love a good chance to get into character, and just generally act like mad chicksor.

Today at work everyone was dressed up, which was pretty heartening to behold.

We had a Robin, a Princess Di, a Justin Bieber (probably one the most amazing things I have ever seen), an Axel Rose and Slash, a snow princess, a law suit, a flapper, a patch of seaweed – honestly, my workmates really hit it out of the park.

My favourites hands down though were these two gals:

L is the train-hoppin’ hobo, and S is the scarecrow.

THESE LADIES BE CHAMPS.

As for me, I am sad to say I somewhat half-arsed my way through Halloween this year.

For the morning I dressed as a Tough Mudder (not exactly me at my most clever I can assure you) but it was pretty fun to walk around saying, “I actually dress up every other day of the year. This is my natural self!”

What ended up happening was that I had a speaking engagement with the United Way at noon, so I needed something I could easily change out of, as I did have need to Clark Kent myself into professional attire.

(Although I kind of wish I could have gone in TM regalia. Talk about a way to pump people up! )

Also, I must apologize for not having photos to share, but I promise to post one as soon as I get a copy of the snaps S took of me in costume.

In the mean time, I’m happy to rest my knackered bones (I actually did a Tough Mudder workout yesterday, and that, combined with a long day of work, and my stand up classes at night has left me feeling a little deflated) and have a glass of wine.

Meanwhile, the kitten is investigating all the treats for our little tricksters:

What are you all up to for the night?

Stay safe, stay warm, and scare yourselves absolutely silly.

BOO!

Sweet mudder of pearl

Guess whose back? Back again?

Ethel’s back! Tell a friend!

WHAT. A. RACE.

2012-06-23 12.17.08 — Could somebody pass me a washcloth?

The great thing about all of this mud is that it covers the myriad of cuts and bruises that now decorate the length of my body.

It may or may not look like I went ten rounds with a baseball bat.

Actually, what I really want to do is get a t-shirt that says, “Yeah, but you should see the other guy!”

Also, those running shoes did not return with me on the ride home. The mud was so thick in parts of the race that people were actually losing their shoes.

Talk about trauma-rama – at mile three we passed some poor girl desperately searching through the muck to find her long gone runner – arms and legs completely lost in the mire, trying to feel about for her sinking Nike.

(This was also in a section of the course called “Bush Whacking” which had seen us literally carve our own paths down the side of a forested mountain.)

Her incredibly supportive teammate (and by supportive, I mean exasperated as hell) threw her hands up in the air and exclaimed, “Fuck the shoe!”

Fuck the shoe you say?

Oh no no no no no no no….

There is no way in heck that the unfortunate mudder would be able to continue on to finish her race without something resembling a shoe strapped onto her foot.

And by resembling I mean an exact replica.

Shoes – they matter.

Because dudes, THIS was one hell of a course.

Over 12 miles long (of which probably a good two miles were in the snow!), we went through it all: crawling in the mud under barbed wire, crawling in the mud under ever lower barbed wire, scaling ten and twelve foot walls, running up half-pipes (this nearly broke my breasts – small though they are, no word of a lie that hurt like heck), traversing monkey bars over freezing water, ACTUALLY jumping into freezing water, electrified slip and slides, electrified finish lines, WALKING UP THE SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN THAT HOUSES A BLOODY SKY JUMP (at mile ten mind you), more mud (think the consistency of newly mixed cement), more mud, running up hill, running down hill – did I mention the mud?

And seriously, it was glorious.

Brilliant.

A day of supreme bad-assery, if you will.

M and I worked together like a team on fire. It’s so amazing to see what we are capable of doing as a unit when put into these kind of situations. Neither of us complained, or whined; we continually checked in with one another, encouraged each other, let each other know what hurt, what needed to be stretched out, where we would next take water, whether one of us needed to use the loo.

Actually, funny story there.

After the Arctic Enema – even less sexy than it sounds, let me assure you – I realize that I need to quickly use the john. Well, what with my shorts and my underwear now super glued to my body, it was a hell of a time trying to get those bad boys down, let alone back up again (think removing the wettest, coldest bathing suit (re: speedo), and then trying to put it back on as fast as you possible can.)

It’s practically impossible, right?

Especially when you are trying to move it, move it.

My extremely competitive nature made me briefly consider leaving with just my shorts back in place and my underwear still straddling my upper thighs, but luckily I though better of it and made sure everything was good to go before getting back to business.

Oh, I also did the really classy thing of peeing into the urinal (this being an outhouse it was the easiest thing to access) instead of the actual toilet, because some schmuck had actually closed the lid – and there was no way I was making the effort to lift it back up. Plus, THAT’S GROSS.

Priorities!

Anywho, to get back to the race. What a day – beautiful weather, not too cold, not too hot, sun in the alpine, cooler in some parts but not freezing (that was what we had the water for.) M and I ran pretty much the entire course save the brutal, brutal track up the sky jump hill – the incline was just too much, and at way too far into the race. We jogged probably the first 50 meters before settling into as fast of a hike as possible.

It was pretty cool as we neared the finish line – you could hear the music and everybody cheering – what a way to pump you up to finish the race.

As soon as you crossed that line (after running through a massive obstacle filled with wires, some charged at 10,000 volts) M and I just collapsed into a huge hug, and just held each other for a second to drink it all in.

I cannot say all too much else except that I am so very proud of us. We achieved something pretty amazing the two of us together – 12 miles, 23 obstacles, 2 hours, twenty minutes of madness and glory.

Post-race however, as my brilliant friend K texted me later that day – “That awkward moment when you are scrubbing and scrubbing and you realize that it’s not mud, but a bruise.”

Yeaaaahhhhh:

Eeeerrrr:

IMG_1071 - Copy — Pre-shower arms, plus my number still written on my forehead.

Ooof:

Eeep:

…

Phew, so there you have it.

Also, the next race is in Seattle on September 29.

I may or may not be able to wait to get out there again.

How about I get the team t-shirts? And will that be a small, medium, or large?