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, 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.