Category Archives: humor

Calling in Sick

This will be a short post. I feel like crappy crappy crappola. I had this sinus headache, see, so I took some ibuprofen and benadryl. Now I am doped the hell up. The pain is gone, I think. It’s kind of like I’m in a different room from the pain and hope to keep the door closed a while longer.

All I want to do is lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. What I am actually doing is reading Agatha Christie plays. I can pretend that’s doing something useful, because I might find something suitable for Ilion Little Theatre to put on sometime in the future. Of course this is a mostly an excuse. I can tell right away that some of these will never do. And the chances of my wanting to direct one of them is even slimmer. Then again, they say no effort is wasted. Wait a minute, I say that. Perhaps I am right. That sounds like some half-baked philosophy suitable for Lame Post Friday.

So, yes, I am afraid this is yet another post on Why I Can’t Write a Real Post. How many of those have I made recently? How many do you suppose I can get away with? Let’s just look at it this way: I’m calling in sick. Most professions offer sick days of one kind or another. Of course, if this were a real sick day, my post could be one sentence long: I’m sick, I’m not posting. And out.

But now that my fingers are actually typing, they want to keep typing. I have several good topics to expound upon this week. I haven’t fully covered the DARE 5K yet. We went to not one but two area marinas last night. We took a nice walk to a garage sale this morning (before my sinus headache kicked in). Oh, and enjoyed a yummy breakfast at a well-known local establishment. So much for preview of coming attractions.

I see that I am over 300 words, so I think I will sign off now. Thank you for bearing with me. Here’s hoping to have a better post on Monday.

So I Ran It

I just got back from running the DARE 5K in Herkimer, NY. Oh, it was fun. Oh, it was hard. Oh, this is going to be a lame post.

There. I typed in that much, then I went and ate something and made some coffee. Soon I’ll be feeling better about everything.

A lot went on at the run this morning. I talked to some nice people. I made some silly jokes. I finished on a dead run making all kinds of horrible noises with my breathing. I walked home, cutting through a couple of parking lots to avoid where a young man had been puking on the sidewalk (Ew! Couldn’t he at least have made it to the trash can?).

I didn’t walk at all. You might think that is no big deal on a 5K, but I saw a LOT of people walking and not just on the big hill (that is, the hill up to Herkimer County Community College, which figures in quite a few of my running posts). I passed some of them. Then they passed me later on, when they started running again. My favorite part was when I caught up with three boys and two girls (teenagers). Now, these boys were part of a large group of boys, apparently part of some team or club. They were all wearing the DARE t-shirt. I saw them doing stretches together in the Elks Club parking lot before the run. I was a little intimidated. And here were three of them walking!

“What are you kids doing, letting me catch up with you?” I demanded, sounding a little like a drill sergeant. “Get going!” The boys did. “That’s better!” I approved. A minute or two later the girls started. “That’s what I like to see!” I told them.

“You tell ’em!” one of the girls said, amused. The boys were probably walking in order to flirt with the girls. You go, girls!

I think that’s all I’m going to write for now. I had really meant to do a more chronological account, so perhaps I will get to that tomorrow. For now I will say, I ran and I’m glad I did. Now that I’m having coffee, I’ve reached the “Ah, that was GOOD” stage, that often comes after a run, and you just kind of gloss over or forget those parts of the run where “good” was not the four letter word you had in mind.

Where Are Those Damn Endorphins?

So I haven’t done so well with All DARE 5K All The Time. I suppose this was a disappointment to some, a relief to others. It’s been a disappointment to me, because I would have preferred to spend the week obsessing about the silly race rather than worrying over the various crises and catastrophes I’ve been dealing with.

Be that as it may, I went running on Thursday. I had not run Tuesday or Wednesday, which I felt sure was the wrong thing to do, but in this life we cannot do everything. We make our choices and we live with the consequences (just a little half-baked philosophy there; it is Lame Post Friday after all). I thought if I just ran Thursday and Friday I could still pull off the 5K without undue stress. And for anther thing, I was in quite the foul mood and thought I could sweat it out if I beat up my body with a good hard run. I’ve done that before. I think it’s the endorphins.

My beef concoction, which I wrote about in yesterday’s blog, was simmering in the crock pot. My fancy headband of sweat-wicking material was hanging on the wooden rack with my other fine washables. My favorite sports bras were clean. I found an XL t-shirt, because I felt the need for something extra roomy. Mr. Incredible. Perfect! A superhero on my shirt to aspire to. I was off.

It was warm. How many times this summer have I missed the days of moderate temperature only to go running in the sweltering heat? I haven’t counted, but once is enough. On the brighter side, it wasn’t super humid. On the darker side, who notices these things at temperatures in the mid to upper 80s?

My legs were immediately upset with me. Was this the result of taking two days off, of working a ten-hour day, or of the stinking heat? It doesn’t matter, I told myself, because none of these conditions would apply Saturday morning. I would run again Friday. I would get a good night’s sleep. It was extremely unlikely that the temperature would be above eighty degrees at 9:15 a.m. I thought longingly of how good Saturday morning would feel. I tried not to think about how much Thursday afternoon sucked.

I ran up the hill on Main Street. Steep. I almost had a VCD attack as I neared the top (that’s vocal chord dysfunction, a breathing problem I sometimes have). I tried to breath more deeply. I refrained from throwing myself down into some grass on the side of the road and bursting into tears. I promised myself I could cry later, as long as I finished the run.

Going downhill was not the sweet relief it sometimes is, but at least it was doable. Soon I was on German Street again. Sweat started to trickle into my eyes. Wasn’t that wicking headband supposed to help that?

I saw a teenager walking along the sidewalk a short distance ahead of me. He was dressed in black with long pants. Two fashion choices I could never make in this heat. He either had very shaggy hair or was wearing one of those knitted caps you sometimes see these days (that’s how you can tell a teenager: they wear woolen hats in the summer and flip flops in the winter) (and before any younger readers accuse me of indulging in age-based stereotypes — I KNOW not all teenagers are like that and people of any age can make uncomfortable fashion choices).

Where was I? Oh yes, crossing German Street not at the corner to avoid catching up with the teenager. It really had less to do with his woolen hat than my desire to not see how long it would take me to catch up to a pedestrian. Then the bastard crossed the street too. I turned down Lansing.

Where oh where was the shade? It’s August, for heavens’ sake. Shouldn’t the sun be a LITTLE lower in the sky? I daresay it is, if only I had some way of measuring it. My run was becoming increasingly uncomfortable and, even worse, I began to realize it was NOT helping my bad mood dissipate. Where are those damn endorphins when you need them?

I crossed a street to enjoy a little shade. Then changed directions again to avoid a couple of young joggers who seemed to be trotting along with no problems whatever. Of course I was very happy for them, but I didn’t think I could smile and wave, as I like to do with pedestrians or fellow runners.

Well, the run was a means to an end, that end being that the DARE 5K will suck less. The horrible mood left me eventually, as horrible moods do. After I showered and made my blog post, I ate some of my Beef/Eggplant Crock Pot Concoction (I just now decided that is the name of the dish, like it?). It was quite delicious. And Friday’s run did not suck. Stay tuned for my coverage of the DARE 5K!

Crock Pot Creativity

I haven’t done a cooking post recently, and I did some cooking last night (Wednesday), so I thought this might be a change of pace.

Wednesday’s dinner was grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches. I thought about doing something to make it more memorable, like adding pesto or using real butter, but I was impatient to eat so I used the traditional, easy method. I did use farm stand tomato, so it was local (and yummy!), but that wasn’t what I meant to write about anyways. I got creative for Thursday’s dinner.

You see, Thursday is two days away from the DARE 5K (you knew I’d get back to talking about that sooner or later, didn’t you?). A guy at the Sneaker Store in New Hartford, NY, told me to eat a steak dinner two days before the Boilermaker and pasta the night before. The Sneaker Store, just to give a quick plug to a local business, is where I purchase my running shoes, because they are so helpful and knowledgeable. In this case, I had stopped in for running socks and advice about the intensity of my workouts the week before the big race.

I don’t know how to cook a steak, but I can throw a London Broil into the crock pot. I figured beef is beef. This would work.

I also happened to have an eggplant, which I know goes good with beef. I chopped the eggplant into bite sized pieces and put them in the bottom of the crock pot, which Steven had helpfully sprayed with no-stick stuff for me. I had some pesto I had made on Sunday, so I drizzled that over the eggplant and stirred.

My pesto is not made according to a real recipe. This time I used a combination of olive and canola oil to which I added fresh basil from my container garden, crushed garlic (which I let breathe for 15 minutes) and fresh grated Parmesan. I whirred everything around in the blender till it looked good. We had it with angel hair and chicken. I always try to make enough pesto for leftovers.

I put the London Broil on top of the eggplant, brushed it with pesto and sprinkled on a little garlic powder for good measure. Then I made a note on our grocery list to buy more garlic powder. Purists are now throwing up their hands in horror that I do not use fresh garlic exclusively. To these people I say, as kindly as possible, get over yourselves.

Then I looked in the cabinet for diced tomatoes or tomato sauce and found I have none. What’s that all about? Well, I don’t get to Aldi’s, that excellent source for canned food, as often as I used to. Also, for a while there I was going a little crazy with the diced tomatoes. They were piling up and I kept neglecting to rotate my stock with the result that some cans expired. By a couple of years. So now I err on the other side and don’t have things when I need them.

Steven found me some tubes of pizza sauce in the freezer. I’ve mentioned this sauce before: it comes with the pizza crust we sometimes buy (and for you purists who are now raising your hands in horror because I don’t make pizza crust from scratch and/or because I’m using the sauce that comes with it, oh, just put your hands down. Who asked you?). I put the tubes in some hot water to thaw and went upstairs to write yesterday’s blog post.

When I returned I squeezed the tomato sauce over the beef and eggplant and put the whole thing in the refrigerator. I have a fancy crock pot (purchased some years ago with money my mom and dad sent me for my birthday. Thanks, Mom and Dad!). The bowl comes out of the heating unit, for ease of cleaning and to put your food in the fridge overnight. A very handy feature.

Steven’s assignment today is to put the crock in the pot (or is it the pot in the crock?) and turn it on low, eight to ten hours before we plan to eat. If that turns out to be before I type this into my computer, I’ll let you know how it turns out.

ADDED NOTE: Haven’t tried the stuff yet, but it smells good and I’m hungry! I hope you’re eating well tonight, too.

I’m Not A-Mused

So I avoided a Middle-aged Musings Monday by talking about a cheesy movie. That was fun. I had another movie for Tuesday. Today I got nothin’. Time for mid-week musings? Not so much.

I actually had another movie, a non-cheesy one this time. After finishing Tuesday’s post I had written the first paragraph, just to be pro-active. Today I sat staring at that paragraph with the next sentence ringing in my head and I could. not. make. myself. write. it. What the hell, self? Is that Writer’s Block? It wasn’t Writer’s Blank, my usual malady, when I can’t even think of the next sentence. It’s not that other nameless scourge, where I write something down then erase it (although I feel another bout of that coming on… keep… fingers.. from… backspace…). Oh dear. How dreadfully boring for you, the reader. If you’re even still reading by now.

In my defense, it has been a hairy couple of days. Tuesday I was getting ready to leave work, thinking that I might run, I would make my blog post, I might work on the murder mystery I’m writing, I would probably type up the minutes of the Ilion Little Theatre Board Meeting (I hope no board members read this blog; I ought to have typed them up three weeks ago)… and for some foolish reason, I checked for messages on my cell phone, which I almost never get anyways…

And found out Steven’s sister and her husband were in town from Vermont. Eek! We knew they were THINKING ABOUT visiting, but for some silly reason thought they would let us know before they actually showed up. They were staying at the KOA Kampgrounds (I believe it’s spelled with a K in this case) just out of town but naturally wanted to see the house. They had found Steven at his place of employment. He has no cell. There is no other way to reach him.

I was actually laughing about this. I have that reaction sometimes. When I walk outside and it is raining or snowing, I often laugh. I went home, looked at the mess and stopped laughing. I may have mentioned Wonder Woman Hour, where you clean frantically and quickly. I had Wonder Woman Hour and a Half. I was exhausted! Then Steven came home and said, “Change in plans. We’re going out to their camp.” Oh, sure! On the brighter side, now parts of the house are clean.

I would like to write at greater length about the campgrounds my in-laws stayed at but feel I would like to learn more about the place first. For now suffice it to say we had a nice visit and drove home discussing a quick stop at Arby’s.

And hit a deer.

It was scary! I never hit a deer before. Steven was driving. I didn’t see a thing, I just felt the car jerk and hear a LOUD bang.

“What was that?” In a loud, panicked voice.

“We hit a deer.”

I don’t even want to talk about it. I didn’t even want to write that much, but my fingers now seem to have minds of their own (although minds that seem to be cooperating with each other… OK, bad metaphor).

Anyways, this is why I can’t write a post. The deer ate my homework (ooh, maybe that should have been the title). I’m still shook up and still trying to get done the things I meant to work on when I was instead frantically cleaning and visiting with relatives (two very worthwhile things to do; I’m not repining, only regrouping). I see a light at the end of the tunnel (probably an oncoming train), and hope to have better Mohawk Valley adventures to relate by the end of the week. Thank you for your patience.

Where’s Charleton Heston When You Need Him?

Our second horror feature Saturday night was The Mad Monster (1942), again starring George Zucco (um, for anyone just tuning in, this is a continuation of yesterday’s post).

This time out, Zucco plays a scientist who is all evil. He has a nice wolf in a little tiny cage. If that’s not evil! I hated that part of the movie. The wolf looked just like a dog. The evil doctor also has a big guy strapped to a bed, but I always feel less sorry for people than for animals.

Before anything too dramatic happened, Evil Doctor starts arguing with some guys that just magically appear around the table. That part confused Steven, who had left the room briefly to get ice cream. Apparently the guys were other scientists who had kicked Evil Doctor out of the club for being mad. Regular readers will guess that I readily understood this part of it, seeing as I spent part of Lame Post Friday explaining about how I have imaginary conversations in my head with various critics. This was a graphic depiction of that phenomenon.

Having mentally disposed of his enemies and promising to dispose of them more literally later on, Mad Scientist (isn’t that a better name than Evil Doctor?) proceeds to turn the big guy into a werewolf. I thought he looked more like something out of Planet of the Apes. Where’s Charleton Heston when you need him?

As the movie progresses we learn that the big guy is Mad Scientist’s gardener and apparently was not clear on all the job duties when he accepted the post. He’s half-witted (these movies abound in half-wits) and, if I’m not mistaken, has a crush on Mad Scientist’s daughter. The daughter believes her father is a brilliant scientist who has been maligned. She sent her boyfriend, who just happens to be a nosy reporter, away, apparently at Dad’s request. She is loyal buy lonely.

I confess I was not following things very well once the murders started. Second feature slump? Or a dull movie, despite the “marvelously theatrical” George Zucco “effortlessly stealing the show” (see previous post for quote sources). To be honest with you (as I usually am) I don’t quite remember how it ended. I seem to think that Mad Scientist got his comeuppance and his beautiful daughter ended up in her young man’s arms. Isn’t it funny that I can’t remember how the werewolf died, as I’m pretty sure he did. At least there were no spurious claims of beauty killing the beast, like in King Kong (the 1933 version, of course; I don’t remember how the remake ended).

I may have liked the movie better if I had been able to catch all the dialogue. For that we can blame my old television (purchased sometime in the last century) or, more likely, the cheap DVD (ten bucks for fifty movies, what do I expect?). However, as a second feature, it was enjoyable enough. As a blog post, I hope it entertained.

We Can’t All Be Bela Lugosi

Saturday night I continued my quest for cheesy horror with a double feature starring George Zucco. I had never heard of him, but the DVD box describes him as “marvelously theatrical,” and Leonard Maltin says he “effortlessly steals the show” in our second feature (Leonard Maltin’s 2011 Movie Guide, Signet, 2010). Who am I to argue with Leonard Maltin?

I don’t know that I need to give my usual spoiler alert, because I’m not sure I followed either movie with any accuracy. Our copies were so bad most of the dialog was difficult to understand, especially since we had two fans running. I do love a horror movie on a hot summer night.

In Dead Men Walk (1943), Zucca plays a dual role of a good twin and a bad twin, both doctors (actors just love to play dual roles and/or writers and directors just love identical twins; I may have to write a whole blog post on the phenomenon). The evil twin is dead as the movie begins, but that’s OK, because, as the they tell us in the title, dead men walk. There is a creepy prologue of a disembodied head double exposured over flame telling us… I’m not sure what. That was some of the dialogue I missed.

As the movie progresses, we learn that the good twin killed the evil twin. I personally could have used a little more information on this plot point. Good twin says it was self-defense. Evil twin says it was an ill-fated attempt to save the daughter/niece (that is, daughter of evil, niece of good).

Oh, and let’s talk about that niece for a minute. Of course, there is usually a beautiful young woman in these things, most often in deadly peril at some point. She must be sweet and vulnerable. Any additional personality is strictly optional. Come to think of it, that can be true for movie males, too, only without the sweet and vulnerable parts. The niece is mainly concerned with her young man, also a doctor. She seems completely unaware of her father’s nefarious activities and, I must point out, not particularly grief-stricken at his passing, although that may have been the fault of the lousy print. I mean, I didn’t hear everything she said. What I did hear, they didn’t give her the snappiest dialogue. I sure wish this movie had had an intrepid girl reporter, but that’s beside the point.

Bad Brother’s funeral is disrupted by a crazy old lady (no, not me) saying it is a desecration to have such an evil one in the church. She’s been nuts ever since her granddaughter was brutally murdered. Any guesses who was responsible? Well, you’re going to have to guess, because we never find out anything else about that subplot. I was grateful I heard that much.

Soon Big Brother returns, making all kinds of threats. Not surprisingly, only Good Brother gets to see him. I suppose with more budget they could have made a trippy movie where you find out at the end they are BOTH THE SAME PERSON. No such subtlety for this flick, which was really fine with me, because those trippy ones make my head hurt.

Bad Brother is a kind of a vampire. He intends to turn his daughter into one, too, but apparently this takes a lot of bites. At night she has mysterious dreams. By day she appears to be wasting away from an unknown disease. At one point her young man insists she be given a blood transfusion. She at once is better, which clues in nobody but the audience that vampires are at work. Oh, and crazy old lady, who brings her a crucifix, which helps. I’ll never understand why people in vampire movies don’t set up a perimeter of crucifixes all around the house and sleep well at night.

Zucca does a pretty good job playing two parts. I did remark at one point, thought, that it was the most professorial-looking vampire I had ever seen. That was just a cute remark, though, because he managed to be scary as well. And, after all, we can’t all be Bela Lugosi.

Things get interesting when the excitable townspeople begin to believe that Good Brother is in fact the murderer. It gets scary as events reach their dramatic conclusion. I shan’t tell you what that is, because I don’t warn you against watching this movie. In fact, if you do watch it, perhaps you could clue me in on a few of the plot points I missed due to my bad sound system. Did the niece know of her father’s evil nature? What all did that disembodied head say during the introduction? What was Bad Brother’s henchman’s name?

As usual, my review is becoming longer than the silly movie. This one runs 65 minutes, giving us plenty of time for our second feature, which I will talk about tomorrow. Stay tuned.

Not Gold, Despite Coffee

I was thinking it would be all right to go All DARE 5K All The Time for the next week or so. I’ve used that All (whatever) All The Time a few times now, but it is a misnomer. It’s really just A Lot Of Posts About (whatever). I may have already made the observation as well. Oh, what do you want from me on a Sunday?

When Steven and I first got out of bed shortly after six this morning, I said maybe I’d wait till nine, when he went to work, to run. It would be better practice for the DARE run, since that starts at nine. Then I thought better of that decision and got on my running gear.

Steven had not heard me say I would so go running and had already poured me a cup of coffee. That was OK. I would drink coffee and then run. Many athletes like a little caffeine before a work out. I’ve even been advised to do so in a couple women’s magazines. Actually, the women’s magazines usually recommend green tea. Green tea tends to have a better reputation than coffee. Well, I like that too, but today I drank coffee.

One reason I wanted to run early was that all during the week my best time to run will be 4 p.m. I’ll get plenty of practice running in the heat. The other reason was that I wanted to run out a street that has no sidewalks and I hoped to run during the time of least possible traffic.

This was Main Street. The street has a Dead End sign on it, but a pedestrian can run or walk through (I run). I’m sure I’ve mentioned it before, but I have not run that way in a while. I hoped it would be the same. After all, if they want to make it a permanent dead end, they may entirely block it off. They hadn’t yet, though, so up I went.

The upward trend continues for quite a while. That was why I wanted to run that way. I think it is steeper and I know it is longer than the hill on the DARE run. I thought, if I can do this, I’m gold.

Of course I’m not gold. I’m not gold plated. I don’t know that I even have a cheap coat of gold spray paint. How’s that for drawing out a metaphor? At any rate, I did the best I could. After all, as I repeatedly tell myself, there is no shame in running slow. The staring at my feet trick wasn’t working well, so I looked around at houses. That worked a little better, since this isn’t a way I run very often. I always like to look at something new.

I heard a loud bark and saw a large dog in a backyard. No fence. No chain that I could see. Well, perhaps his person was right there at the back door and had just let Fido out for a business meeting. Probably Fido would stay in the back taking care of business. He came out front and barked. I told him he was a good dog and I was just leaving. He was either well trained, had invisible fencing or was just not that into chasing a middle-aged runner, because he stayed in his lawn and merely barked.

The effect of this was now I was not inclined to turn around and run back the way I came, which I had assured myself I could do if the run seemed like it was too far to keep going uphill. I looked at my watch. I hadn’t been running that long. Anyways, the hill had settled into a mild upslope. I could rock this. I could see that the end of the road was steeper. That was OK, too, I told myself. I was training for the DARE run. I needed hills.

I saw something on the road ahead that may have been a leaf with the sun hitting it, may have been shiny garbage or may have been an extra small road kill. I hate seeing road kill. I look the other way. But first I have to keep looking at it to make sure it’s road kill. After all, how silly would I feel if I suddenly realized I was averting my eyes in horror over a few leaves? Then again, who would know? Oh yeah, you guys. Tell me again why I decided to write this blog?

I was going pretty good by the time I reached the end of the road, which was now Highland, not Main. I’m not clear on when it changes. I’ll have to run it again and check. I turned onto Steuben, and it was downhill all the way. I got back to German Street much farther from my house than Main Street. That was good. I needed to keep running so the 5K wouldn’t seem too long to me.

Was that my friend Nicky with his person up ahead? I wasn’t sure, but I picked up the pace to see if I could catch up. I love to stop running briefly to pet a cute dog. They were on the other side of the street, but traffic wasn’t bad. If it was them I could easily cross. Nicky’s lady thinks it’s cool when I cross the street specifically to pet Nicky. Before I got to them, they crossed back so Nicky’s lady could talk to a lady with two shih-tzus (I think they’re shih-tzus). I got to pet all three dogs. I found out the shih-tzus were named Chunk and Chelsea.

It was really a good run, in spite of not being gold on the hill. I suppose gravity will always have its say. I’m not sure if the coffee helped or not, but it certainly tasted good, and I always like to have a cuppa with my hubby. We’ll definitely celebrate over some java after I run the DARE 5K. It’s less than a week away!

I DAREd Myself

I mentioned yesterday how I ran up to Herkimer County Community College (HCCC) the front way, because it is part of the DARE 5K to be held next week. Of course, regular readers (Hi, Aunt Mary!) know that is a run I try to do regularly, just to be tough. Well, I think we all know I’m not as tough as I think I am.

This morning (Saturday) I set out to run the infamous hill again. This time I ran around the block and down Church Street instead of German Street to get to HCCC. The way blocks are set up in Herkimer, this made a slightly longer run before the hill, and a little closer to what I will experience next weekend on the actual run.

It was a lovely morning for a run, cool, breezy, not too humid. I was in fine fettle. As I reached the bottom of the hill I exchanged greetings with a lady who seemed to be waiting for a ride at the end of a driveway. I like these little moments of sociability.

Yesterday at work, when I was still dithering about the run, I had said to a co-worker, “It’s no shame to run a 5K slowly.” He agreed, having previously pointed out that I was not racing, was I? (I am not.) I hope it is no shame to run a practice run slowly either. Oh, I was shuffling. I wanted to stare at my feet, a runner’s trick so you don’t notice the steep, long hill so much. Then I remembered some deer I had seen on that route two weeks ago so looked up and over into the woods. No forest creatures to take my mind off my ills.

I ran this hill regularly when I was training for the Boilermaker so I could laugh at the hills on that run. I didn’t really laugh at the hills that day, although I got a bit of a chuckle out of the silly jokes other runners and I were making. Today I did not feel the least bit inclined to laughter. Just make it around the corner, I told myself. So what, I answered, it just keeps going up after that! Oh, shut up and run.

Of course I reached the top eventually. I’ve never yet given up on that or any other hill, so I’ve got that going for me. Yesterday I had a terrible stitch in my side at that point. When this happens I usually put my arms over my head, stretch and breath deeply as best as I can while still maintaining somewhat of a run. This is not the same thing as putting fists in the air while somebody sings the chorus of “We Are the Champions,” but it is a reminiscent move and I try to take comfort in that. Today it was not necessary. I don’t think the college students are back, so nobody was likely to look our their window and see a crazy old lady running by. I hope.

After my run, I decided I would indeed run the DARE 5K. It will probably be fun and make a decent blog post. Plus, I’ve been telling many people I intend to do it. Why should I give them another reason to laugh and point? Registration fee goes up as of Monday, so I thought I would walk to the police station and drop it off. First I had some things I wanted to get done around the house. Tabby and I set out shortly after eleven.

What a stupid time of day for me to pick! It was hot and sunny. I even went back to the house to get my sunglasses. I should have gone back to the house and gotten my air conditioned truck, but Tabby had seemed to excited for the walk, plus I’ve been putting on a few pounds. Surely if I stuck to the shade it would be OK.

It pretty much was, although there was not nearly enough shade for my liking. I was a little worried the cop on duty might not know much about the DARE run, but it was no problem. By the time we were headed back, though, I felt drenched. I was certain I had sweated off all the sunscreen on my face and hoped my crazy old lady hat would offer sufficient protection. Of course, it also made my head sweat. I kept wanting to take it off when the breeze blew, to try to dry off my hair (I really have too much hair). Tabby kept picking the sunniest spots to stop and sniff, and I kept telling her to come on. At last we made it back home, where we both drank some water and I turned on all the fans.

So now I have proven to myself I will be able to run the DARE, and I have registered to run the DARE. And I’ve written a blog post about both. Can I take the rest of the day off?

Lame Attempts

So there I was at work, writing a blog post titled “Dithering over the DARE.” I am, of course, a past master of dithering. And then I didn’t like it.

I had intended to go running after work, despite the tremendous humidity, so I thought I might write about that. I even had a title picked out, “Oh, the Humidity.” You know, like that guy said, “Oh, the humanity!” during the Hindenberg disaster. Or is that being flippant about a tragedy? Could be, but I have several times seen and heard “Oh the humanity” used with ironic intent, so I think it is OK. But when I sat down at the computer, nothing.

I thought, “I can’t do ANOTHER post about not having anything to write about.” Then I thought, “Sure I can. It’s Lame Post Friday; I can do whatever I want.”

The reason I could not finish writing the first post is that I felt certain any number of people would tell me to stop being such a whiny baby or to quit rationalizing or some other rude, superior thing the people in my head can always come up with. I tend to spend a lot of time having imaginary conversations with people who criticize everything I do, say or think. In fact, as I write this, I can picture some snotty writer telling me I MUST silence the inner critic or I’ll NEVER be a writer. And somebody else telling me to quit complaining about it.

Huh. I bet neither one of them are published either.

And now I don’t like this post either. You know, I’m just not messing with it today. I’ll say something concrete instead: I was dithering about the DARE 5K because I have not been training as hard as I had intended to. Also, my running partner and cheering section have defected. After work today, I ran up the steep hill that is part of the DARE 5K course, in the steamy humidity. I made it, and the way back down was distinctly pleasant, what with gravity and the breeze picking up.

I think this has been the lamest Friday post yet. I don’t know whether to feel proud or sheepish. I’ll compromise on silly. See you Saturday.