So, what happens when you’ve started training for a 5K and then it gets ass-shattering cold outside, so you start going to the gym with an indoor track to continue your training?

Well, apparently, if you’re using my body, you get a sweet-ass case of shin splints in your left leg, but you keep running on it because you’re a bonafide dumbass. Then, when it starts hurting like the hurtiest hurty thing in Hurtville, you do some research and find out that shin splints are not uncommon in new runners, especially when using an indoor track that has stupid, shitty, short turns (yes, like the one you started using when it got cold because you’re a whiny pansy-ass).  SO, YAY – CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE SHIN SPLINTS!

You employ R.I.C.E therapy like a good, little idiot person who should have done that right away instead of running on the injury, but has now seen the light.  You rest, ice, compress, elevate.  In fact, to also ‘medicate’ the severe disappointment caused by having to stop RUNNING! you take it to a whole notha level, and you throw down some R.A.I.A.C.A.E.A therapy.  (All together now, A is for “apple” and “airplane” and “ALCOHOL”)

After a couple of weeks, EUREKA! your leg is healed.  To make sure you don’t get too damn happy for too long, you run on it for a week, but then do some stupid exercises one day at home without shoes on after you’ve already run that day, and don’t stretch/cool down when you’re done because your child wakes up from a nap and he’s screaming like a banshee with a porcupine that’s been set on fire shoved up its anus, so you just bolt up the stairs like your life depends on it mid-stupid exercises.  (Let’s be totally clear here, it was obviously the kid’s fault. Jerk.)

Later, you realize that you were mistaken before.  The shin splint was definitely not the hurtiest hurty thing in Hurtville.  It was clearly only a slighty painy pain that lived somewhere outside of Painstoria.  THIS CALF STRAIN IN YOUR RIGHT LEG IS THE REAL HURTIEST HURTY THING IN HURTVILLE.

And it’s on vacation ALL UP IN YO BIZNASS.

So you limp around like you’ve been Kerriganed for over a week. (Again employing a massive dose of R.A.I.A.C.A.E.A therapy, because this is what professionals like you do.  You?  Are a master at physical therapy. And stuff that requires you to drink alcohol.)

Finally, oh finally, you are healed.

And so excited to start RUNNING! again.

So then you go RUNNING! again because RUNNING! was making you feel so good and so happy and heralding all kinds of gold glitter and rainbows from your rectumular area oh so many weeks ago when you were doing it regularly.

And you know what? RUNNING! is still awesome.

But you are not.  Because YOU LOST YO GROOVE while you were all up in some R.A.I.A.C.A.E.A Therapy at the Bar in Hurtville/Painstoria for weeks on end.

I’ve got some news for you.  Now you have to work back up to the same level of endurance you had before, and oh hell yes, you will.  Don’t you doubt that, because you’ve been there before, and you plan on kicking super ass and getting there again in short time.  In fact, the bursting feeling in your chest can just GO HOME TO ITS MOMMA, because you are completing every damn interval of every damn train, pushing through the sucktastical feeling of weakness,  and you will NOT give up.

You? WILL BE TRIUMPHANT ONCE MORE. Hell, you’re already well on your way as we speak!

However, during your return to triumph, while you’re doing your warmup mile one day, you do think that it would be awesome to do two sets of 50 jumping jacks at 1/4m and 3/4m, and you know what?

You could have been using all that time you spent sitting on your ass with your compressed, iced legs elevated while you sucked down booze and healed doing something you could have really benefited from.

SOME DAMN KEGELS.

Stupid jumping jacks.

March 7th – 13th
These shots taken with my: Canon Powershot G9

Daddy’s in town; giggles abound.

Twins greeting the sun.

They call her a weed, but it doesn’t impact her beauty.

Profilin’

Up Into The Blue

Bursting And Flaring

Feetsies

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he is an agent who seeks answers hidden in dark places with the desire to solve outrageous mysteries

he has to be in top physical shape to get in and out of the dangerous places he’s drawn to

he is always aware of his surroundings, noticing tiny details that even the best, most intelligent operatives might overlook, spotting things of great importance

he plucks precious treasures from their hiding places, with a clear understanding of what must be done

and turns them over only to she whom he most trusts, knowing that his mission is completed by this hand-off

then he slips away to the next daring adventure, leaving his leading lady with a smile on her face.

For a very long time, this is a rule that Braden has respected. Hey, if Mommy says fingers in the nose is a “no-no” and there’s even a book backing her up, it must be true.

But now we have reached the Age of Contrary. We see evidence of this with classic conversations like, “Here’s your peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” “NO. Dat’s not peanut butter jelly sandwich, DAT’S PEANUT BUTTER JELLY.”

And who could not see the genius in “Sit down at the table now.” “NO, I HAVE TO SIT IN DIS CHAIR NOW.” (The chair at the table.)

And if it’s fun to say “NO” to things just so you can restate them in a different way, well, then it must also be delightful to do things that have been forbidden. It’s all just part of the same circle of fun, right? Of course it is!

Life without testing the boundaries is boring, my friends. And the boundary between fingers and boogers is just SCREAMING TO BE BROKEN.

I mean, just look at how much fun this little dingaling is clearly having!

did he really have to be wearing the shit eating grin?

And so it goes, the boy realized that perhaps even if the book and The Mommy say fingers in the nose is not so groovy a thing to do, it can, in theory, still be done. And so he tested this idea, and found that yes, it can be done, and in fact, he quite enjoys sticking his fingers in his nose.

Over and over again.

it kills me that he can make even booger picking cute

Though it is clearly quite a bother to request a tissue before nostril exploration has begun, apparently it is no problem at all to do the same thing once one’s finger has been befouled. He walks over to me with his finger stuck out in front of him, a fine specimen riding the peak of his pointer, and says, “Put my booger in a tissue.”

Such gifts he presents to me, and lo, they take my breath away. It is an honor, such an honor.

And hey, I guess I have some idea of where he gets the appreciation for sticking things in his nostrils.

i.am.dead.sexy.

At least he’s not sticking other things in his nose.

Yet.

February 28th – March 6th
These shots taken with my: Canon Powershot G9

Oh yeah, baby. PB&J on Pancakes.

He just made bubbles in his milk. Tee hee.

So good, I cried.

By the blue glow, I live and die.

Nobody here but us overexposed, self-portrait taking types.

You, Me… Staring Contest.

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