I runned fast to be better than I used to be. It is out there on the road where I find myself arguing with my thoughts. Where is the finish line?

Tuesday, April 19, 2016

Why God?


I get so mad at the scale. The ginger in me comes out when the number is the same. Same! I have worked so hard in the last two weeks. I want to throw that evil thing across the room. Sigh.

No pounds off the booty. However, I have lost inches. I guess that counts. My coach said to "shad up" about the scale and in fact, don't use it but once a month. I am obsessed. I have to use it every day. I feel better. My pace is better.

I don't like how I look.

It is killing me.

Clean eating and exercise feeds the soul. Unfortunately, at my age, everything is harder and takes longer. Why, God?

That's all I have to say about that.

Wednesday, April 13, 2016

Running With The Dinosaurs

Oh, goodness me!

(cough, cough)

Sorry, it's a little dusty in here.

Running has been awesome! I didn't realize how much longer and farther I can go on my long runs when I have music in my ears and I am not listening to my every dying breath. Whodathunk?

When my music thingy got lost...I just punted. What I didn't know is how much decrease in output would occur.

I'm glad I got my phone to download some music. It isn't great and I have to manually click on forward because the auto shuffle doesn't work. Why? Because iphone3 is a yesterday's technology and is becoming obsolete. A dinosaur, if you will.

I like to run with the dinosaurs. Plus...IT IS FREE!

One day I will find my music device of awesomeness. I just know I put it in a really good safe place. Erg.

The food plan is going well this week. Pre-measured containers are the super big idea birthed from a genius! Someday I hope to meet their makers, but for right now...I am just putting the food in and taking it to work. When it is all gone...that's all I get. Most of the time I am stuffed and don't eat it all. And guess what? I am always at my proper calorie level with the fresh foods. No grease. No carb overloading. No sugary sweets. Why? They are not in there. Ta da!

Maybe I will be able to defeat many in a Spartan game after all.

Right now...I will not be last!

Monday, March 28, 2016

It's Only 6 Inches

Have you ever put yourself on a strict food plan? I do it often. It goes in cycles. Not that I get off the train, well, I do, but I try to stay on it. Around the holidays...I might get derailed. What I find is when I eat clean, I feel good. I'm fit and happy...I can even wear a little sexy on the outside and discard tents for attire.

A not surprisingly thing happens when I stop measuring...my proportion sizes in my head seems to grow a little in the areas of carbs and proteins. I'm like..that freaking 10 oz steak is going to fit in my 4 oz measuring container, by golly. Yes sir!

Then that little sweet potato grows into the nice baker size. Before you know it...whammo! The new image sizes add up and JLo booty issues begin.

Let's get one thing straight.

I hate to measure.

I hate it, like loathe.

I don't know why, but it seems to be a bother for me. I make a big deal out of it. So what did I do to combat that? I got pre-measure plastic container thingies. I dump the food in there and close the lid...put it in the lunch bucket. I got plastic lunch bento box like devices to hold my food. They are also pre-measured. Amazon is my friend. Beachbody.com is my friend. There really is no guess work anymore.

Thank God I'm not a man. I would never be able to get it right.

I'm also training myself to go back to eating every 2 hours. I plan out my whole day in my work lunch box so when I get home...it's usually fish or chicken and rabbit food. No desserts.

I have found I cannot eat anything sugar. I'm a crack addict and if I have just one...it sends me off the Good Food Train.

As I approach 50, (*shudder*), I have to get more fit as I am finding it harder to move around and do things. Even simple reaching becomes snap, crackle, pop! Whiskey-tango-foxtrot. When did it all sneak up on me?

Oh yes, we can all look like this with a little clean eating, exercise, and Photoshop...

So what is realistic?

I was a size 2-4 in my 40s. I maintained that size by being a freak of nature workout slave. I don't want to do that anymore. I love to run (wog) and my races keep me motivated. I love to feel energized. BUTT-I'm not competing nor is it a life and death issue being a cop anymore...so I want a happy medium. Can I still look like that? ^^^^ Probably not without extreme discipline. I have a life, too. I'm active. BUTT-I want to do all and not feel I'm always only working out. 

Do I have it in me?

We shall see. Time will tell. 

Then, I will show pictures of the results. ON THE INTERNET. They will be there for all in perpetuity. 


I think I will wear more clothes, however. Sorry to disappoint. 

Tuesday, March 22, 2016

Food Math and Moobs

Don't let dried fruit fool you. Sure, it's great for hiking and in a pinch. BUT-it is loaded with calories and sugar. For instance, I have this package weighing 10 oz. of dried fruit goodness. One fourth cup is 110 calories and inside is 9 servings. So you put all that goodness down the poop chute, then you have 990 calories in one sitting.

Well, bull to the shit. There are NOT 9--- 1/4 cup servings in a 10 oz package of dried fruit. I don't care how you slice it, it ain't so. These people are off their rockers. I'm not sure which rock they crawled out from under but they can go right back under there and redo the math.


It's hard to get skinny as it is. I don't need people trying to trick me.

Trickery is everywhere.

Another problem I have located is that organic doesn't always mean organic. They might grow it all nice and proper and then wash it in pesticide. Remember acid rain? Yeah. It's like that. Or the pollen from the GMO crops blows on your organic field, making everything Round Up ready to eat. Or they bring in manure pooped out from cows and sheep who eat GMO feed.

We have to get some regulations all up in here. I'm not an environmentalist weirdo, but I'm all for food regulation and transparency. Enough with the FDA allowing crack (sugar) to be put into everything so we buy more. It's all a conspiracy.

Sad thing is the farmers don't get any of those kickbacks. I'm not sure other than big corporations who is getting those green backs. Maybe some of those FDA moobs or some government cheese trying to make a deal on the side.

Boy. What I wouldn't give to inspect food and keep everyone in compliance. I am sure I would need an entourage to keep me safe and I would have to pack a few extra backup guns for protection. I could be like an undercover agent for the food industry, only right out front.

Silly people.


Julia Roberts exposed all those conspiracies, why can't I make one up? It sounds kind of plausible. I'm sticking by the math bungle, though. That doesn't add up.

Thursday, March 17, 2016

Smoking The Greens

Well, my body is finally getting balanced again. Water intake is now 64 ounces a day. Dehydration seems to have been the problem and boy howdy that whacked everything else. Otherwise, the doctors are stumped.

Training is back in order. Medical issues are setbacks that is for sure and I'm glad to be going forward on the running band wagon with warm weather. Erg. Der troubles of getting old. Pooey.

I fight it.

I think I'm 29 in my mind. Then mirrors happen. Bastards.

Don't forget to eat your greens today in celebration of Saint Patty's Day! Snork snork. BTW...that's salad greens, you hippies! No funny brownies. Go smoke up the greens by running cross country. Over the grass. Don't smoke it in a pipe.

Oh, and here's a four leaf clover for good luck...

Now get your shoes on and move. I don't care how fast. Just don't be last.

Monday, March 14, 2016

The Struggle With Greens

Why I Am Against Salads by Fargo

Here I sit devouring my strawberry and spinach mixture with Balsamic vinaigrette. Notice if you mix up the letters, the word "regret" pops in there. I don't know why I am against a salad on this particular day, but it does not tickle my fancy. 

I long for fields of mashed potatoes and gravy with a nice juicy steak. Unfortunately, that would also long to stick to my butt. And on this fitness train, that would be counterproductive. However, today I am still against salads. I think I should have been born in the Pacific, a Samoan. But then again, moo moos are not for everyone. Or are they?

It's a struggle. 

Monday, March 7, 2016

Fat America

Sugar is crack.

It is toxic.

It's a temptational (that is a word) sin hell bent on coaxing you into the abyss. That's a lot of religion in one sentence. But- food with sugar is like marijuana laced with meth. You don't see it and once you have it...too late! You are addicted. But to what you just don't know, its just that you have to have it. It calls you from the corner, from above, from below. It's everywhere.

Now I'm not saying all sugars are bad, but we eat way too much. They put it in everything so you buy more and want more...peanut butter, spaghetti sauce, juices, bread, etc. Have you ever eaten peanut butter without sugar...yeck, pooey! Ok. Actually, I don't mind it. And no, I don't add grape jelly to supplement the loss of the sugar crack. I like peanut butter sandwiches with two ingredients-peanut butter and bread.

What the what? No jelly?

I find it odd that our food changed drastically after 1980. Remember when we were healthier? It was not all contributed to our youth. So what happened?

1. Sugar-mostly refined
2. Chemicals; additives; preservatives; artificial sweeteners; pesticides; hormones and antibiotics in meat
3. Prescription drugs
4. Barney

It's as easy as 1, 2, 3.

Experts would also add in there that changing gut bacteria over the years has attributed to fat America. This is a result of food makeup changes and chemicals and prescription drugs, so we are still back to 1, 2, 3.

Kapeesh? It's not rocket science.

Ripley's believe it or not. That is the statement.

You may choose to take this like a grain of salt or like a boss. Is this my opinion? Yes. It is also the opinion of several doctors but I can't name any other than my family doctor. She probably wants to remain anonymous rather than be linked to me.

So what does all this mean or what am I getting at? Stop eating crack.

It means all these things change our metabolism, affects how our body reacts to chemical influences, how our body absorbs foreign substances, organ health, weight gain, etc.

I want just the food. Is that possible?

Gardening and careful shopping. That's the ticket.

There are haters and disbelievers.

What if the food industry was just trying to pickle us so we live forever? Bwahahaha!

We've all seen the shows and heard it ring out in the farm land about how the food industry is rigged and Monsanto was a part of it. For years crops got more productive, bigger, and better and weed free. But at that time we didn't know what the chemicals were doing to us.

How many farmers do you know got sued when Round Up ready crops pollinated on their fields and they had a practice of reusing [part of their seed for the next year? Their new seed had some traces of round up from the wind blowing the neighbors Round Up readiness into their fields, but alas, the farmer was supposed to then pay for the benefit to the seed companies. What a crock of shit.  It made it impossible in court for any innocent farmers to win and several lost everything. Shameful.

And then we ate it. In everything. Now we are toting organic everything else which costs more and we can't even be sure it really means pesticide or chemical free. We have to read, read, read. Research everything. Question everything.

It's a cycle of bullshit.

Lucky for me I have the Amish.

And I have a garden built in the middle of manufacturing Amercia. Like, in the soil which hath might be contaminated over years of industry. I can't win.

Wednesday, March 2, 2016

Just Don't Be Last

I did not fall off the turnip truck into a large bag of dicks, if that is what you are thinking. But wouldn't that be nice? It would even be nicer if it was a bag of large dicks. But that's not my life.

I have been running. I have been lifting weights. Life is just a cycle of crazy and so my posting has been limited, small, even minute. (That's MY-NOOT, not the time kind of word)  Shame on me.

Again, I have cut out sugars. Why again?

Because I keep repeating the madness. It's Cadbury Creme Egg season. Damn you, Easter Bunny!

The only sugar in my system now is an occasional honey. Honey from the bees, not the knees. I have discovered that the thyme honey I brought back from Greece is excellent as a light glaze on a piece of lean ham steak. Divine.

Acne has prevailed as a running accessory. It sucks to be me.

And that pretty much sums up my madness today.

You too can look like this with good genetics. 

Advice of the day:

Keep moving. Get up off the couch. Replace the processed food with clean. You will feel better. It takes about 2-4 weeks to get your stride. Sign up for a walk or running race. Do it. Don't be afraid. No one cares if you don't win, just don't be last.

If you are needing a new challenge...why not try a trail race, a Mudder or Spartan event, or a Triathalon? Kick some ass. Push yourself.

Oh, and dress nice and match in public. When you are in private, no one cares. Get your exercise gear to reflect you. If you like what you work out in, it will boost your attitude toward the activity you are involved in and makes all the difference.

And lastly, don't go for the Honey Boo Boo look.


Just a thought.

Thursday, February 18, 2016

Snark and Aliens

Whew! It's a little dusty around here. Funny how life sweeps you up and before you know it you are eating chips and a big honking burger at the local Grill & Thrill. Then it's that little donut.

I have been caring for an alien baby, but not by choice. My surgery imploded inside or something. Not really, but it feels that way. Imagine this girl who is running and working on being in shape and getting ready for race season (well, fair weather race season anyway) and she is sporting this look of distention. It's not pretty. Supposedly, the swelling is going to go down. This is not a fat joke. Although I wish it were.

My brother is very ill and has had been diagnosed with Crohn's since he was 12 Now they are not so sure that is what it is and so whatever. But he is still extremely sick, but the toughest man I know besides my grandpa. Anyway, I asked him how he was leading up to his colon removal surgery and he said he was weak and felt like shit. "Basically, I look like one of those Ethiopian children with the big extended bellies minus the flies." Yes, he has a snarky sense of humor. God love him.

I now know what he means. However, I feel like more like Fat Bastard minus the juicy chicken legs with BBQ sauce. Do you know how many stupid people have asked me when my baby is due and I am 48 freaking years old with wrinkles? Word of advice: don't ever ask someone about their baby unless they have a frickin' shirt on that says "baby on board" otherwise you might be insulting the fat lady.

After speaking to my doctor yesterday for post-op follow up I am pleased to announce I do not have cancer. I did have a strange reaction to his words that my uterus looks great inside now. He's not even a creeper doctor, but I just can't get into organs unless it is a big, giant....ok...let's not go there. Enough about roosters.

So, the swelling will go down. I will just continue to be the runner donning the basketball. Here is a non-selfie selfie taken of me recently. And when I show people how fat I am and feel by this picture, they say, "Oh, you aren't fat. We can't see anything because you have your coat on."

That was supposed to make me feel better I guess. Well, it didn't.

(Cue the smart ass tone and high pitch) "Oh, you aren't fat, Fargo. You are disguised by a tent."  Well, who doesn't look skinny in a tent? You can see I have a fat fucking face and I know the alien uterus is under my coat.  I AM A BUBBLE HEAD! 

Ok. No need for self deprivation. Get on with it!

My next race is around St. Patty's Day. Why? Because you run for beer. Who wouldn't want to? After the race, you get a free micro brew from the local brewers. Yum. It's also that time of year that I mark my lowest pace going into race season and each additional race I gear up to beat the last one. 

Am I going to ever run a major marathon? Probably not. At least it isn't a goal right now. I have enjoyed challenging myself on the state races because they are all different. We'll see where this takes me. Right now, the mother ship is landing outside and perhaps they will take this alien basketball I call a uterus with them. 

If not, I am going to continue to use it as a cup holder or an armrest. 

What inspires you? Beating your old pace? Picture motivation? A workout partner? Get into it. Do it. I would answer all three. 

Once, I get down to my fighting weight, I'm going to get these boobs: 

Well, not these boobs exactly because they are on someone already, and I am not Buffalo Bill (it puts the lotion on...). But I'm going to get a bra with duct tape like that so mine are all up in my face and not down on the ground. I wonder what people would say if I pranced around town with my hoohah teasing a glimpse out of my sweats like that. I suppose it wouldn't matter as long as I had a six pack. Around here it could be Keystone Light. 

Day Two of super clean living and race diet. I have to say "diet" because it has the word, "die" in it. It is brutal but necessary. Although I am working my way up to marathon miles, I am not running in one. I don't think so anyway. My first goal is to get super fast on the 10K and then the half marathon. What is super fast? Well, for me...I want to keep an 8:30 pace for a 10K. 

Put your shoes on? Move around! Go get it!

Tuesday, February 2, 2016

You Got To Move It, Move It!

It has been four score and seven years ago since I have posted.

There really is no excuse. I have been keeping a food and exercise log regularly so at least all the cheese hasn't slipped off my cracker.

Additionally, I wear my fit tracker (Fitbit Flex) day and night. When I run outside, I don my Garmin Forerunner which monitors pace per mile, GPS maps my route, and time...blah, blah, blah. Anyway, those things are important to me. I shaved off 2 minutes last year off my mile time using these devices and changing my training.

What am I training for? The Boston Marathon? No. I know my limits.

I just want to look good naked!

I just want to better myself. I want to feel strong and healthy. It really makes a difference to my mental well being when I take care  of myself and exercise regularly. Even shedding pounds has been a priority not to look like JLo, (that would require me to become Latino) but for me. It's all about me.

When the weight comes off, I find myself trying to achieve the "chiseled" look. It is a goal in a far, far away land. It requires a lot of time and dedication not only to cardio but to strength training and weight lifting. I have never been one to look like this on a regular basis:

But, I did reach a fitness milestone when I was 43 and kept it until about 45 where I was toned and had a great physical fitness level.  At 46,  my medical problems overtook my brain and my mental toughness waned. I became lost in a rut, feeling pain all day long and the inability to do simple fitness workouts were torture on my neck and shoulder. Whodathunk I had a broken neck? I didn't know until it healed wrong. I try to think back to why I didn't know and how could I not have known. It is frustrating. Over time, I got adjusted to the pain, but I could not lift things around the house, or accomplish any running for longer than 15 minutes without feeling a lot of pain to the point that I just didn't do it. It took everything I had to keep up the house and yard. I can't understand how I lived like that. Later, my uterus decided to be angry and create another medical issue, but I only let that go on a couple months.

I am so glad all of that is over. Sometimes getting old is a bitch. I really took things for granted up until now.

Faithfully I am doing traction and physical therapy exercises every day along with my running and strength training; I feel like a new person. I can't lift heavy weights again, nor attend martial arts classes, but I can modify things to push myself. Now I know what the problems are and I can recognize when I need to go back to the doctor. I am sure someday I my neck will require surgery but I will work to keep strong to avoid that for as long as I can.

I really believe you can shape your body any way you wish. It just depends how much time and effort you want to dedicate to it and do I want it to run my life? No. It is a priority, however. You will see me being active in outdoor activities rather than spending 8 hours a day in a gym. I spend 5 days a week for a dedicated workout and the rest of my fitness is fun. It's not really intentional fitness. It's just how I live my life. I like the outdoors.

I recently bought something to spark my attitude and humor. It was just a shirt. Cost me $22.00 but it showcases my humor, it is soft, and I like it. I also bought Under Armor running socks for way cheap on sale and so it put a little pep in my step. It's the little things. Sometimes it's an apple, sometimes it's a beer. Today it was a shirt and some socks.
Me thinks I have a great sense of humor!
We all have those days of dread where we don't want to actually go to the gym or get up and do that workout. I constantly have to remind myself that I have never left the gym angry or regretting that I got out on that road and ran. Even if it ended up being a day of wogging, I felt good. It's a constant struggle.

Sometimes I eat cake, just not all of it.

I know at this age what it takes to be fit and get to my goal is like dangling a Cadbury Creme egg 30 feet away instead of 3. It takes more to get where I want to. As I approach 50, I get inspired by women my age or older who are what I would call super fit. Although I know I will not achieve that status unless it consumes me, I do admire their dedication and they motivate me to keep going.

Ultimately, you need to do what makes you happy. But just keep moving so you can enjoy things later in life. Don't be sedentary. You don't have to be an Olympian athlete or embark on some impossible workout routine. Baby steps.

You might blow this off and say, "I am so sick of people saying I should move or exercise. I don't want hear about it anymore! I am lazy! I like me! I just want to eat what I want and I don't like to exercise." That's not what I am saying. That's Ok. As long as you are happy with yourself, that is all that matters. My issues are not body image, although I am very judgy about myself in front of a mirror. My issues are health, energy, and activity. I like to be active! I like to play and run and throw the ball, water ski, kayak, fish, etc. I know what it's like to be stifled by medical issues and stuck. It's like The Man. I am not going to let The Man gets me down. It's different when it's your choice rather than something out of your control.

Goll, Fargo, you are so full of shit. Maybe I am. It's working for me, tho.

So what? So what can I do on day one of I don't want to do anything? Just take a walk. Give yourself time to meditate or relax alone just for a few minutes each day. Sit at the kitchen table. Make it a morning ritual. Get your mind right. Have a happy spirit. Those are the things that are important.

Tuesday, January 5, 2016

And Then I Said Boosh!

I write this partially stoned so excuse any gibberish. Not sure how long I will be in this fog of anesthesiology. Back up the bus. Let's put this blarney blast in the right order of sense.

Yesterday evening I received a phone call from my mother, Betty White.

"Hi, honey. What are  you doing?"

"Hi, Mom. I am taking a shower and shaving myself, preparing for the surgery tomorrow. I was hoping they will give me a Brazilian. "

"Yeah. Oh. Oh."

"Mom. A Brazilian down there."

"Ok." (She giggles)

"Mom. Not a man. I have hard wood floors. "

"Ok, honey."

"You know. NO pubic hair. No growlers going on down there competing to see sunlight. Take them all out. Squeaky clean hoohah. I'm in the prime of my sexual age and it makes for the best sex and good hygiene. Plus I would think the doc would want the bush cleared down there to do his thing."

"Eh. Uh. I really don't know what to say about that. Do they really do that down there before surgery?"

"Do I have to teach you all about modern sexual desires and grooming techniques of  a woman in her prime? No. Never mind. That is wrong. That didn't sound right. A daughter should not teach the mother. Ugh. Just read about it in porn mags or Cosmo like I did when I was a kid."

"I learn something new every day!"

"How is everything?"

"Fine." (typical answer when I know something is up with the family-I didn't even catch it until today when she told me my brother is having major surgery on the 25th and has been declining rapidly these last couple days.) "I have been busy with things and organizing (big red flag there) and ....mawah wah wah."

(Insert Charlie Brown's mother noises-I cut my leg with a razor so I didn't hear this but should have guessed it to be a distraction by my mother to avoid talking about the bro).


"Well, I just wanted to wish you luck on your surgery and I will pray for you."

"Thanks, Mom."

And so I slept and woke up at 0400 to embark on my surgery journey 32 miles away, not the nearest hospital, but the one connected to Purdue. Only the best for the hoohah.

My nurse was Whitney and she introduced me to a nursing student named Ashley from Purdue. Whitney was a very nice and enthusiastic woman and our humor hit it right off. I told her most nurses I ever met were Whitneys, Britneys, Ashleys, Heathers, or Lisas. "You are sure to pass the nursing program just because of your name. Don't sweat it." She looked at me like I was a weirdo. We got through all the cop shit medical history and the exchange of some fun stories.

She was training on IV sticks. When Whitney looked at my hands, she said, "Oh my." She told her trainee, "This could be interesting."

"Yeah, I'm not hydrated. I was told nothing for 12 hours so I had nothing. Believe me, I could use some water. I feel like I've trekked across the Sahara and I'm a little parched."

"Well, your veins are yikes."

I could tell she was worried. After four tries to each hand, I looked like Ronda Roussey after her last fight where she got the shit beat out of her. Or at least like I got into a street brawl. That's what I will tell all my friends. She was on the verge of tears. None of it hurt so I didn't get mad.

"Ashley, she's really the one in training, isn't she?"

Ashley got wide eyed and didn't know it was OK to laugh. I tried to assure Whitney it was OK and it didn't bother me. She didn't want to do it in the arm, but really had no choice. That took two more sticks. She was beside herself and said she was having a hard time containing her composure. She apologized over and over. Ashley piped up and said, "I'm surprised you aren't demanding another person to do this like right now and yelling and stuff." I laughed. Whitney laughed.

I told her to go in there again. The last time she got it and she was relieved.


"Yes, Kathryn."

"You're still my favorite nurse."

"You should really fire me."


Whitney went over the three procedures for the day using all the big medical words and explaining them in great laymen terms afterward. It was about 10 minutes later when my vagina doctor came in to look at my chart and say hello.

"Hello, Kathryn. We are all set for "blah, blah, and blah"(I can't repeat those big long words) and did they explain exactly what these procedures are and what we will do?

"Hello, Doc. Yep. Whitney gave me a detailed explanation. First, you are going to take a melon baller scoop and get all those cysts, fibroids, and alien mass out of there.  Next in goes a hoohah camera to get up all in there and see what's going on, then FLAMES." (Jazz hands and right movement in explosion demonstration and disruptive noises and spittle effects)


Apparently, that was too much. Whitney looked panicked. Ashley laughed. At least I made someone's day.

Doc looked at me for a minute and then smirked but kept his stoic appearance. "Ok. You got it. Let's do this thing." (claps hands together and shuts notebook) He left abruptly. I almost felt like Rocky Balboa's new training partner. Was I to high five the doc? Or fist bump?

I didn't get a chance. Maybe he had to go meditate in order to deal with me.

The anesthesiologist was a doll and after going over my medical history again she smiled when she saw the information on my records where I was insured by the State of Wyoming and had cop injuries. "I heard you were a little anxious about a first big surgery. I ordered something to relax you. You should be feeling that pretty soon. "

"Shazam! Thank you, doc."

"You're welcome. Now let's get you on your way. Doctor D is ready."

Wheeling me down to the OR, she said, " Thank you for being of service to your community. I bet we could talk about some good cop stories in the OR. (It was a trick. I was starting to hear everything very amplified and it was getting foggy. I was straining to stay focused) It's an honor to treat you today."

Well, I'll be a shiz nits. That was pretty darn nice for her to say.

The nurses panicked that the doctor was doing the wheeling and she waved them off. I could tell she just did things and it didn't matter chain of command or prestige about a task. She was a good egg. I felt confident I was just being a big pansy.

"OOo. Aliens. You aren't going to poke instruments in my eyes are you?"

"What? Of course not."

"Those big lights. They look like the mother ship."

I was slung onto the OR bed gently by some girl nurses and that was all she wrote. Lights out, Gladys.

That was the best nap I ever had.

I did not die.

I'm pretty sure they didn't experience anything like me.

Monday, January 4, 2016

In The Beginning

OMG, Fargo, you have so many blogs. Can't you focus? Why are you starting up another venue for your snarky blurbs? You on crack? You are sick. Go see a shrink. They have something for that. Fargo has veered off into left field. Let's not get too crazy.

This is for me, I said.

Don't we all want to look like a fitness model? Is it achievable? Yes. BUT IT AIN'T EASY, SISTER. Have I ever looked like one?NO WAY. Duh. Does exercise bore a lot of people? Yep. It's not for everyone, especially running. Many hate it. It's a chore. It's hard. I can't get motivated. It's all there inside me too. BUT- This is what I can do and therefore I does.

But first...some inspiration...

This is how I work out. I like to get my sex on.
Really, people? So realistic.

I must keep myself accountable and if it is in the public eye, I can't go wrong, right? I have good intentions. There are expectations from having an audience. For example, you really don't want to fuck up.

While this fitness journey might be boring to most, I hope it keeps me on track. You might even choose to ignore me or roll your eyes at yet another ho-hum fitness blog.

But what if it doesn't? What if it is the greatest joy of your day and I made you smile? It might even entertain. Maybe you can relate. I'm a goober. Good grief, there is so much to see on the road...so much to feel...so many excruciating moments. Why keep them to myself?

How many of you know that during running races, there often are no potty chairs and runners sometimes pee their pants? It's warm going down and cold in the drying process with a big yuck feeling in the hoochie coochie. NOT to mention chafing!

Wait. Wait. I know. Have you experienced an extreme WTF moment where you are in thoughtful bliss... in your groove...only to encounter a skunk on your trail with no where to go? Have corn fields served as Porta Potties for you? Or do you run under the cloak of darkness because you are having a fat day and by golly-NO ONE, I mean NO ONE-can see you? What about those tantrums where you are screaming at God in the middle of the country road looking like a psychotic fool? Or the injuries? Oy. The injuries. It is not for the faint nor whiny weenies who say they can't or won't because running comes in all forms, shapes, and sizes. Even cripples run or walk so fast they keep up with my speed.

There are so many ultimate positives to getting your running jam on...

1) Did you know running increases your sex drive? Oh yeah. Endorphins increase. This is not a species of marine mammals. These are an analgesic group of brain secretors which have an opiate effect on your jizz whiz.

2) You can become a skinny bitch.

3) You can do it until you are a hunerd and one.

4) You can talk about it like CrossFit junkies and drive your friends who don't run crazy or just plain run them out of your life.

5) My doctor said I can reverse bad medicine. I'm sure she didn't mean that I was an addict of some sorts, but, well...you know. She's from India. There is a translation problem. Sorry, Doc. Love ya!

Running is where I find myself. NOT that I am lost, but it is where I think and work out problems, curse at my faults, mistakes, and try to find workable solutions. Really, if I hadn't been running, none of the world's problems would be solved. Oh, wait. The world is a mess. Well, you know what I mean. It's an individual and a team sport at the same time. The first race up is St. Patty's Day.

Wish me luck!

But first, I must have surgery. I'm so glad I have an iron crotch. I hope. Vaginas can take a pounding. I expect to be back to work the next day!
This is what the inside of my uterus feels like right now.

In the meantime, if you want to join me, I would love that and any comments including ones to tell me to shut the fuck up are welcomed here.

This place is open to the world. You can let it all hang out...except your vagina. It's not that kind of site.