The Glowing Edge

Tag: fun

  • Interior Ass-Kicking

    Interior Ass-Kicking

    So I’m walking around at Lake Johnston, which has a lovely 5K circuit, getting ready to run.

    I like running Lake J because it has one mile flat, one mile hilly, and one mile I-may-die hilly. AND a fabulous 100-yard boardwalk across the lake finish. Nothing like hearing your footfalls echoing across that last football field’s worth of planking to finish your run.

    I notice two men, both about 20 years old, stretching out as if they are about to start the circuit. One is 6’2″ and scrawny, with what looks to me like a runner’s body. He’s not wearing a shirt, and he clearly has no body fat. The other is maybe 5’11”, trim, fit, and looks like a Marine. I decide to wait on both of them to begin so I can get them far enough ahead of me that I’m not bothered by their presence. I don’t like for other people to run on my personal private course, hah.

    The tall scrawny one drops in and heads up the course. I nod and wait until I can’t see him on the path any more, then glance sidewise at Marine Guy, who is actively moving around, but isn’t headed for the path. Dammit, I’m ready to run and he’s wasting my time.

    So I casually stride toward the start of the circuit, and begin a slow walk up the way, hoping he’ll jog over and head out in front of me.

    Once I pass round the first curve I still don’t hear him behind me, so I break into my warm-up pace, and start bouncing out my demons, one at a time.

    This is a process I go through nearly every time I run. I have to fight the part of me that offers up the same damn excuses for why I can’t or shouldn’t run today. Gotta pee, it’s too hot, there’s too much pollen in the air, I have a lot to get done, my knee aches, etc., etc., etc. It’s boring, repetitive, and I clearly have not matured enough to stop doing it, so instead I mentally go into my head and patiently kick the ass of every excuse in there until I have clear space in which to operate.

    About the time I finish this process, Marine Guy pounds noisily up from behind me. He’s breathing too loudly for still being inside the first mile, indiscriminately chomping up the yards like a hungry dog in a garbage can. A wicked grin creeps across my face and I feel my inner competitor take his measure. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. I’m gonna take him down.

    I continue my steady pace and wait to see what unfolds.

    Sure enough, I cross the marker at the end of the initial mile, lean into the first steady incline, and as I come around the curve there he is, walking just ahead of me. I crank my pace just a touch and steadily reduce the distance between us. Marine Guy steps off the path as if he needs to stretch, and my inner genius gleefully rubs her hands together. She knows he Can. Not. Stand. To be Passed. Too bad!

    I decide to keep my slightly increased pace just to rub it in. I feel awesome. I am in the zone. There is no effort involved in my run.

    And to my complete delight, I drop over the top of a hill and see Scrawny up ahead, also walking!

    It’s clearly time for Stealth Ninja Mode. I’m still not even breathing through my mouth, and my footfalls are essentially silent. As I creep up on Scrawny intending to pass, he starts to run again. I don’t care because he’s still in my sights. With as much of a head start as I gave him, he should have been way ahead by now.

    I evaluate his form. He tosses his right foot out to the side when he runs. Needless waste and goofy-looking to boot. Long legs, though, of that there’s no doubt. He’s steadily cutting away the trail with giant, bent-scissor strides.

    Marine Boy pounds up behind me again, and blows by on his bid for Scrawny’s place. I feel a spurt of anger, but tamp it down and hold my pace. The third mile will kill him and I will wait. Scrawny is the real prize here.

    I pass Marine Boy again just before the end of the second mile; even these minor hills are too much for him. I do not grin or laugh, because I can see that Scrawny has increased his lead by a fair portion. I’m going to have to work for this one.

    When Scrawny and I are in a straight-away, he commits a shameless sin: he looks back at me.

    Hah! Let him see that a 45 year old harmless little mother of three is about to kick his ass! Oh, he should never have done that. Now his humiliation will be complete. I begin diverting a small stream of energy into a reserve tank; this battle is going to happen in the big hills of the third mile and I’m going to need some extra. I can hear Marine Boy galloping along behind me like a blown rhinoceros, but his sounds are fading. He’ll be lucky to take third, and he’ll only get that if a granny with a walker doesn’t pass him first.

    We cruise into it, Scrawny and I, and on the second killer hill of the third mile I am within 20 feet of him. 20 feet! He crumbles into a walk and I dig my toes in, taking tiny steps, trying to keep running, but I know that if I pass now I won’t be able to hold onto it. I seethe and drop to a walk because I can cover more ground that way. Scrawny looks back at me (again!) as he tops the hill and disappears instantly over the other side. I grind my teeth.

    When I come over the hill I can no longer see him. I increase my pace to see if he’s just around the bend, but I run the next quarter mile — including the worst hills of the third mile — without seeing or hearing him. I swear colorfully to myself and decide that he’s able to make his bid for the finish well before I can. He had more stamina than I thought. I comfort myself with knowing that I gave him a scare, anyway. With the head start he had, he should never have let me catch him at all.

    I am still planning to finish strong on the boardwalk, so as I come into the final quarter mile I am ready to tap into my reserve fuel. And what do I see? What do I see?

    There’s Scrawny, walking his sorry ass on the boardwalk!

    Oh, this is gonna be very bad for him, very bad indeed. He’s already 25 yards down the bridge, but he’s walking. I really, really want this for my early birthday present, I do. I open the fuel lines and lengthen my stride, dropping onto the boardwalk with an interior war cry.

    The instant he hears me driving toward him, he breaks into a run. He’s slower than before but he’s moving. He doesn’t waste energy looking back; he doesn’t need to. He can feel my approach. A startled fisherman looks up at me and I impatiently blow by a woman yakking mindlessly on her cell phone. This is my bridge.

    Scrawny feels everything I’m doing. I’m hoping he’s tapped out, but he keeps running. I am way above my regular pace but I can’t take it up any farther. I close the distance to 5 yards, but in the end he holds on. He finishes ahead of me, and cuts sharply away from the trail toward the boat dock.

    I’m furious and happy at the same time. He had to work hard for this run, and nearly had to confess on the stage of the world that twenty-five years and a solid headstart were not enough for him to run a three-mile circuit faster than a 45 year old woman. I curve around into a wide circle, wondering if I’ll see Marine Guy drop onto the boardwalk today. This week.

    When I glance back I see that Scrawny has continued to walk ahead to the start of the circuit again. You ought to, I think triumphantly. If I were your coach I’d tell you run it again, just to make up for nearly losing to me the first time.

    I stalk proudly toward my car. I am ruthless. I am relentless.

    The Lake Johnson ducks scatter from my path.

    Image by lululemon athletica on Flickr.

     

  • First Snow of the Year!

    First Snow of the Year!

    Congratulations to The Maker, age 10, the boy who is first out into the first snow of the season.

    (I’m only barely remembering snow from earlier this year.)

    At least this year he didn’t put all the snow he could scrape up (which in NC, isn’t all that much) into my freezer. I know I took photos of that, but for whatever reason I couldn’t find them. Probably tagged them with “Wha–?” instead of “snow.” Any rate, these particular snowballs were launched joyfully outside at other people, and thus dispersed in an immediately effective and much more freezer-space-saving way.

    Oh, and the glasses are pretty wonderful, don’t you agree? I want me summa those.

  • Ignite Raleigh 2: Women Kicking Ass in the Triangle (and some Zombies)

    Ignite Raleigh 2: Women Kicking Ass in the Triangle (and some Zombies)

    There’s already been plenty of smack talk about ass kicking, cage matches, zombies (and Thriller dances), metal bikinis, and reverse voting, and that’s sprinkled in with conversations about saving the world, saving money, making PowerPoint suck less, and how to avoid SEO snake oil salesmen. Oh, and sex and Jesus, of course.

    The Ignite Raleigh deal is that you submit a 5-minute speech topic, the universe — nay, the galaxy — votes, and the top ten vote-getters speak. Voters get 10 votes, and can give as many as three votes for any one topic. For the speakers, there isn’t a gong (don’t get any ideas, O Runners Of This Event) but if you go over the 5-minute time limit, there’s a Big Horrible Penalty. Dunno what it will be this year, last year it was threat of Rickroll. /shudders/

    The only reason I have a topic in this year’s candidates — which is, of course, “13 Reasons Women Should Take Up Boxing” — is that I was working to convince my friend Charlotte that she should speak. She had dropped by to pitch her supercool new idea to me. “You need to pitch this at Ignite Raleigh,” I told her. “It’s totally easy; you just talk about something you’re passionate about. It would be the perfect place to launch your idea into the universe.” She was reluctant. So, in true Tootsie fashion, I took 2 minutes to submit a topic on the site and was shocked and thrilled to see it rise to the top. “See? See?” I crowed, “You should do it!”

    CavaticatAnd a week later, she did. And lo, her topic skyrocketed to the top of the list. How awesome is that? (She tweeted that update over there before the skyrocketing part. Now she loves me forever, and even somehow got some of her friends and her mom — her mom! — to give me a vote. What a rockstar! There’s a rumor, btw, that she will be presenting in a corset; I can’t substantiate that, however, and this should in no way be construed as a plug for women’s undergarments, Madonna notwithstanding.)

    Some of the topics that are quietly lurking at the bottom of the vote list are pretty interesting, too. There’s one about the winter Olympic sport of curling and even one comparing Poken and Bump (a recent social sharing craze). If that latter speech gets in, when you hear shouts of “Group Poke!!” you’ll grok. That’s not an argument for or against, I’m just sayin’. Btw, if you come to IR, be sure to ask to see Greg Ng’s [Ch]Elvis Poken. Worth the price of admission right there.

    There are plenty of Ignite videos from around the world for you to check out, in case you’re new to this game. But be warned: over 140 people registered to come to this event in the first two hours alone; one wonders if the fabulous little Lincoln Theater — which is pretty packed with 500 — will pop by the time all is said and done. Uh, maybe you better get your (free!) ticket now, rather than wait. And if there’s just no room left at the Lincoln, you might could sneak in by volunteering to help coordinate the whole shebang.

    And if your speech doesn’t make it to the top of the list (or even if it does) at Ignite Raleigh, you’re invited to submit your topic to Fizzled Durham, the anti-Ignite, aka Dan London’s franken-brainchild. How brilliant is that? Fizzled Durham may turn out to be the more powerful of the two events, as the best ideas often come from the fringe.

    There are so many interesting and creative people in the Triangle area; I’m proud to be connected with you all. Group fist bump!

    Now go vote for me.

  • New Boxer Aims for 2016 Olympics

    New Boxer Aims for 2016 Olympics

    This is probably one of the most exciting things I have had the honor of doing recently. A few weeks ago a young girl came to the gym and told Bonnie that she wanted to compete. She is nine years old. Her father brought her every time the boxing team met and she worked her heart out. And on our regular sparring night she had her new gloves (purchased specially in a small size to fit her hands) and was ready to get in the ring.

    She listened intently to our coach calling her punches and she threw each one with ferocity and determination. Her eyes never left me. Jab, right, step to the right. Jab, jab. I kept my hands still and let her see what it felt like to punch. I crouched down so she could aim for my face.

    It was an incredible experience, watching her throw those jabs. I had to bite my mouthguard to keep from grinning. All of us felt it, I think; the excitement of watching a brand new, very young boxer launch her dream.

    It’s a long road from here to the 2016 Olympics, but at least one small heart has marked the path.

  • Drawing is Relaksing

    Drawing is Relaksing

    The Maker is new to public school, and one of the delightful things he’s discovered is that his teacher has a “Read, Write, or Draw” period every day. The first time she introduced this he made himself a book, of which this is the first page. He’s been a book-maker for years, and loves to compose and illustrate them. This one in particular tickled me because of the phonetic spelling.

    My favorite part is the very “relaksing” visual. Ahh, just feel the peace.

  • The First Five Magazines I Read in the Bookstore

    The First Five Magazines I Read in the Bookstore

    All hail Bust (isn’t Diablo Cody stunning?), Bitch, Dwell, Inked (Cody was on the cover of this month’s issue too!) or any other tatt mag not in plastic, and whatever music rag grabs my eye.

    Last week the Husband and I had a “bookstore date,” which is a euphemism for “cheap date,” but nonetheless a variety we enjoy.

    We used to do it quite a bit, when we had very little money for going out and weren’t confident a babysitter would survive our three boys for more than an hour or two.

    So we go to a Barnes & Noble (or somewhere less mainstream if we can), get coffee and sit and flip through magazines. What could be more relaxing? The Husband goes in for world news, high finance, Linux or Ubuntu publications and (stressful, imo) stuff like that. To be fair, he also picks up the latest copy of Bass Player and a few other music mags.

    We read while we’re there, and are careful to put everything back where it belongs, like the good scouts we are. But it’s really hard for me to leave without Bust (“For Women with Something to Get Off Their Chests” and only $4.99 woo!), so this time I didn’t.

    Truly indulgent, I know.

    So what are the first five magazines you pick up to flip through as soon as you walk in a bookstore? Leave me a comment and let me know!

  • Purple Rock Hair

    Purple Rock Hair

    I just finished doing the Ice’s hair again; he’s pretty pleased with it. He had wanted it done for picture day at school but we didn’t pull it off in time, so this is for his birthday which is coming up in a week or two. You can read about the first time the Ice dyed his hair here, and you can see what color he did it for his first school dance here. Oh, and here’s a blue head one.

    This time the color is Tish and Snooky’s Manic Panic Ultra Violet, mixed with the last of our Jerome Russell Punky Colour Red Wine #1442. We love the Punky Colour because it has great staying power and it smells good. This one is appropriately grapey.

    Looks pretty rock star, doesn’t it?

  • The Marvelous Magic Snowflake

    Is this little silver metal ornament for your tree. Plug it in to the outlet, plug your Christmas tree lights into it’s plug, then hang the snowflake. Touch the snowflake, tink! the lights go on. Touch it again, tink! the lights go off.

    The ad says it “captivates holiday guests,” but our focus group did not return these same results.

    If you are 6, 9, or practically 12, touch it repeatedly while shoving your brothers away as they attempt to do the same. The game isn’t over until the tree is “accidentally” whacked over or mother snarls. But it’s pretty easy to beat this boss and move to the next level.