Not by me, of course. I'm going to have to read this thing about 10 times to internalize it.
This was put together by Steve Levitt of Freakonomics fame who also couldn't work it out so he called on some friends to do it for him.
This article is a MUST read for all of you - and I MEAN it! The Mom has spoken.
Shout outs to my former colleague and current friend and occasional (as in once, so far) triathlon training buddy, Tim Lang.
This is a test of my RSS feed which I think is totally broken,
If you happen to see this and you know the answer could you please tell me about the Gatorade swim at an IM? How many people, how long, lots of boats? Do you need to be registered - do they even ask?
Thanks!
When Humbly Ann was but a wee lass in high school she asked if we could get a kitten. I said no. I had been saying no since my kids were very small because I don't like cats - I'm a dog person. She asked again and told me a girl at school had a cat with a litter but the mama cat had died and they REALLY needed to find homes for the kittens and the kitten WOULD DIE if I didn't help out. I said I was sorry but no - no cat. I went to pick her up one day and she walked up to the car, holding out her hand in which was the tiniest little kitten and she said, "Look Mom - look how cute she is. Please, Please, Please can we keep her? We can give her back if it doesn't work out" and I caved.
I'm sure I have a picture of this tiny kitten somewhere. You could easily fit her in the palm of your hand. Heck, even I could fit her in the palm of MY hand it's quite small. When we took her to the vet to get shots they sent her home because she was wasn't old enough yet - she was only about a month old. Of course I wanted to send her back but you can probably figure out how that went.
To her credit, 2 weeks later Humbly took the kitten and walked 3/4 of a mile to the vets and using her own money got the cat vaccinated and checked. I was impressed and the cat was officially hers. Until she went to college and got all fickle and got a different cat and then the cat was mine. Every attempt to give her back has been rebuffed, possibly because this adorable kitten grew up to be fatty McFatster - the cat who looked like she ate a football. Not so cute. She also turned into one of those cats that jumps on your lap, purrs deeply and then bites your hand while you're petting her. Not cute at all and not the obvious choice as the object of my affection.
So please tell me how it’s come to pass that me, “not a cat person” who never wanted this beast is now holding her like a baby, force feeding her and ending up looking like the mother of a toddler who has just learned the joy and magic of using a spoon? I coo to her using that voice we reserve for infants and the deeply mentally infirm, “come on kitty – yum yum! Eat this widdle puddy – IT’S YUMMY! And it will make you strong!” as the cat tries to claw out my eyeballs and run under the bed. How ever did that happen?
I thought it was grief. The cat and the dog were best buddies and snuggle mates. The dog would try desperately to get the cat to play with her and the cat would act offended and indifferent, turning away from the dog with the obvious, "*yawn* - you REALLY think I'm going to run around and let you chase me? Puleez."
The cat was forever trying to steal the dog's food and really seemed to enjoy the game of sneaking up to eat it before the dog ran over growling and sent her away. This cat would wake everyone up in the house every morning yowling for food - even if there was food in her bowl. And then, slowly she changed. No more yowling, no more eating her cat food. In desperation I started feeing her meat, fish, cream of chicken soup - anything just PLEASE EAT, KITTY - PLEASE!!!
It got to the point where she wouldn't eat meat or fish or canned food or dry food or anything I tried to give her. She visibly lost weight. Finally there was no denying that the cat had quit eating and was sick so I took her to the vet who said she had jaundice. You can see it, too – her eyeballs are yellow. And then it hit me - could it be? I knew she missed the dog but I wasn't ready for this:
Of course the vet wanted to do blood work, an x-ray, an ultra-sound, give IV fluids, yada yada. I turned her down on the x-rays and ultrasound and just went with the blood work and fluids. And the really expensive cat food. $300 later we were out the door.
Yesterday I got the results of the $205 blood work and lo and behold – the cat’s got a liver problem. I’m not sure how spending all that money helped with the diagnosis when you can see the jaundice with the naked eye. Never mind. I’m just glad I finally understand what’s happening to the beer that I keep swearing should still be in the fridge. Who would have guessed that upon the death of my dog my cat would turn in to Toonces and I would turn into a crazy old cat lady? I really never saw that coming.
This is what I looked like at 8 AM. Click the picture to see what I looked like at 8 PM
Agreed - I should have left well enough alone but time heals all wounds, right?
What's messed up? My training. Just look at those YTD stats.
Cycling - 108 miles
Swimming - 13.95 miles
Running - 6.66 miles (coincidence? or SATAN!!??)
You know that when you have swum more than twice as far as you have run in a month something is wrong - very wrong. What's wrong is that I have been a big baby about running.
Today I was determined to fix this problem. I wanted to swim then run but getting up at 5 just wasn't in the cards because I allowed the bed to seduce me into its warm and loving embrace. In fact - I didn't even get out of bed until 7:15. Who in the world who has a job stays in bed until 7:15??!!!
So I finally threw my legs over the side of the bed and just got dressed and got out the door before I knew what hit me. And then I tried to run - tried being the operative word. OMG! My legs seemed to have an inexplicable draw toward the ground and just didn't want to give it up for anything. I looked at the Garmin which said awful things like "12:45" or "14:22" and I yelled at it - YOU STUPID PIECE OF CRAP - I WISH YOU WEREN'T A LIAR! but it didn't help. The numbers just got uglier. Then I had the remarkably optimistic thought that I must have set it for speed instead of pace and I was really running 13.33 MPH - HA! Of course I was! Such a dreamer.
So I got home and plugged the Garmin into it's data sucker and uploaded the data and the results were irrefutable - my splits were:
13:39, 12:42, 11:27. ( I really only ran 2;66 but that made YTD 5.66 which in no way lent itself to a good Dana Carvey joke)
At least my efforts to speed up counted for something - but really. 12:45/mile???? UGH.
The nice thing about this is there's only way to go now - faster.
That's what I am - blogstipated. I just can't seem to squeeze out a post. It isn't that I'm not thinking of you all and it isn't that my life is SO dull - I'm just not feeling like writing. And it isn't like the stuff I write is poop so maybe this isn't the best analogy but this is what you get under the circumstances.
I wanted to write a post about my lovely sleep over party with my friend Cynthia. I wanted to properly introduce her blog No Regrets which is of a very different nature than my blog. Cynthia is a writer of exceptional abilty and thought. She is new to blogging so you can read the entire thing from the bottom up - you won't be sorry. She is also a very talented artist and has website that showcases her art.
Cynthia is currently living just west of the middle of nowhere and it is lovely. Lovely to visit. I think she is about 1,000 feet and it snowed Monday morning - such a thrill! Her porch looked like this:
I spontaneously burst into a round of
My zipper suit is bunny brown
Zip it up, zip it down
and hurry out to play-o
My Daddy brought it home from work
Zip it up, zip it down and hurry out to play-o
Thanks to Google I now know that those are not the correct lyrics. And that's what the snow does to me and that's why I was not tempted in the slightest to go out and run in it. That and the bottle of wine I consumed the night before.
That Cynthia knows how to throw a pj party as well as she knows how to write.
It will be a very cold day in hell before I choose to celebrate my middle aged girth and the ravages of aging over doing what I can to stave them off.
Today - bike in trainer for 45 and run 3 miles. Then I can dance and say "Look at meeee..... I'm training for a half iron distance triathlon!!!"
