Face plant

So I need to start remembering a camera on outings. Took my new cross country skis out yesterday, and I'm really sad I don't have pics of the many and multiple face plants I took. There were a couple where Suze (who would have had the camera, since I made her carry the only pack) had a good view of me flailing in the snow, trying to get at least one of my skis out of my ass and back underneath my legs.

The worst part of the trip was stopping to warm our fingers in the drying hut about two miles in. The warming hut itself was actually quite nice, with a toasty little fire going (we neglected to bring brandy. Bad move.), but the D-bag vacationers showing off for each other ruined it.

D-bag 1: Oh, I don't know, man, my wife loves Seattle, but I've only made it as far as Sea-Tac. (Wipes a crumb off the shoulder of his Pata-Gucci jacket)
D-bag 2: It's pretty great man, in fact we're thinking about offering $450 on a forclosure in Redmond.
D-bag 2's Wife: It'd be a lot of work.
D-bag 2: Oh yeah, at least 100 G's of remodeling cost, plus all the time you'd have to put into it.
Ells: You ready to get the eff out of here?
Suze: Absolutely.

Seriously, D-bags. It's the great recession. Save your buying up $400,000 forceclosure talks for your country club locker room. Don't do it at the free sno-play area. We're on used equipment. We don't want to hear about your money.

Miles to go

A friend, Juju, recently clocked and measured distance on her standard run. It's one she's lost a pant size or two on, but it's also one she's too shy to let me join her on.

She reported, deflated, that it's only 1.1 miles, and it takes her 20 minutes.

But I say it doesn't matter where you start, it's your starting point. In fact, starting slow is a good thing. It just makes it all the more exciting when you start kicking A. The fact that I, known in my family for my extreme laziness (I was the kind of kid to ask to go to bed early. I routinely fell asleep in my dinner. The only sport I ever agreed to be on a team for was swimming, and although I was fairly good at it, I had no competitive streak. 2nd or 3rd place was fine by me.), ran a half marathon? I think that's a way bigger deal than some uber athlete running one.

A friend and super speedy runner likes telling the story of her first run. It was to 7-11 to buy a bag of Doritos.

So I say high-five to Juju for her 20 minute mile.

Stuperbowl

I went to the gym this morning, really just a ploy so I won't feel quite as guilty as I shovel fried wings, mozzarella and perhaps even ice cream into my cake hole at the What-Else-Can-We-Possibly-Batter-And-Deep-Fry Party that I'm going to this afternoon. Really. Roommie bought a burner that hooks up to a large propane tank for the purposes of beer brewing (his latest addiction), and it came with a cast iron pot, fryer and thermometer. The first two days it was home, I gained five pounds.

Oh, there will also be some football game on.

So as I walked up to the gym, iPod loaded with This American Life podcasts and Hemmingway's "A Moveable Feast" under my arm, I noticed how packed the parking lot was. Apparently I wasn't the only one planning to overindulge.

Ahead of me, a 60s-ish woman in a sporty jacket with a short-cropped, dyed orange hair was walking out of the gym.

"Getting in better shape!" She chirped at me approvingly. "It's a good thing!"

WTF? Was it that obvious that I haven't been a regular at the gym? Do people really look at the people walking into the gym in running pants that appear to be a little tighter than they need to be, and say, "Good for you, fattie!"

Of course, thinking on it now, I realize she could have been referring to herself, not me.

Whatever. As long as I earn those wings and beer.

*Unfortunately, I'm not sure who painted the amazing art above, I found it here:
Help me out if you know the painter.