Hello bloggers!
This is Father's Day eve and I shall use my forum to write a tribute to the amazing fathers in my life. First, my own Dad, Jerry Hall. What a great father I am blessed with. Dad didn't have the best example to go by, but he beat the odds and became a really good dad without great training. Some of my fondest memories growing up involve my Dad. He would quiz me hours on end on my times tables while he milked the cow. I vividly remember sitting on the hay behind him while he quizzed me. I can still hear the milk hitting the pan and then the milk hitting the milk and can smell the barn. My dad, after doing a full day of work and coming home to hours of farm work, still had the time to help me learn my math.
Dad was a strict parent in the sense that you couldn't get away with disobedience, but he's a big softie. I could always count on a hug or a wink when I was feeling down. He challenged us to excel and for that I am truly grateful. I am a very competitive person and that trait has served me well and I can thank Dad for a lot of that. I feel like I could easily have become much more complacent about mediocre if I hadn't been pushed. As I've aged and parented my own kids I really have a new appreciation for how great of a job Dad did with us kids. He's a wonderful grandpa too and I love him very much.
Another great father in my life is my father in law, Gene Dudley. He also didn't have a great role model to learn this art. He not only rose up from that challenge of his early childhood junk, but became a wonderful Dad. He loves his kids and he loves his in law kids. I absolutely LOVE how much he loves my kids and what a great grandpa he is to them. The "Attaboys" are legendary in our house. I think my kids must have those little papers scattered all over this house. He always finds reason to praise. His stories are awesome and he is always quick with a laugh. One of the famous "Dudley Folklore" is during year one of my Dudleyness. They were visiting us in Germany and we were playing Scrabble. Gene, notorious for thwarting your efforts toward a triple word, took one away from me where I was planning to put "Quack" and reap huge points. When he laid down his dumb word, screwing up my plan, I gave him a forehead smack. He blinked twice... and then let out a huge belly laugh. I knew I would fit in fine in this family. Gene, I thank you for welcoming me and for raising a son to be a good father. You are loved.
My hubby Bruce is another father who deserves mention in this blog. He has been the ying to my yang, the Beevis to my Butthead, the Bad Cop to my Good Cop and Vice Versa. We make a good team. I do pretty good with the mommy thing, but Bruce brings a whole new element to parenting that I lack. I don't need to bore you with the details, but suffice to say, God knew what he was doing when He paired us up. I feel like we are doing a pretty great job, I love my kids and I love my partner and that is a good thing.
Lastly, the Father who I must praise is my Father God. Without Him, none of these blessings I spoke of would be in existence. He has shown us all how to be a parent. He is the Way, the Truth and the Light. Thanks be to God. Happy Father's Day!
Dudster
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Graduation declaration
This blog is about my middle born child's graduation. Trent, my second born manchild is graduating in exactly one week. What does this mean to me? Well, it means that I am preparing for his open house on this Saturday, for one. We Dudleys celebrate early and get it over with. We are having a pre party and getting things started for all the grads. That's really the easy part, if you can believe it. Feeding people is kinda easy for me. Getting my house ready? Eh, I'll make it happen. Not too stressed about the party.... other than one small piece.
I have had this thought in my head that I needed to get Trent's scrapbook done, like literally all year long I've been internally nagging myself. He was 14 in scrapbook years... not one page of high school had happened. I had some of the photos copied, had purchased the actual book and paraphernalia and had great plans of making it happen. It didn't happen. I had resigned myself to the fact that it wasn't going to and then, in a moment of weakness... I decided that I had to make it happen. That moment was on Sunday of this week.
Fast forward: It's almost done. I am waiting on photos from shutterfly from his Sophomore year XC that our buddy Brian took, but other than that, it's actually ok. I am happy with the result. Here's the thing: The scrapbook really doesn't matter one iota, I guess that is really a word, no little squiggly line appeared under it. So, yeah, it really doesn't matter, what does matter is the unsettledness that I have been feeling regarding my little Trentie graduating. It was underlying and so I wasn't addressing it. I think it manifested itself in this silly scrapbook. I am really happy about Trent's plans, he's going to Whitworth, which is where his brother is, so that makes me happy. He'll have his brother and also we know the coach and are really pleased with the whole deal. I am just not ready to let him go yet. I really thought that the second kid leaving was going to be easier, man I was wrong. He's not even leaving yet and I'm a mess. We've had a few of the award nights that the school has. Trent has been a recipient of all of them, which is cool, but also just dragging out this event. He received accolades from his track coach at that event. He was recognized a few times at the senior awards night for brains and athletics and received the "Coach Award" for XC at the senior sports award night. It was fun to watch him shine, but again, bittersweet for the mama and papa.
So, the last scrapbook page I did for my Trentie: I captured a pic of him running this early spring, before Track. It was him running a hill workout right in front of his high school and there was a rainbow. I put that pic on the page and below it put this verse: "When the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth" At the top of the page I put "Go with God" I love it. It made me feel such a peace. I gave my angst and unsettledness and all of the junk to God. So glad that God is so faithful to me and meets me where I'm at time and time again. Of course Trent will be fine. Of course he'll go and do great things for the Kingdom, why do I fret? Sorry God, sorry that I, yet again, question and worry.
I have had this thought in my head that I needed to get Trent's scrapbook done, like literally all year long I've been internally nagging myself. He was 14 in scrapbook years... not one page of high school had happened. I had some of the photos copied, had purchased the actual book and paraphernalia and had great plans of making it happen. It didn't happen. I had resigned myself to the fact that it wasn't going to and then, in a moment of weakness... I decided that I had to make it happen. That moment was on Sunday of this week.
Fast forward: It's almost done. I am waiting on photos from shutterfly from his Sophomore year XC that our buddy Brian took, but other than that, it's actually ok. I am happy with the result. Here's the thing: The scrapbook really doesn't matter one iota, I guess that is really a word, no little squiggly line appeared under it. So, yeah, it really doesn't matter, what does matter is the unsettledness that I have been feeling regarding my little Trentie graduating. It was underlying and so I wasn't addressing it. I think it manifested itself in this silly scrapbook. I am really happy about Trent's plans, he's going to Whitworth, which is where his brother is, so that makes me happy. He'll have his brother and also we know the coach and are really pleased with the whole deal. I am just not ready to let him go yet. I really thought that the second kid leaving was going to be easier, man I was wrong. He's not even leaving yet and I'm a mess. We've had a few of the award nights that the school has. Trent has been a recipient of all of them, which is cool, but also just dragging out this event. He received accolades from his track coach at that event. He was recognized a few times at the senior awards night for brains and athletics and received the "Coach Award" for XC at the senior sports award night. It was fun to watch him shine, but again, bittersweet for the mama and papa.
So, the last scrapbook page I did for my Trentie: I captured a pic of him running this early spring, before Track. It was him running a hill workout right in front of his high school and there was a rainbow. I put that pic on the page and below it put this verse: "When the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth" At the top of the page I put "Go with God" I love it. It made me feel such a peace. I gave my angst and unsettledness and all of the junk to God. So glad that God is so faithful to me and meets me where I'm at time and time again. Of course Trent will be fine. Of course he'll go and do great things for the Kingdom, why do I fret? Sorry God, sorry that I, yet again, question and worry.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Come close, listen to a story.
The title of this Blog is from a Phil Wickham song, which I love. The story he tells is that of Christ dying on the cross. A great story and perhaps I am trumping my own blog...
I love telling stories. I'm actually ok at it, I usually am just relaying something that happened to me or better yet, retelling a story I've heard.
This past weekend at my church we heard the rest of a story from a very special lady who worked at our church up until very recently as a receptionist and actually still fills in there in that role on a semi regular basis. Her name is Kathy Fairley and she has lived an amazing life. She is so humble that you need to literally pull the story from her.
I've known her for quite a few years and still only know a lot because of her being interviewed or from other people. This hero was the daughter of missionaries and became a prisoner of war in China. She lived in that camp for several years as a young girl separated from her parents. She was in the same camp as Erich Liddell, the famous missionary from the movie,"Chariots of Fire". She survived that and grew up to marry a man who she served with as a missionary in Africa.
My point is that, if you met Kathy, you would never think to listen to a story she might tell. Not being mean, but regular, busy folks just don't stop and listen to a story from someone who is elderly. Kathy wouldn't ever stop you and beg you to listen to her, it's not her manner, but I had this thought... a lot of the older folks wouldn't do that and what a waste. What a travesty that the younger generation aren't listening. This also got me to remembering times from my own past...
When I was 18, I worked in a grain elevator in Prescott, Washington. It was a great job. It was long hours, but it paid well and it was pretty big coup to get. I was going into my sophomore year at Central Washington University. I was on the Cross Country team and pretty serious about training. I awoke each morning at 5:30 and ran 2 miles. I got to work at 7:00 and worked until the elevators closed at 8:00 and then I ran home (4 miles). That was a 7 day work week unless it rained. If it rained, we only did 8-5. This history gives you some insight into my mind frame...
During harvest, times could be super busy with wheat trucks rolling in steadily or the down times where we got nothing. During those down times we passed time in various ways. I quickly found that I had a friend. His name was Merle Brown. He was like 80. It seemed like it at the time, but as I play out the numbers, he was probably more like 75. Merle would come and "Tell Story" to me. I enjoyed him, he was a cute little grandpa and I listened and, quite frankly.... I was bored, so he was fine. After a few weeks, he realized my training regime. He noticed that I was running home and started asking me questions. I told him how I was training for my college team. I thought he'd pat me on the head and say what a good job, etc etc. As I listened to his story, turns out that he ran really fast in college, like almost a 4 minute mile. Totally blew me away. Just goes to show that you might judge someone or not really listen or ... the scenario can go on and on. I love that I have my Merle Brown story. Merle passed away several years ago, but I love that he passed along to me his story. I feel honored that he trusted me with his PR's. I will always remember Merle.
The point, if I have one is that the title of this blog, "Come close, listen to a Story" speaks about listening to a story. We can all tell something, but if we listen... I think we can convey a lot more.
I love telling stories. I'm actually ok at it, I usually am just relaying something that happened to me or better yet, retelling a story I've heard.
This past weekend at my church we heard the rest of a story from a very special lady who worked at our church up until very recently as a receptionist and actually still fills in there in that role on a semi regular basis. Her name is Kathy Fairley and she has lived an amazing life. She is so humble that you need to literally pull the story from her.
I've known her for quite a few years and still only know a lot because of her being interviewed or from other people. This hero was the daughter of missionaries and became a prisoner of war in China. She lived in that camp for several years as a young girl separated from her parents. She was in the same camp as Erich Liddell, the famous missionary from the movie,"Chariots of Fire". She survived that and grew up to marry a man who she served with as a missionary in Africa.
My point is that, if you met Kathy, you would never think to listen to a story she might tell. Not being mean, but regular, busy folks just don't stop and listen to a story from someone who is elderly. Kathy wouldn't ever stop you and beg you to listen to her, it's not her manner, but I had this thought... a lot of the older folks wouldn't do that and what a waste. What a travesty that the younger generation aren't listening. This also got me to remembering times from my own past...
When I was 18, I worked in a grain elevator in Prescott, Washington. It was a great job. It was long hours, but it paid well and it was pretty big coup to get. I was going into my sophomore year at Central Washington University. I was on the Cross Country team and pretty serious about training. I awoke each morning at 5:30 and ran 2 miles. I got to work at 7:00 and worked until the elevators closed at 8:00 and then I ran home (4 miles). That was a 7 day work week unless it rained. If it rained, we only did 8-5. This history gives you some insight into my mind frame...
During harvest, times could be super busy with wheat trucks rolling in steadily or the down times where we got nothing. During those down times we passed time in various ways. I quickly found that I had a friend. His name was Merle Brown. He was like 80. It seemed like it at the time, but as I play out the numbers, he was probably more like 75. Merle would come and "Tell Story" to me. I enjoyed him, he was a cute little grandpa and I listened and, quite frankly.... I was bored, so he was fine. After a few weeks, he realized my training regime. He noticed that I was running home and started asking me questions. I told him how I was training for my college team. I thought he'd pat me on the head and say what a good job, etc etc. As I listened to his story, turns out that he ran really fast in college, like almost a 4 minute mile. Totally blew me away. Just goes to show that you might judge someone or not really listen or ... the scenario can go on and on. I love that I have my Merle Brown story. Merle passed away several years ago, but I love that he passed along to me his story. I feel honored that he trusted me with his PR's. I will always remember Merle.
The point, if I have one is that the title of this blog, "Come close, listen to a Story" speaks about listening to a story. We can all tell something, but if we listen... I think we can convey a lot more.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Fox in Sox
Ok, the title of this blog is odd, I know, but stick with me on this. Fox in Sox was my first born child, Tyler's favorite book for approximately one year. And when I say favorite book, I mean we read it every night. And when I say "we", I mean me. I mean, Tyler couldn't read and Bruce had bath duty and I had bedtime duty, so, yeah, basically, it was me. Although Tyler couldn't read, apparently, he could comprehend or memorize because if you skipped a page, and I tried, BELIEVE ME, I tried! He would fareak out! OCD and Rainman!
So, this year long ritual led to me basically memorizing that horrible book. Each night I would drone on and try to sound excited. It also led to, in a weird way, the title of this blog. This blog is about the mis-matched socks in my house. They haunt me, they torture me, they enrage me. I have a collection of very nice running socks and men's dress socks, women's dress socks, soccer socks and even some crappier versions of all. I feel compelled to keep them all because their match will appear. On occasion, I will throw one of the loners away. If it's particularly ratty or it is a sock I've never seen and I'm convinced was abandoned in our house... I just don't have the time or energy to deal with that, so they must go.
Some laundry weeks are quite successful and I find a lot of them, but others are very depressing. I fight the urge to call appliance repair people to discuss the odds of washers and dryers eating socks.
Last night I had an epiphany. I thought that at some point we will have all of our stray socks accounted for. I was elated for approximately 2 seconds and then the thought hit me... that will be such a sad day. We won't have any kids in the house to lose a sock under their bed, or in their gym bag, or locker, or friend's house, or there won't be any friend's extra sock to haunt our loner pile. I gulped and immediately was quite happy that I currently house approximately 20 single mis-matched socks, waiting for their "E Harmony" moment to find their "sole" mate.
I will keep the socks. I have faith their mates will show up. I think that Dr. Seuss could rhyme this... I don't feel like it.
So, this year long ritual led to me basically memorizing that horrible book. Each night I would drone on and try to sound excited. It also led to, in a weird way, the title of this blog. This blog is about the mis-matched socks in my house. They haunt me, they torture me, they enrage me. I have a collection of very nice running socks and men's dress socks, women's dress socks, soccer socks and even some crappier versions of all. I feel compelled to keep them all because their match will appear. On occasion, I will throw one of the loners away. If it's particularly ratty or it is a sock I've never seen and I'm convinced was abandoned in our house... I just don't have the time or energy to deal with that, so they must go.
Some laundry weeks are quite successful and I find a lot of them, but others are very depressing. I fight the urge to call appliance repair people to discuss the odds of washers and dryers eating socks.
Last night I had an epiphany. I thought that at some point we will have all of our stray socks accounted for. I was elated for approximately 2 seconds and then the thought hit me... that will be such a sad day. We won't have any kids in the house to lose a sock under their bed, or in their gym bag, or locker, or friend's house, or there won't be any friend's extra sock to haunt our loner pile. I gulped and immediately was quite happy that I currently house approximately 20 single mis-matched socks, waiting for their "E Harmony" moment to find their "sole" mate.
I will keep the socks. I have faith their mates will show up. I think that Dr. Seuss could rhyme this... I don't feel like it.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
The Flu/plague
I will try not to be too dramatic in this blog, but let me start by saying... I nearly died last week! I got the flu and when I say flu, I mean influenza, the horrible, awful thing that the "flu shot" is supposed to prevent. Well, I didn't get a flu shot, so shoot me!
First of all, from now on when someone casually mentions that they had the flu, I will cross examine them. If they, indeed, pass the test, I will allow them to state that they had the flu, but if they don't... well, I pity them.
Here is how my flu started: I had a 4 mile run on Saturday, after which I felt a bit congested, like maybe my allergies were here or a slight cold, nothing horrible. Sunday was a bit worse, but still manageable. On Monday I woke up feeling not great. I decided to stay home from work. It was Spring Break and Megan was home so I thought I'd stay home and kick it because I had a funeral that I was organizing on Thursday. I hung out at home, scrap booked a bit and felt ok. By that night I knew that this was more than a cold. Tuesday morning I woke up feeling like death. I knew I had to go to work to do some things for the funeral. I staggered in and did the things that were necessary, but left at noon feeling like a train had run over me. I slept the rest of the day and woke up at like 11:00 on Wednesday. I had off and on had chills and was freezing. I took Advil and just laid in bed. On Wednesday, I had a fever of almost 103. I literally stayed in bed all day. At one point I realized that I wasn't going to make it in for the funeral. I emailed my friend at work who had offered to help. I basically staggered to the office and composed an email that was one run on sentence of instruction to her. I was sweating and my head was spinning... it was all I could do to send the email. I made it back to bed and slept for another million hours (it seemed like). My fever broke in the night which meant that I woke up in a pool of sweat. Too weak to get up and change clothes, I just rolled over and went back to sleep. On Thursday morning at precisely 10:10, I awoke. I had this thought that I would wash the sheets. I knew that for a wash and dry cycle it would take me being up and out of bed for 2 hours. I did it, barely. I also managed a shower in that time frame. I made the bed and then flopped into it and slept the rest of that day away.
At one point, I looked at Bruce and said, "If I were on the Oregon Trail, I'd be dead." I wasn't kidding. This thought occurred to me. Here I am in my nice big bedroom with my cozy bed and ceiling fan and barely alive. I know that at the peak of my fever I had hallucinations, but this wasn't one, I had an epiphany, those poor women had to go about their daily existence, even when sick, no wonder so many perished along the way. I would have been laid out by the piano or dresser. Anyway, but I digress.
I survived the plague/flu. I will from here on out quiz anyone who claims to have had it. I will most likely get a flu shot from now on. I am currently on meds to overcome the bronchitis that the flu left me as a parting shot. The day I can run again will be nice, I think it's near. I didn't die, the covered wagon is intact. I thank the good Lord that He is in control.
Dudster
First of all, from now on when someone casually mentions that they had the flu, I will cross examine them. If they, indeed, pass the test, I will allow them to state that they had the flu, but if they don't... well, I pity them.
Here is how my flu started: I had a 4 mile run on Saturday, after which I felt a bit congested, like maybe my allergies were here or a slight cold, nothing horrible. Sunday was a bit worse, but still manageable. On Monday I woke up feeling not great. I decided to stay home from work. It was Spring Break and Megan was home so I thought I'd stay home and kick it because I had a funeral that I was organizing on Thursday. I hung out at home, scrap booked a bit and felt ok. By that night I knew that this was more than a cold. Tuesday morning I woke up feeling like death. I knew I had to go to work to do some things for the funeral. I staggered in and did the things that were necessary, but left at noon feeling like a train had run over me. I slept the rest of the day and woke up at like 11:00 on Wednesday. I had off and on had chills and was freezing. I took Advil and just laid in bed. On Wednesday, I had a fever of almost 103. I literally stayed in bed all day. At one point I realized that I wasn't going to make it in for the funeral. I emailed my friend at work who had offered to help. I basically staggered to the office and composed an email that was one run on sentence of instruction to her. I was sweating and my head was spinning... it was all I could do to send the email. I made it back to bed and slept for another million hours (it seemed like). My fever broke in the night which meant that I woke up in a pool of sweat. Too weak to get up and change clothes, I just rolled over and went back to sleep. On Thursday morning at precisely 10:10, I awoke. I had this thought that I would wash the sheets. I knew that for a wash and dry cycle it would take me being up and out of bed for 2 hours. I did it, barely. I also managed a shower in that time frame. I made the bed and then flopped into it and slept the rest of that day away.
At one point, I looked at Bruce and said, "If I were on the Oregon Trail, I'd be dead." I wasn't kidding. This thought occurred to me. Here I am in my nice big bedroom with my cozy bed and ceiling fan and barely alive. I know that at the peak of my fever I had hallucinations, but this wasn't one, I had an epiphany, those poor women had to go about their daily existence, even when sick, no wonder so many perished along the way. I would have been laid out by the piano or dresser. Anyway, but I digress.
I survived the plague/flu. I will from here on out quiz anyone who claims to have had it. I will most likely get a flu shot from now on. I am currently on meds to overcome the bronchitis that the flu left me as a parting shot. The day I can run again will be nice, I think it's near. I didn't die, the covered wagon is intact. I thank the good Lord that He is in control.
Dudster
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Making a break for Spring
It is Spring Break this week for my kids. We aren't doing anything out of the ordinary, which is a bit depressing. Trent is in Mexico on a Mission trip which is cool and Tyler is spending his break with a bunch of his friends in Idaho. So, that's fun for him, but poor Megan was lamenting the other day. You see, last year we went on a cruise and well I guess poor Meg thought there was a theme developing. I was explaining to her that she was pretty fortunate in the amount of traveling she's done at her young age. She asked the inevitable; "What did you guys used to do for your Spring Break when you were little?" I replied, "Chores." Ended her sniveling pretty quickly.
Reminded me of when Tyler was working 2 jobs and still training for XC and at one point he said, "I have worked 10 days in a row, what's the longest you ever worked without a day off?" I told him it was my first harvest job, we worked 38 days in a row until it rained and on the 39th day, we only had to work 8 hours instead of the usual 12. He said, "I asked the wrong parent didn't I?" Quick study.
The life of a farm kid is slightly less glamorous than Laura Ingalls would have you all think. I had plenty of fun though and I wouldn't change it for anything.
So, as we attempt to make a break for Spring around here, I can look out the window and see that it is pouring rain and the sun is shining, typical! The crocus have bloomed and the daffodils are out, the frogs have started croaking at night and a couple of track meets have been run, so Spring is indeed coming, we just must be patient. I'll soon have a "spring" in my step when I embark on the first run in shorts and short sleeves. Oh yes, it will come...
Dudster
Reminded me of when Tyler was working 2 jobs and still training for XC and at one point he said, "I have worked 10 days in a row, what's the longest you ever worked without a day off?" I told him it was my first harvest job, we worked 38 days in a row until it rained and on the 39th day, we only had to work 8 hours instead of the usual 12. He said, "I asked the wrong parent didn't I?" Quick study.
The life of a farm kid is slightly less glamorous than Laura Ingalls would have you all think. I had plenty of fun though and I wouldn't change it for anything.
So, as we attempt to make a break for Spring around here, I can look out the window and see that it is pouring rain and the sun is shining, typical! The crocus have bloomed and the daffodils are out, the frogs have started croaking at night and a couple of track meets have been run, so Spring is indeed coming, we just must be patient. I'll soon have a "spring" in my step when I embark on the first run in shorts and short sleeves. Oh yes, it will come...
Dudster
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Boot Camp for Dummies
Hello Bloggers!
Today I am going to talk about my first experience with this tortuous thing called "Boot Camp". A friend of mine has blogged about this before and she is much wittier and more clever than I. The name of her Blog is Mother Hen. I am just going to share a bit because at this point, lifting my arms as high as the keyboard is just about all I can muster.
Back it up a bit, I've always been a bit of an exercise class snob. I've done my share, I "Jazzercised" my way through part of the 80's, although never a leg warmer have I donned. I've done step classes and they were fine, but I've never reached the cardio burn I get from running and always just pooh poohed them.
My friends Kara and Shannon have been regulars in this class for awhile, they recently recruited a couple other friends and voila, here I am on this Wednesday, nearly crippled.
It began at the glorious hour of 4:55 am. I pretty much hate mornings, so already I'm off to a very cranky start. I roll out of bed, cuz that's how I roll... ba da boom! I brush teeth, put on my workout garb, grab some coffee and jump in the car. Bonus, no traffic on the bridge at 5:00 am. That's probably the last silver lining you'll get from this blog. Arrive at the YMCA and look at the parking meter to see what I owe... I lied, another silver lining, don't have to pay til 8:00 am. Crazy people can keep their quarters, thank you very much.
I wander in and immediately spot Kara, who IS a morning person, yippee freaking skippy! She does dial it down and greets me with a subdued for her, "Dudster!" Shannon arrives and it's a party. We head up and I'm a bit nervous, but first thing you do is run 6 laps around the tiny track at the Y. Yes! Running is my favorite, so that was easy. Get in the room and my eyes are darting around nervously for this person they call Tina who I've heard is slightly mean. Kara introduces me and I say "nice to meet you". She said, "We'll see what you think after." Gulp.
The rest is a blur of me trying to follow directions while doing things like push ups, carrying heavy things over my head while running, more push ups, circuits of different things using my weak little runner arms. I was doing modified push ups aka the dreaded "girl" push ups only to realize that my sweat was making me peel out and I couldn't get a grip. That was fun! The wall sits reminded me of high school basketball, our coach called them "Green Chairs" and we had to do them when we cussed in practice. I was pretty good at those and I didn't cuss once today while doing them.
Fast forward, I made it through and it was fun, yes I know I'm a masochist, but it really was and I feel invigorated! Now, I will end this blog entry with a list of things that it's difficult to do when your arms are so weak, you can barely lift them:
1. Taking off your sweaty sports bra. Who knew, I thought I might have to get a scissor, I made it.
2. Washing your hair.
3. Shaving your arm pits, ouch, literally braced one arm against the shower wall, sorry for the visual.
4. Putting on deodorant.
5. Drying your hair.
6. Putting on your shirt.
7. Putting your hair in a bun. The salt in that wound is that after arms were up, I realized I'd grabbed the sweaty hair tie from
the torture class and didn't care enough to replace it.
8. Reaching up for bowl to make oatmeal (thank the Good Lord the oatmeal is on a lower shelf of the pantry)
I could probably go on and on, but you get the idea. I feel like I am going to be pretty sore, but hey, I survived it and it can only get better from here right? Question to fellow campers: Is it better or worse when Tina doesn't have a migraine? One of the thoughts I had...
Dudster is out (of her mind)
Today I am going to talk about my first experience with this tortuous thing called "Boot Camp". A friend of mine has blogged about this before and she is much wittier and more clever than I. The name of her Blog is Mother Hen. I am just going to share a bit because at this point, lifting my arms as high as the keyboard is just about all I can muster.
Back it up a bit, I've always been a bit of an exercise class snob. I've done my share, I "Jazzercised" my way through part of the 80's, although never a leg warmer have I donned. I've done step classes and they were fine, but I've never reached the cardio burn I get from running and always just pooh poohed them.
My friends Kara and Shannon have been regulars in this class for awhile, they recently recruited a couple other friends and voila, here I am on this Wednesday, nearly crippled.
It began at the glorious hour of 4:55 am. I pretty much hate mornings, so already I'm off to a very cranky start. I roll out of bed, cuz that's how I roll... ba da boom! I brush teeth, put on my workout garb, grab some coffee and jump in the car. Bonus, no traffic on the bridge at 5:00 am. That's probably the last silver lining you'll get from this blog. Arrive at the YMCA and look at the parking meter to see what I owe... I lied, another silver lining, don't have to pay til 8:00 am. Crazy people can keep their quarters, thank you very much.
I wander in and immediately spot Kara, who IS a morning person, yippee freaking skippy! She does dial it down and greets me with a subdued for her, "Dudster!" Shannon arrives and it's a party. We head up and I'm a bit nervous, but first thing you do is run 6 laps around the tiny track at the Y. Yes! Running is my favorite, so that was easy. Get in the room and my eyes are darting around nervously for this person they call Tina who I've heard is slightly mean. Kara introduces me and I say "nice to meet you". She said, "We'll see what you think after." Gulp.
The rest is a blur of me trying to follow directions while doing things like push ups, carrying heavy things over my head while running, more push ups, circuits of different things using my weak little runner arms. I was doing modified push ups aka the dreaded "girl" push ups only to realize that my sweat was making me peel out and I couldn't get a grip. That was fun! The wall sits reminded me of high school basketball, our coach called them "Green Chairs" and we had to do them when we cussed in practice. I was pretty good at those and I didn't cuss once today while doing them.
Fast forward, I made it through and it was fun, yes I know I'm a masochist, but it really was and I feel invigorated! Now, I will end this blog entry with a list of things that it's difficult to do when your arms are so weak, you can barely lift them:
1. Taking off your sweaty sports bra. Who knew, I thought I might have to get a scissor, I made it.
2. Washing your hair.
3. Shaving your arm pits, ouch, literally braced one arm against the shower wall, sorry for the visual.
4. Putting on deodorant.
5. Drying your hair.
6. Putting on your shirt.
7. Putting your hair in a bun. The salt in that wound is that after arms were up, I realized I'd grabbed the sweaty hair tie from
the torture class and didn't care enough to replace it.
8. Reaching up for bowl to make oatmeal (thank the Good Lord the oatmeal is on a lower shelf of the pantry)
I could probably go on and on, but you get the idea. I feel like I am going to be pretty sore, but hey, I survived it and it can only get better from here right? Question to fellow campers: Is it better or worse when Tina doesn't have a migraine? One of the thoughts I had...
Dudster is out (of her mind)
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