I recently had the awesome opportunity to meet up with some old friends in the cattle industry at the National Cattlemen's Beef Association Conference in San Diego. My blog was the last thing I imagined would pop up in conversation, yet someone brought attention to it saying that while he enjoyed all of my posts, he sure did miss my sense of humor...that my recent posts were too serious. He identified my sense of humor as "neat," but I know he just thinks I'm weird and wanted to see what crazy thing I would dare to say next. What can I say? I aim to please my humble crowd of blog admirers, so here ya go, Mr. Jim (yeah, you know who you are!)...
I'd like to preface this post with the following statement: My sense of humor is odd. If it in any way offends you, I kindly ask you to not read any of my future blog posts. Or...heck, feel free to unfriend me altogether. We probably shouldn't be friends if you don't find me amusing. I don't have a lot else to offer unfortunately (Except I have been told I'm fun to watch dancing...and my husband thinks I'm an excellent lover...but sorry, the latter mentioned skill is reserved for him alone).
My husband once told me I look mean when I run. Now don't think my husband is mean to me (besides that one time he gave me a black eye and told me to blame it on a gorilla), I'm pretty sure there is some truth to this. Why? Because I'm competitive. When he and I would go for jogs together back in Florida, he would totally outpace me (longer legs = longer stride = more ground covered) and would turn around smiling, running backward about a quarter of a mile ahead of me, just checking to see where I was. If he had been running on a regular basis, this probably wouldn't have bothered me so much, but no, he would come out fresh off the dairy and would blow me out of the water. Not cool.
I've recently picked back up on my running because I've found it is the one exercise that can lean me up like I want. Unfortunately, I have a two-year commitment to a nice gym in town to which I only attend if it's raining and I can't run outside. Whenever I get in gym mode, you might as well call me a beast. Actually, some Canadian girl my brother dated short term (thank goodness for us all that it was short) called me a beast at one point. Perhaps it was because my brother clued her in to the fact that he's teased me for years about having big traps. Whatever the case, it's true. When I work out with weights, I look like a mini, more feminine (I hope) version of the Hulk (less green...I forgot that part). So yeah, running it is for me.
Today I went for a four-mile run right around sunset. Weather was beautiful, so I took off to a ritzy neighborhood where the most scared I was bound to be was from a rich family's gardener chasing me off because I looked like a sweaty hobbit (but not a jacked hobbit...because I haven't been lifting weights recently). I was just through the entrance of the neighborhood, when I spotted three bucks. These guys had decent racks (that's not normally paired together, huh?). My first thought was, "Oh, I hope I don't look too feminine right now. They might try to mount me thinking I'm a doe. I am kinda hairy like an animal." Then my husband's words, of how mean I look when I run, popped into my head, and I was relieved. "Oh crap. Sure, I don't have anything to worry about looking feminine right now," I said as I wiped some runner's drool from my face, "but what if they see my muscular traps and think I'm a buck competing for the REAL does?!?" Luckily, my country upbringing reminded me that I have a human scent. I wasn't wearing my deer urine during my run, so I should be considered just another human to these city deer. Run on.
Next event: I found a running partner. Did he know he was running with me? No. In fact, it was probably a bit creepy for him if he'd known how long I'd been pursuing him (in good old-fashioned running sport, of course...C'mon, my husband can read this if he wants. Do you really think I want to have to use that gorilla excuse with my friends and family next time? I'm pretty sure they won't believe it a second time...). It was funny that not knowing this guy from Adam, he boosted my running spirit halfway through because I felt like I was part of a team. And then I passed him. And I lost my running buddy. Lesson to be learned: sometimes if you get too ambitious, you can quickly lose friends...even if they don't realize they're your friends. Friendship takes time and nurturing to grow.
Hmmm...and, I ate a couple of bugs on accident (maybe...or maybe I needed an immediate source of protein on mile 3. No need to pass judgement, that's Jesus' job.)
So the moral of this story is...nothing. Absolutely nothing, but hopefully it made you smile, giggle, LOL or even pee your pants a bit (again, I'm not Jesus, so I can't judge, but please change your pants. You smell grossly of urine at this point.). I guess if we HAD to pull a moral out, it would be...sometimes what you think you seem in your head, is not actually how you represent yourself. For example, I feel empowered when I run. I just know I look like one of those strong, confident women in the Nike's commercials "Just Doin' It!" (you know, scaring city deer, stalking neighborhood runners, eating bugs...), but in fact, I look like an angry thirteen-year-old boy with oversized traps. I'm cool with that as long as I look like a SKINNY thirteen-year-old boy...and the deer don't make any moves on me.
WORD to your mother. And word to mine. Hello, mom!