Come Sit By Me

As things were pretty non-existent for a while around these parts, I figured it would be a good time to catch up on life.  So pull up a pool chair, order a margarita, and let’s chat a bit.

Salut!

I WANNA DO-OVER

Let’s just say 2018 has been a total poop show.  It’s always tricky deciding how much we want to reveal of our personal details in the blogosphere, and it’s no exception here.  Let’s just say, the Black Dog staff had some MAJOR medical issues come up, but thankfully, all pulled through and the recovery process is moving along nicely.  Word to the wise: when you have a bellyache for a week, don’t give your significant other grief when the doc says to get your dupa to the hospital.  And once you’re there, thank your lucky stars said significant other is too stubborn to let you leave.  2018 could have ended a whole lot worse than it started, so we are happy to leave it in the dust.

THE WONDER MUTT STILL REIGNS SUPREME

This girl.

Beware the snoot……

Still just as silly, still a splash queen, still the BESTEST WONDER MUTT EVER, even if she has gotten a little more “sun exposure”.  She is the love of my life, my confidant, my fashion consultant, my workout buddy, bestie and running partner.  And yes, her Daddy gets it and makes sure to occasionally give me grief about it.  Maybe if he met me at the door at night wiggling his butt with a hedgehog in his muzzle, he’d rate right up there beside her too. 🙂

Do you like my hedgehog?

AGING SHOULD ONLY APPLY TO FINE WINE 

Have I ever told you I’m the youngest of five kids?  Yup, FIVE.  How the heck my parents did it is completely beyond my comprehension, especially since I have enough trouble with a husband a dog.  I hit another decade last year and fighting Mother Nature with everything I’ve got.  As much as I despise admitting it, all those articles about your metabolism slowing down each decade are absolutely true.  Mine however, has decided to just plain check out.  I swear I just LOOK at a mini peanut butter cup – LOOK – and POOF!  That’ll cost you another five pounds lady.  I know I did not do well when I was recovering from my two knee surgeries, but dammit Mother Nature, can you cut me a bit of a break here??  I turned half my garage into a gym, tuned up the bike, and kick my own dupa six days a week.  And still.

Nothing.

Nada.

I’m coming for your hips lady….

Hello Jabba the Black Dog.

There is nothing more frustrating than forcing your muscles to lift more, run faster (well try to anyway), pedal away the miles, eat enough veggies that you swear you’re turning green, and still nothing.  The hubs tells me I look great and there’s only so much I can do.  But this is ME.  Stubborn, concrete-headed, determined, refusing to give up, and just plain pissed off.

Ladies?  Ya see what I’m sayin’??

I understand everything is a balancing act.  I cannot obsess about calories in/out, but I do pay some attention to what I shove in my yap.  If only there weren’t so many amazing tastes out there!  Drink half my weight in water most days, but then…..WINE.  Sweat my dupa off in the Island Time Sweat Box then find that creating cocktails is kind of fun.  What’s a girl to do?  If any ladies out there suffering from a slowing metabolism and uncooperative genetics have any ideas, by all means – feel free to share.

Then we can down those margaritas. 😉

PRIORITIES MOVE LIKE THE TIDES

There’s nothing like a good old life scare to make you step back and re-evaluate what’s important.  For all my metabolism bitching, in the big picture it means nothing.  The love and health of family and friends, the health and happiness of your critters, slowing down life for a minute and enjoying a sunset with a special someone and a good glass of cabernet, traveling outside your comfort zone and embracing adventure, that’s what life should be all about.  Not making enough money?  Live within your means and be happy you have a job when so many others don’t.  Angry the man of the house keeps forgetting to put the toilet seat down?  At least he’s there to forget to do it.  Living with what seems to be a case of a permanent bad attitude?  Make the effort to do something nice for someone else and then try to fight that smile that’s tugging at the corners of your mouth.  Without question what was important to me 20 years ago is nowhere near what it is now.  We all have personal trials we go through and times in our lives when it seems like everything is a big pile of dog poop.  Then something happens to make you realize your poop amounts to nothing.  NOTHING.

LIFE IS WHAT YOU MAKE OF IT

Races. Travel. Laughter.  Great friends and great times.  Funny how the simplest things have the biggest impact on your life.  Some of the best times I’ve ever had included a glass of wine, music, friends, dogs, and a simple backyard fire at this great little tiki bar I know.  It’s easy to find things to be grateful for each and every day, if you just take the time to stop and notice.  A helpful coworker, a smile from a stranger, a funny joke made by a passing runner at a race – all good things.  So my advice to you as I bring this recap of sorts to a close, is to appreciate the life you’ve been given and everything that makes it awesome.  You only get out of life what you put into it, so make that little extra effort, especially this time of year, when so many feel so lonely.  It costs nothing to thank a veteran or first responder for their service (dispatchers too!), or to help a senior citizen load groceries in their car.  Little things go a long way and people always remember the little things.

My challenge to you this day is to do some little thing for someone else.  Pay for their coffee, hold a door open, give their dog a biscuit (after making sure it’s ok of course!), then come back here and share what you did.  I guarantee you will feel a bit better about yourself and life in general.  Perhaps if we all do a little something for someone else, this tide of animosity that seems to be overtaking our lives will turn back just a little bit.

And little bits can change the world.

 

Enjoy the ride.

What little thing makes you smile?

(A Wine and Dine Story) And So We’ve Come….

…to the end of the road.

Literally.

I know this has been a long, drawn out, painful process.  Much like my running life has been the last few years.  And it ain’t over yet.  Well, almost.

I promise.

The pain is coming to an end.

When last we checked in here and here, I was headed for that great big starting line in the……….wait.  No no no. Not THAT one.  This one.

wine-and-dine-start

Jeep packed up, Wonder Mutt dropped off at the neighbors, and off to the most Magical Place on Earth we go.  Not without a giant case of the nerves.  After checking in to our little temporary home for the next few days the night before, we headed over to the expo.  Nothing too exciting there, just your usual, if more complicated, expo shenanigans as in past years.  Complicated as in “let’s just make everyone walk all over kingdom come to get anywhere else between packet pick up, shirt pick up, and goodie shopping” kind of complicated.

We managed to get through all the madness, hook up with running buddies Rae and Lisa, grab a brewski upstairs from the expo, head off for a day of eating, shooting aliens in Studios, grabbing some moonshine at Fort Wilderness (literally, moonshine!), and singing our way all over central Florida.  Yep, that was us you heard.

night-sweats

Much less hairy though.  MUCH.

Fast forward to Sunday morning.  Oh-dark-thirty.  No sleep.  Nerves jumping like Pop Rocks.  I tape the beeJesus out of my knees, get dressed, try to eat the bagel the hubs had so thoughtfully picked up for me the day before, quadruple check that I have all race necessities – tunes, shades, Sport Beans, sanity (not so much), and off we go.  Hubs drops me off at Coronado Springs so I can hop race transpo to the start, and back to bed goes he.  After a very short wait, bus arrives, off to WWoS we go, and the reality of what’s about to happen REALLY starts to sink in.

Holy crap woman, you’re about to run 13.1 miles.  Again.  With the very real possibility that you may finish, not finish, implode before you hit the start line, or act like that ninny in A League of Their Own.

baseball.jpg

Thankfully, the wait to start wasn’t unbearably long, and before I knew it, Rudy and Carissa, those ever faithful runDisney announcers, had the corrals off and running.  Ever vigilant of not starting off too fast, I ignored the typical bizarre looks I was getting from runners around me as I had the following convo with my psyche.  Apparently out loud.

“Hey idiot.”

“What.  Can’t you see I’m trying to run here?”

“Yeah.  That’s why I need you to rein it in and make sure you stick to your intervals.  Otherwise you may not finish.”

“I may not finish anyway.  And I hate running intervals.”

“Hubs said if you finish, he’ll have Patron waiting for you.”

(silence)

(more silence)

(even more silence)

“Dammit.”

Needless to say, agave juice won out.

Margarita in a glass

Dammit.

Soooo, as I wound my way at a snail’s pace around Animal Kingdom, of course I had to stop and hang out with these guys.

Stilt Guys1.jpg

My, you’re all really…..tall.

The new course then meandered along random Disney World roads and back towards Epcot.  At which point, my eyes lit up like I had just discovered a giant bowl of spaghetti with garlic and olive oil.  Due in no small part to what was probably the GREATEST MILE MARKER EVER……

mile-9-rev

Maniacal smiling!

Mile 9.  I knew I was going to finish this bad boy one way or another.  But not before I had to go through what I lovingly termed the MILE OF REALLY MOTHER-EFFER?!?  I JUST COULDN’T GET THROUGH THIS WITHOUT YOU, COULD I?!?

stubborn mule

Nope. Not a chance lady.

Hello Mile 10, hello “what the hell just imploded in my left leg?”  Oh wait, just a lovely little mixture of tight IT band, tuckered out left glute, with a touch of inner left knee soreness thrown in for good measure.  Now, all that being said, I had stuck to my intervals, stopped to stretch every 1-2 miles, and never pushed the pace the entire time.  I knew this was not going to be a speedy half, and had already decided to just have fun with it.  Having this blow up at Mile 10 didn’t really bother me all that much, and if I had to walk it in from there, then so be it.  I could live with it.  I knew the hubby and Lisa were already celebrating her oh-so-speedy finish, and I had every intention of joining them in consuming vast quantities of celebratory libations before much longer.

lisa-grouper1

“Move it girl, there’s partying to be done!”

Then I knew the runner gods had been paying attention.  Mile 10 consisted of an insanely banked ramp up to an overpass.  A ramp which had no flat spot to run on.  ANYWHERE.  Now, I had received very strict orders from the Man and Torture Tony to NOT RUN THE RAMPS OR ELSE.

And for once, I actually listened.

Not just because there wasn’t a flat spot anywhere along that ramp to run on, but also because – you know – that whole pesky left leg thing.

Then, a Disney miracle happened.

miracle.png

No, not that miracle.

As the ramp peaked at the top of an overpass around Mile 11, I decided just to test the waters a bit and see if the extended walk break may have been enough for everybody to calm the hell down.  After a few cautious jogging steps – and a lot of breath holding – things seemed to actually be…..ok.

laugh dog

Say WHA?????

What?  Were you not paying attention?

I said,

EVERYTHING SEEMED TO BE OK

AS IN NO PAIN

ANYWHERE!

In complete and utter disbelief, I called the hubs and Lisa, told them to get the ‘ritas chilling, kicked it into high gear – well, MY high gear – and brought it on home.

The rest – as they say – is history.  Enjoy.

choir1

medal-shirt1

Enjoy the ride.

Thank you for following along with me on what has been on helluva ride.  Your good wishes and crossed paws all helped me cross that finish line on that beautiful morning, and I could not have done it without you.  I especially could not have done it without the encouragement of my hubs, my family, Lisa, PT Pam, Torture Tony, and Dr. Testa.  It’s been a long and painful journey, but we have finally arrived, in no small part to every one of you.  My running adventures will continue, and I hope to take all of you along on them.  Hang on tight, as the ride is only going to get better from here on out!

Full Circle…Almost

We came, we saw, we conquered.  Sort of.

wine and dine

So.  We meet again.

If your attention span is in any way even minutely better than mine, then you would know what a big deal this year’s adventure to the Wine and Dine was going to be.  This is going to take a while – and a few episodes – so sit back, grab yourself a nice fat ‘rita, a couple of ice packs, and maybe hook up that TENS unit for a bit.  Because gawd knows my attention-deficient brain won’t be able to hang in there long enough to get through the entire adventure in one shot.  Besides, cliffhangers are more fun anyway.

After #brokeknees Part 1 and 2 finally came to an end – almost – it was time to get on that training train again and start pulling on the whistle.  ‘Cause DAMN, those miles weren’t going to run themselves.  It was time to grab those pretty new pink ASICS and get to work.

After having my “less damaged” knee parts fixed a year ago, (for those of you new to the nonsense, that’s #brokeknee Part 1 in last April AND #brokeknee Part 2 last November.  Because just one knee surgery is never enough), I was over the whole –

a.   You’re not getting any younger so it may take longer to heal

b.   Can’t you just do something else?

c.   You really shouldn’t run, it’s bad for your knees

d.  You need to stop running immediately  kind of moose poop.

(Thank you runner friends for completely GETTING me on this crap).

hug10

Every time I’d think I was FINALLY getting somewhere, something else would go to total crap.  Lessons learned?  Hoka One One’s are NOT knee friendly for this girl.  Next one?  Never settle for just one opinion.  Lesson three:  sometimes being a concrete head (as the hubs often calls me:), can come in damn handy when you have no intention of throwing in the towel.  The biggest lessons I learned?  Husbands and Wonder Mutts can be your biggest supporters, and chiropractors fluent in the language of Active Release Therapy are worth their weight in GOLD.

After what was yet even MOREIAMSOSICKOFTHISDAMNFRIGGINPAININMYKNEES setbacks with my training, I was at my wit’s end.  I had gone back to embracing the Galloway run-walk-run method, was only training two days a week, and fully acknowledged the fact this race would have to be all about finishing the distance and not about the time.  (Or so I at least tried to convince myself. #concretehead).

Then an angel happened to flap her wings in my general direction.

I have a neighbor friend who is as obsessed about running as I am.  The difference is she is actually really good at it.  REALLY good.  She’s a few years older, (falls into that dreaded Masters category), and has consistently finished in the top three at every event she’s competed in.  She’s fast, strong, and could pull off the cover of any fitness magazine WITHOUT any photoshopping needed.

And suddenly found herself riding the injury train right alongside me.

Did I mention we’re good friends and like to share?chagrined_chimp

As my neighbor buddy didn’t really blame me for my need to overshare on the injury front, she did the kind neighborly thing and told me about THIS GUY she had been going to who was doing some really cool stuff to fix her very own case of #brokeknee, including such neat stuff as TENS acupuncture, gua sha, and compression icing.  Photo updates from her visits quickly became a source of “holy crap, that looks….interesting”, “he’s doing WHAT?!”, and a few “what the hell is THAT?!” comments.

Now, being a complete victim of FOMO, I had to get in on this out-of-the-norm rehab action.  The bad thing?  The doc’s office was entirely too geographically undesirable.  As in an entire county and way too much traffic insanity away.  However, said doc worked with another awesome GUY who did the same kind of stuff and had an office in a much more geographically desirable location.  (Insert happy Black Dog dance here.)

seinfeld happy dance

Stay tuned for the next chapter of “WTF is Really Wrong With the Parts and How We’re Finally Going to Fix Them”.  It’s a nail biter.

Seriously.

My literary non-talent has Wonder Mutt gnawing hers off as we speak…..

resting-bitch-face-dog-3

You’re killing me lady.

Enjoy the ride.

 

Have you ever refused to give up when injured?  Have you ever explored “alternative” forms of injury rehab/recovery?  What were they and did they work for you?

Reset.

Sometimes that’s the only thing you can do.

resetbutton

Blogging around these parts for the past year has been sporadic at best, in case you hadn’t noticed.  Between school, my job from hell, and, oh yes, that little ditty called LIFE, my brain was being pulled in so many different directions, it felt like I was coming apart at the seams.  Every damn day was becoming a battle, so much so that the brain had nothing left to vomit.  In fact, I’m pretty sure it just suffered a major meltdown.

stressed

I hope I’m not jinxing myself,  but it seems like things have FINALLY somewhat calmed down, at least to a more respectable level of chaos.  I had to make some hard decisions to try and reduce the stress level, and they seem to be working for the moment.  I was over the whole going to the gym thing – not for any particular reason, just over it.  Without really putting much thought into it, the hubs and I started using that Amazon Prime membership to the extreme and began collecting random sets of free weights.  Then Pilates balls.  Then a weight rack for all those randomly selected weights.  Now a weight bench.  Lo and behold, before we even really noticed, we’ve now got ourselves a sweet little convenient garage gym, complete with live entertainment.

Wonder Mutt gym dog.jpg

“Let’s go lady, I ain’t got all day.”

In all honesty, it’s pretty damn awesome to just walk out the hall door and get a good sweat on, even if it is a million degrees and you’re sweating just breathing.  But when you look down and see this fuzzy face looking at you like you’re insane, it makes it all worth it.

Even if she does occasionally find it necessary to add a little more unnecessary resistance.

As I start really buckling down for November’s Wine and Dine Half, the cross-training aspect is going to play a major part of the training process this time around.  This will be my last Wine and Dine Half, at least for a while, (yes, I AM that whiny one who’s still pissed about all the changes to what was the best race EVER), and I need to be smart about finding the balance between what I hope to accomplish – a 2:00-2:15 half – and nursing the knees along for the first race post #brokeknee surgery x2 (recaps here, here, and here).  Every run so far has been somewhat of a mystery as I get used to a new reality of what strange crap I’m going to feel each time out.  I’ve been assured by my PT, chiro, and two orthos that I’m not doing any more damage to my knees, so I can do whatever I need to do at whatever pain level I can handle, if any.  As opposed to before the surgeries, the pain is now pretty constant, but at such a low level that I barely notice it anymore, unless I move funny and tweak something.  I take this as a win when before, the pain would peak and stay there, making any kind of speed next to impossible.

Pain tolerable was what I was shooting for post surgery, and pain tolerable is what I’ve got. #ftw!

pain tolerable

And it’s all good.

The balance will come into play big time this training cycle around with cross-training.  I need to build up the strength in the muscles surrounding my knees, slowly build up the mileage, and really just listen to what the good ol’ bod is saying.  Feeling too beat up today?  No problem!  Yoga it is.  Feeling that LSD run from a couple of days ago?  Off to the pool we go.  Need some extra muscle cuddle time?  Well, looky what we’ve got here!

Let's go lady

“Move it woman.  These weights ain’t gonna lift themselves.”

She’s a bit of a taskmaster.

The training runs so far have been slow and an exercise in patience, but now I look forward to each one – as opposed to before when I was dreading what would happen around Mile 6.  I’ve made some adjustments to my equipment, (hello compression knee sleeves!), and no longer have to wear the dreaded Monster Brace From Hell.

So the name of the game this time around will be “let’see what’s going on today.”  Not exactly the model of half marathon training plans, but hey, it works for me.  I look forward to every run now, I’m loving life in the land of garage workouts, and I have a new chiro who doesn’t waste her breath telling me I shouldn’t run.  Hopefully, the tropic steaminess will start to back off a little, caution and patience will pay off, the knees will cooperate, and the encouragement I’m getting from the hubby and running friends alike will continue.  I’ll check in along the way and hopefully have more than a few humorous training escapades to report. Until then my running buddies, may your runs be pain-free, the swampass minimal, and the run-ins with Zika skeeters non-existent.

skeeters

Bastards.

 

Enjoy the ride.

Are you currently training for a fall race?  Does your training plan include cross-training?  Are you angry with the changes to the Wine and Dine Half Marathon weekend?

 

 

 

Yes, it’s really a race recap! Sort of…

I know this probably doesn’t sound like any big thing, but keep in mind I haven’t been much of a race girl while getting #brokeknees 1 and 2 fixed.

ice knee1

Don’t miss this nonsense!

Even though I’m not completely pain-free – and knew going into surgery that I may never be again – I have been able to accommodate my somewhat finicky joints.  In other words, keep the pain level to a minimum.  I can run.  Like the whole turtle though peanut butter kind of runs at the moment, but I’m okay with that.  I just keep telling myself the speed will come.  Maybe.  Hopefully.  It’s okay if it doesn’t because I really love peanut butter.

peanut butter turtles

After the fiasco that was the announcement of the new – and big steaming pile of dogpoop of a decision regarding Wine and Dine 2016 – I knew I had to get myself a proof of time to submit by August.  I knew I wouldn’t have enough time to properly train for a half after surgery #2, my old times were just that – too old – so a 10k it would have to be.  And if you live in south Florida, you’re basically screwed.

“Welcome to the Land of All Things 5k.  Because our attention span won’t last long enough for anything longer.”

serious grumpy cat

You suck south Florida…

Thanks to the utter lack of 10k opportunities, I bit the bullet and went with the Down2Earth cross-country series that goes all summer long, with this particular race being held at John U. Lloyd State Park.  Added benefit: they also run a 5k at the same time, so the hubby agreed to suffer right along with me.  What concerned me?  The whole CROSS COUNTRY part.  I haven’t run cross-country since high school.  The hubs has NEVER done cross country jaunts.  This should prove to be interesting, if not entirely life-threatening.

scaredy cat

Not you again…..

If you’re supremely bored and happen to go to the race website, you’ll see our race was held at a lovely sounding location known to locals as Dania Beach.  BEACH.  As in SAND.  LOTS OF FRIGGIN’ SAND.

sand1

Bobcat paw prints included at no additional cost.

Being the wise old runner that I am, (you can stop choking now), I figured it would probably be a good move to at least go down to the park before race day and figure out what the course would be.  You see, there’s only beach, access road, and parking lot.  That’s it.  Intracoastal waterway on one side, and the Atlantic on the other.  So on a balmy Sunday morning, the hubs and I drag our dupas out of bed, loaded up the cooler, and headed on down the road.  We managed to stop one of the park rangers to see if he knew where the course would be.  After all, he IS the park ranger.  If anyone would know, he would.  Right?  Yeahhhhhhh, not so much.  He gave us his best guess and we just flew with it.  Right onto the paw print marked sand as you see here.  I can honestly say I have never cursed so much at one race location in my entire life.  I think the bobcats have permanently vacated the area after hearing what was coming out of this girl’s yap.

It was a good thing we took the morning to do this though, as a couple of weeks later, we were as ready as we could be for more than a few miles in the sand.  The race field was very small, no more than 30-40 runners for both distances combined.  Race directions were simple:  run along the beach access road until you see the yellow tape, run around the tape, then run back to the start.  5k runners go once, 10k runners go twice.  All right, we can handle that.  It’s hot as hell, no breeze, typical south Florida summer humidity, nothing we’re not used to.  We all line up at the start, laugh about how many of us are going to die, gun goes off, and off we go. Into the wild sandy yonder.

The hubs knew I was running for time so he wished me luck and off I went.  Knowing that pacing was going to be a big factor, I did my best to keep the jitters under control and not go out too fast which I excel at doing.  Mistake #1, thinking there would be a water station at the turnaround 1.5 miles out.  Let me just stay this:  every race I have EVER done had a water station around the 1-2 mile mark.  EVERY ONE.  This one?  Not so much.  I got up to the turnaround, saw nothing but stupid yellow tape, and proceeded to say things that made the local snakes drop dead in mid slither.

WHO THE HELL DOESN’T GIVE YOU A WATER STATION AT THE TURNAROUND POINT ON A BEACH RUN???  Oh, wait…..

stooge

This stooge, that’s who.

Now, I put this one all on me.  I should’ve known better when my previous contact with the race director asking if there was going to be a water stop was met with complete silence. Definitely on me.  Lesson learned.  Moving on.

I passed the hubs on the way back and told him of the unfortunate circumstance and warned him that I think I had inadvertently killed a snake with my vocal venom.

“There’s no water at the turnaround.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I’m a monkey’s friggin’ uncle.”

(We have a special relationship.)

Thankfully, after the final half mile back to the start in the softest sand you could imagine – and mind you this was just at the end of the first loop – they at least had water set up at the start line.  After stopping long enough to gulp down a couple of cups and throw a couple more over my head, off I went for Hell in the Sand part 2.  Which was pretty uneventful and much like Hell in the Sand part 1.  Pretty views of the ocean, lizards looking at us humans like we were nuts – guess they call it like they see it – and for the most part, completely by myself.  Race support?  Non-existent.  (Good thing no one dropped of heatstroke out there, they’d have been screwed).  So I just kept my head down, stopped freaking out over the ugly times I kept seeing on the trusty watch, and thanked the runner gods that the hubs had enough functioning brain cells to fill a bottle he had with water and toss it to me as I passed him for the second time on my way back out.

flashdance-9201.large

Yes, it felt THAT good.  Don’t judge me.

I managed to trudge back out to the turnaround, back through what beautiful little shade there actually was on the access road, out the to hellacious sugar sand along the beach, and finally made the final turn for the promised land.  About 300 yards from the finish, the hubs was standing on the side so I tossed him my iPod, turned on the after burners and hit the line still in an upright position.  I was hoping for a 60 minute finish time, but considering the terrain, I would have been happy to finish in 75.

Imagine my surprise, and somewhat sweaty delight, when I was told I had actually finished in 64 minutes, and good enough for 2nd place female! (Which sadly, once the results were posted on the website I was bumped down to 3rd place, but hell, I’LL TAKE IT!)

June 18 race1.jpg

(Smiling thinking about the post-race margarita.)

So here’s my takeaway from the Down2Earth 5 and 10k Cross-Country Run:

  1.   Ability to see the course online prior to race day – zip
  2.   Questioned answered by race director prior to race day – dog poop
  3.   On course race support – nada
  4.   Would I do it again? – perhaps

Here’s why that last one isn’t a flat out no.  I found out afterwards this was the first time this race was held at this location.  Normally they’re put on at Oleta State Park in Miami.  I’ve taken my bike there a few times and the park trails are CONSIDERABLY more runner friendly than at John U. Lloyd.  I got the impression when the race director was telling us about the races at Oleta, and proceeded to wave his hand at the sand and say “there’s no running in this kind of crap at Oleta”, that he wasn’t happy about the conditions either.  The only hangup for us?  Lloyd Park is only about a half hour away from our humble abode.  Oleta is a little more than an hour.  And in Miami.  MIAMI.  Trust me, not NEARLY as glamorous and these guys made it look.

The ending of the story?  I got my proof of time for Disney.  I got to run a race again, with the hubs.  I haven’t been able to do that in years.  Neither of us died.  I got a medal.  I know now that I have the verbal ability to scare away bobcats and shock snakes to death with my vocal venom.  ALL GOOD THINGS.

June 18 medal1

The aches and pains we felt over the next few days in places that neither of us knew we could be achy and painy from running in the sand?  Well.  That’s a story for another day.

Enjoy the ride.

 

Have you ever been disappointed with support at a race?  Have you ever done an entire race in the sand?  What are the worst conditions you’ve ever tun in?

When Running Is About More Than Yourself

Hey!  Look what I found!  My blog! Yayyyyyyy!!!!!

yay turtle

Yipppeeeee!!!!!

I know it’s been a crazy long time since I’ve regaled you all with tales of my shenanigans, but fear thee not!  I’m back. Pretty much.  Still trying to coordinate all the nonsense that makes life….well…LIFE.  Hang in there my faithful peeps.  I have all kinds of glorious tales lined up for you.  Stress, school, shenanigans, surgeries, spinning, puppies, paddleboarding, trips, and general madness and mayhem, just to name a few.  I’ll be catching you up on all the latest and greatest in the chaos that is the Black Dog world.  But that is for another day.

Right now though, it’s time for what shall be a glorious Black Dog return to racing! (Please keep in mind I consider complete and utter gloriousness simply putting one foot in front of the other for more than 8 feet without falling flat on my face).  After three months of pavement-less days, I have returned to my first love.  And I’m not talking just Moose Tracks, mutts, and margaritas here people.  Nope, uh huh, no way.  We’re talking honest to goodness RACING.  Like with a bunch of other peeps racing.  People ALL AROUND THE WORLD RACING.  AT THE SAME TIME!

“What are these shenanigans you speak of Black Dog?” you may ask.  Well, let me tell ya.  One thing that has always meant so much to me and a lot of other runners  too, is running for those who can’t.  Believe you me kiddos, knowing there are so many people out there who are unable to take even one step has helped me get through many a mile when all I wanted to do was call it quits.  That’s why my first race after Knee Gate Part II means so much.  Thanks to fellow Browardite and shenanigator Hokeyboy, I found out about this uber cool race that has NO FINISH LINE.  Crazeeee, right?!?  How can a race have no finish line, Black Dog?” you may ask.  Well, LET ME TELL YA.

Wings for Life World Run is just that – a world run.  On May 8th, runners from all over this hunk of rock we call home will be taking to the streets to run while raising funds for spinal cord injury research.  The coolest part?  100% of all registration fees and funds raised go to research.  How awesomesauce is THAT kidaroonies?!?  And that no finish line thingamahoozie?  Well, you just keep running until the official Chase Car catches up to you!  Yeppers kiddies, a chase car!  Thirty minutes after the runners cross the start line, the car is hot on the trail.  Okay, maybe “hot” isn’t exactly accurate.  More like turtle pace speeds to start.  Then each hour, it speeds up just a little more until the fastest runner is caught.

No, no, not THAT kind of caught sillykins.  Getting caught is actually a good thing!  “Why is that Black Dog?” you may ask.  Well, LET ME TELL YA.  Once you get passed, you the get to hop on a party barge!  Said party barge then takes you back to the start to engage in further post-race party shenanigans!  Party shenanigans that include shenanigating with the very peeps your donation money is helping out!

Now, from what I understand from Hokeyboy’s review of this most amazing day, meeting those whom your generosity is helping can be quite an emotional experience.  (Cue the sappy tears just thinking about it here.  It’s okay,  No judging from this Mistress of Sappiness.)  It can definitely help keep things in perspective when you’re having one of those runs and just want to throw in the shoelaces.  At least it does for this Queen of Busted Knees and Ibuprofen. As crappy a run as you may be having, at least you’re running.  Which is a whole lot more than those suffering from spinal cord injuries can do.

wheelchairs

You know what’s coming now my faithful followers.  Time for me to appeal to the generous hearts I know so many of you have.  Since I needed to make my return to racing about something so much bigger than just a pair of somewhat recovered #brokeknees, it seemed only appropriate to help those who can’t race today, maybe race some day.  And I need your help to do just that.

I’ve set up the Team Wonder Mutt page here.  As I’ve never been very good at this whole asking people for money thing, I set a very modest goal amount of $200 to start,  Imagine my surprise when, after only a week, I had already met that goal! (Thank you so so much to my friends and family who already donated!  You guys ROCK!)  Never being one to settle for mediocrity, what I’d like to do now is see just how much you guys can help me DOUBLE my goal amount!  Yes, my faithful Black Dog Bubbykins!  You go right ahead, pull out those credit cards that have just recovered from Christmas, and DONATE AWAY!  I promise it will result in nothing more than a warm, fuzzy feeling inside from helping those who want nothing more than simply to put one foot in front of the other.  And in the immortal words of Larry the Cable Guy, let’s…..”GIT ER DONE!”

wings for life

Let me take a moment and extend a very, very warm thank you to those who have already donated and to those of you who are already pulling out the plastic.  You guys are a big part of why I love this sport so much, and put up with all the aches, pains, and surgeries that I do.  If it wasn’t for you, a lot more people would never be able to put one foot in front of the other ever again.

For more information on this amazing event, please visit the Wings for Life World Run page here.  I promise, you’ll be glad you did.

 

Enjoy the ride.

Have you ever participated in a race like this?  Do you try to make your running about something bigger than yourself?  How did it make you feel?

 

Run All The Miles…Without Any Pain!

Or at least start with a couple.  Especially since you’re only 66 days out.

Oh dear....

Oh dear….

I figured it was time for an update.  One that I’ve been putting off.  If for no other reason than I didn’t want to admit – to myself or anyone else – that I’ve been suffering.  A LOT.  Even this post was pretty much scratching the surface of how scared I’ve been.  Scared that I felt like I was in more pain than even BEFORE #KneeGate2015, and it wasn’t going to get any better.  Scared that it would get so bad that Wine and Dine was going to end being a pipe-dream-I’m-gonna-have-to-pull-the-deferral-card kind of terror.  Most of all, scared that my damn #brokeknee either wasn’t fixed or worse, that I had #brokekneed it AGAIN.

scared Jerry

Nooooooo!!!!!!

Alas, it was all for naught.

That’s right.

Naught.

Nada.

Zippo.

Zero.

Zilch.

NOTHING.

Thanks in no small part to…well…a small part.

Hello beautiful.

No, this is NOT my knee. It’s a stunt knee.

Let me give you a quick rundown as to what this little strappy thing is all about.  On a training run after what I believe was me pushing it too hard at PT one day, I started suffering some majoroso underknee pain.  Celebrex, ice, EMS, my old giant knee brace, nothing worked.  Not.A.Damn.Frigging.Thing.  So what came next?  What usually seems to.  Lots of tears and lots of anger, accented by my usual litany of colorful language.

Then, in a last-ditch effort before picking up the phone and racking up yet ANOTHER doctor visit bill, I hit up the ever so trusty Team #runDisney Facebook page.  And therein I found the Moose Tracks to soothe my angst.

Ahhhhhhh......

Ahhhhhhh……

One of my fellow TrD’ers suggested I try this. The main complaint for runners who use this is a nifty little pain in the dupa – or in this case, under the kneecap – known as patellar tendinitis.  Being a gold star member of the Amazon Prime Is My Crack club, I went online, read the reviews, and decided what the heck.  If it doesn’t work, I’m only out $15 bucks and no worse off than I already was.

Having only gotten one run in this past weekend after battling a case of the plague, I wasn’t expecting too much.  Then…

I started to run.

And had hardly.any.pain.

Angels were singing.

(And Bon Jovi.)

It was heavenly.

HallelujahSquirrel

Now.  I’m trying to stay level-headed about all this.  After all, it WAS only one run.  And breathing was quite an adventure. (Remember? Post-plague.)  And apparently it was lead leg day.  However, instead of a pain level of 9 to start, it was more like a 3.  And I’ll take a 3 over a 9 ANY.DAMN.DAY.

So this is the plan for the remaining, ever-so-quickly dwindling available training days until November 7th.  Keep it to mainly 2 running days a week, with a few 3-a-week thrown in there to make up for lost time. (Don’t forget, I still have to deal with #KneeGate2015 Part II after W&D).  Keep up with lots of ice time, EMS time, foam rolling, and PT exercises.  I HATE the possible side effects of Celebrex, but may start taking them daily the week before race day, just to build it up in my system, but that’s still up for debate.  After all that, guess we’ll just see how it goes.  I’m hopeful and cautiously optimistic.  And hoping for a big fat dose of pain-killing pixie dust.  All wrapped up in a pretty little strap.  Maybe I’ll even add some sparkles….

Do your thing girl.

Do your thing girl.

Enjoy the ride.

Have you ever had the simplest piece of equipment cure your pain, or at the very least minimize it?  Do you believe that most of your pain can be controlled by your brain?  Does the pain threshold of pro athletes shock the hell out of you?  Jealous?

What To Do, What To Do

Well, after a two-week running hiatus – AGAIN – I hit the road this weekend.  And it SUCKED.  Like somebody please just shoot me and put me out of misery sucked.

I am NOT happy.

I am NOT happy.

Let me bore you with the deets.  Rewind back a couple of weeks to one of my last physical therapy visits.  I hit their dinosaur of a treadmill and hit it hard (here).  After that, the knee was feeling a bit wonky, so I laid off for a couple of weeks.  I was still working out my legs on the machines, getting my miles done on the stationary and recumbent bikes, and even dusted off my trusty bike trainer.

Hello beautiful.

Hello beautiful.

Should I have laid off the lower body work altogether?  I don’t know.  But when the hubby and I headed out for an easy two miles, I thought Ronda Rousey was still fighting and landing karate chops to my the top of my #brokeknee.  It was actually a little worse than right after the first time this popped up post-PT dreadmill day, but I also knew it would eventually calm down once I had warmed up.  Not completely go away, but at least get tolerable.  Fast forward to about a mile and half, and without even really thinking about it, I picked up the pace a little bit and finished up relatively strong.  Then back home, on ice, stim, and good old Tylenol.  Not that it does a thing to alleviate the pain.

ouch flynn

Herein lies my conundrum.  Both PT Pam and the surgeon said I can’t screw up what he fixed, so that makes me feel a little better about my current state of affairs.  The first two runs back before the PT dreadmill incident felt GREAT.  So great I was hitting paces I hadn’t seen since high school.  Now, it’s worse – at the run’s start – then it was when all this #brokeknee crap started.  Is this just residual whatever left over from the dreaded dreadmill incident?  Have I messed up something ELSE now?  Is this just my knee’s way of saying, “I’ll let you get back to it, but not before I remind you who’s REALLY running this running show?”  I guess the only way to figure this out is to keep running and see what happens over the next couple of weeks.  If it doesn’t back off, then I just may try a few laser therapy visits.  AGAIN.  I am just SO sick of APPOINTMENTS.

nope grumpy cat

No more damn appointments. Unless Moose Tracks is involved.

I’m just going to hang in there and see what happens.  To be completely honest though, I am a bit S-C-A-R-E-D, but I’m trying to fight that off and not have a total freakout over it.  Any clouds of healing pixie dust you may have just hanging around, please feel free to throw it to any Florida-bound winds.  It would be very much appreciated.

Please?  Thank you!

Please? Thank you!

 

Enjoy the ride.

Have you ever found yourself in a situation like this four months post-surgery?  Any advice for a mildly freaked out runner girl?  Am I just overthinking this or do I just need to calm the heck down?

Setbacks: A Study in Patience

Of which I have none.

impatient

So here’s the dealio.  Just as I’m about to break up with PT Pam, #brokeknee decides to act up.  BIG time.  I’d been pushing my speed for short bursts during my last few runs.  If for no other reason than I haven’t been able to do any speed work for years.  Yes, you read that right.  YEARS.  Soooo, last Monday at my PT session, PT Pam puts me on the treadmill.  Where, once again, I say to myself, “Self?  Let’s see what you can do on this horrible thing, shall we?”  Now, knowing the speed on the dreadmill is WAY off in comparison to the pretty little numbers I’ve been seeing on my trusty GPS, I kept hitting the speed plus button.  And hitting it.  And hitting it again.  All the way to that lovely point I lovingly call the death pace.  You know the one.  The speed where lead legs kick in, stitches stick in your side, and breathing is a long-lost, fond memory.

C'mon Bridge, we got this.

C’mon Bridge, we got this.”

I had that blasted machine going faster than what it was telling me, and I started to suspect I hadn’t moved my dupa that fast since I was about 12.  But, I managed to keep it going at breakneck speed for a couple of minutes.  As I kicked it back for a cooldown, I started feeling a bit of discomfort in the spot.  You know. The SPOT.  The one started all this aggravation many, many, many moons ago.

Later that night and into the next day, that old familiar ache was back.  And I was PISSED.  When I went back to PT Pam a couple of days later – for what was SUPPOSED to be our big breakup – I was still pissed.  She figured I’d aggravated my….wait for it…..IT BAND.  (Cue dramatic music here).  You know what I’m talking about.  The same no-good IT band I thought was the source of all this crap for the past few years.  Yeah….THAT one.  I swear sometimes I’m cursed.

Angry bird's got nothing on me.

Angry bird’s got nothing on me.

All that bitchin’ aside, I’m happy to report the ache has subsided quite a bit, but my first run back beachside wasn’t nearly as pleasant as I would have liked.  Thank goodness the hubby ran with me.  (I don’t think he realizes how much he pushes me just by being next to me.  And that is a very good thing.  Just don’t tell him, I wouldn’t want it to go to his head.:)

I’m trying to take all of this in stride – no pun intended – and stop all the crazy thoughts of here we go friggin’ again – from racing around in my already overloaded, game-show-dollar-machine brain.  I’m yelling “plot twist!” and changing up the game for a couple of weeks.  I’m headed to the Keys in a few weeks and there’s no way I’m NOT running in that tropical paradise.  In order to get me there, the game plan will be all about biking, swimming, and walking.  I’m still going to breakup with PT Pam tomorrow, but I feel good about it.  Especially since I can do all the exercises on my own, and have pulled out and dusted off my trusty little muscle stim machine and foam roller.  Oh, and did I mention hitting the leg weights?  HARD?  If there’s one thing this runner chick has learned, it’s to embrace the sweat, pain, and tears of the cross-train.

leg day toilet

Any words of encouragement would come in pretty handy right now, so feel free to share any interesting, inspiring, little ditties of wisdom.  Or you can just yell at me to quit my whining and get my ass back in gear.  You wouldn’t be the first.  If you happened to be peeking in my bedroom window yesterday you would’ve seen me doing the same thing in the mirror.  BEFORE I called the cops about some creep peeking in my window.  But thanks for the good intentions.  Creep.

Enjoy the ride.

What inspiring words of wisdom do you have for a friend in need?  Are you the arm-around-the-shoulders type of or more the Jillian-Michaels-scream-your-head-off type?  What do you respond to more?  Are you a fountain of patience or ready to ram your head through the door after a minor setback in training?

Oh Happy, Happy Day!

Who would’ve ever thunk running a mere mile and half could make me smile like this?

Whooo hooo!!

Whooo hooo!!

Wanna know the cause for all this silliness?  Huh?  Huh? Wanna? Wanna? Wannawannawannawannawanna?????

Okay.

If I must.

(Like I can keep it in any longer.)

boom

PT Pam gave a thumbs up to start adding about a half mile to my mileage every week for the next month – which conveniently will bring me right about to where I start officially training for Wine and Dine.  MY plan, which I kinda sorta maybe quite accidentally fell in to, has me pushing my pace at the shorter distances.  I figure if I can give a little donkey kick to the conditioning now – you know, in the UNGODLY SOUTH FLORIDA HEAT AND HUMIDITY – it’ll make things just a tad bit easier down the road.  HA!  Get it?  “Down the road”?  Gawd I crack myself up!

Wha? Huh? Wha's so funny?

Wha? Huh? Wha’s so funny?

I’ve been finding it takes me about a half mile to get everything loosey-goosey and past the initial “what the eff are you doing lady?” phase I think most of us go through at the start of a run.  It used to take me a bit longer to settle in, but I’m finding by doing more dynamic stretching pre-run – front, side, back kicks, hip circles, and twists – that I settle in a little faster.  So much so that about a half mile in, I can begin to kick up the pace a bit.  And the UH-MAZE-ING part?  I’ve been able to kick up the pace to one that……wait for it……I HAVE NEVER SEEN BEFORE (well, at least since high school anyway, many, many, MANY moons ago).  Now, keeping things in perspective, I can only maintain that pace for about a minute to a minute and a half, but to my previously slower-than-molasses bones, it’s a start.  A HUGE start.  And one that I’m hoping I can continue to build on.

“Let’s get that four-minute mile one up here, shall we.”
“Who are you kidding?!?”

It’s going to be tough to practice what I preach about building mileage slowly – especially with what my GPS has been telling me.  BUT, knowing how rough I felt at the end of the run will help keep me in check.  Can you say “holy hell I feel like a cow kicked me under my new and improved bionic knee cap”?  Thankfully after about an hour and a bit of ice therapy, everything was right as Moose Tracks again.  And that makes this Black Dog very, very happy.

This is my happy face.

This is my happy face.

This will be my 1.5 mile week and I hope that my knees – and times – continue to hold up as well as can be expected.  I’m also breaking up with PT Pam this week as I think we’ve pretty much gotten me to where I need to be, and also looking down the road to #KneeGate2015 Part II, I need to save some PT visits on my insurance.  I can honestly say that I cannot wait until early next year when hopefully all of this knee nonsense can finally become a thing of the past, and I can really start work on dropping those numbers on the clock.  And then……who knows?

WDW Marathon

Stranger things have happened.

Enjoy the ride.

Have you ever taken a break from running and upon returning, found your strength – and spirit – renewed?  Did it last or did the newness of it all fade quickly?  Were you impatient to do too much too soon, to see how your body would react?  How did it end up working out?

It’s Almost Time!

And here at Black Dog Productions, we are SOOOOO EXCITED!!!!!

Whoa.

Whoa.

Wanna know why?  Do ya? Doadoyadoyadoyadoya????  WELL.  Lemme tell ya.  ‘Cuz I know the suspense is just killin’ ya, ain’t it??

In just three more days, yes THREE DAYS, these vertically challenged, dumpy, landing-zone-of-silly-salacious-cellulite legs…..ARE GOING RUNNING!!!!!

hehehe....

hehehe….

I am officially eight weeks post #KneeGate2015, and with the blessing of PT Pam – along with a stern warning to keep the pace slow, and stop if it hurts, (um, we ARE talking about running here Pam), I’ve been given the green light to get back out there and crank out the miles mile.  To start.  I fully plan on having ALL the miles comfortably under my water belt long before the big day night arrives.

Whooo hoooo!!!!

Whooo hoooo!!!!

I even have a plan!  Run.  Run some more.  Then, run some more.  Stellar plan I know.  Actually, with PT Pam’s guidance, a little patience, (okay, maybe a LOT of patience), and listening when the knobbies say, “hey lady, enough already!”, I’m hoping to at least have my mileage base pretty comfortably set by the time it comes to actually getting back to the whole business of, ya know, training.  Of course, I do still have to keep in mind that little pesky fact that I still have to baby the OTHER knee, at least until after Wine and Dine, when #KneeGate2015 Part II will take place.  Because, why go through the fun of wearing a funny hat, compression stockings, and having your loving hubby videotape you as you get stoned on happy juice, just one time, when you can have your very own instant replay?

Huh?

Huh?

So as you head out for your pain-free, non-leadleg, speedy jaunt along your favorite route on Sunday morning, please send some pixie dust in my general direction.  And keep your paws crossed I don’t faceplant before I make it back to my front door.  Thanks.  Appreciate it.

On it.

On it.

Enjoy the ride.

How did you feel the first time back after a running hiatus?  Nervous?  Anxious? Nauseous?  Was it easier or harder than you thought it would be?  Did you hear choirs of angels singing your name?

 

#KneeGate 2015: The Adventure Continues

It’s been a while since we checked in on the progress of #KneeGate2015, so let me regale you with an update.  Because I KNOW you’ve just been loving the cliffhanger that has become the Tale of the Broke Knee.  Haven’t you?  Come on, you know you have….

Tellmemoretellmemoretellmemore!!!!!!

Tellmemoretellmemoretellmemore!!!!!!

So here we are, just shy of six weeks post op.  And let me tell ya.  This girl, THIS girl, is my new hero.

PT Pam, meet Black Dog world.  World, meet PT Pam.

PT Pam, meet Black Dog world. World, meet PT Pam.

In the past three weeks, with her expertise, patience, and the uncanny ability to not go off the deep end when I ask her every five minutes, (literally, EVERY five minutes), “sooooooo, can I run yet?”, PT Pam has gotten this stubbornass, stiff, achy #brokeknee to start acting like a knee should.  Bend more?  Sure.  Straighten all the way?  No problem.  Lift some weight again?  I gotcha.  It’s like she’s some kind of friggin’ miracle worker.

No, not that one.  BETTER.

No, not that one. BETTER.

If it sounds like I’ve got some kind of hero worship going on, I DO.  Three weeks ago, after a very, let’s say, disillusioning, visit with the surgeon, my attitude wasn’t the best.  After a few visits to PT Pam the Miracle Worker, this Black Dog brain is in a much better place.  MUCH better.  Like rolling in vats of Moose Tracks and margaritas kind of better place.

That's the one.

That’s the one.

This mutt has her dupa back in the gym, back on the bike, banging out baby squats, (who knew there was such a thing?), and fighting the urge to take the mph on the treadmill just a little bit higher.  I’m not quite THAT stupid.  Well, then again….

Okay, so I'm an idiot.

Okay, so I’m an idiot.

If it were not for the fear of screwing things up for this year’s Splash and Dash Wine and Dine, I might have just pushed it a little too far, too fast.  Then again, there’s always the very possible, very REAL fear of a Kellie beatdown.  Or getting beat over the head with one of Nicole’s oars.  Yeah, I’m not THAT stupid.  Usually.

Hmmmmmm.....

Hmmmmmm…..

In the meantime, my constant harassment of PT Pam shall continue, I’ll keep pushing the limits of my pain level, and I’ll keep looking at that date on the calendar.  You know the one I’m talking about.  Come on now kids. Say it with me.

Ommmmmmm........

Ommmmmmm……..

 

Enjoy the ride.

Ever found yourself chomping at the bit to get back to the road before being cleared for it?  Did the fear of re-injuring yourself keep you in line?  Have you ever dreamt about taking a running leap into a pool full of margaritas?

And We’re Off! Part 3

Or…

Dear God, Please Make It Stop.

praying otter

pleasepleasepleaseplease

Since I know you’ve been just salivating for more details of the Black Dog Surgery Shenanigans (here and here), let me allay your fears of not knowing how this cliffhanger ends.  Well, you kind of already do, but let’s just pretend I’m not really telling you this.  Yet.  I think.  Damn, now I’m confused.  Hmmmmm……

Anywho, when we left off last week, Nurse Claire had hooked me up to the happy juice and the hubby was making fun of my comparing it to shots of tequila.  (Made TOTAL sense to me.)  So now that the feelings of anesthesia-anxiety had quite dissipated,  I was pretty much up for whatever came next.  I do however, remember telling the hubs to make sure he took care of the furball.  You know.  Just in case Mama Dawg didn’t make it out alive.

Worried Calypso1

You’re leaving me with HIM?!? He doesn’t rub my belly every night Mom!!!!

After I don’t know how long, because, you know – happy juice – Nurse Nancy came in to whisk me away to the OR.  It was like getting wheeled into the Overlook Hotel.  Minus the creepy dead twins.  And the Big Wheel.  I think.  Happy juice, remember?

overlook

After what seemed like miles, Nurse Nancy finally turned into the suite and all I could think of was, “Look at all those friggin’ machines!  Where the heck is the guy gonna stand to cut me open?  THEY’RE ALL ON THAT SIDE OF THE TABLE!”  And then I happened to notice the anesthesia guy.  (Who just may or may not have been a total cutie patootie.  I’m leaning towards total hottie.  But then again, how hot can one be in one of those ridiculous hats?)

So after scooting off the bed and onto the table, cutie patootie threw an oxygen mask on my face, walked over to my IV, and said “this is what’s going to put you to sleep, okay?”  I got as far as saying the OH part of okay, and was out.  And I mean OUT.  Out as in I don’t think I’ve ever slept that great in my life.  No dreams, no nightmares, just good old dead OUT.  Not unlike this guy!

zzzzzz,zzzzzz,zzzzzz

zzzzzz,zzzzzz,zzzzzz

The weird thing about going out like that, is you wake up just as fast.  All of a sudden, I open my eyes, see a friendly face working on a computer next to my bed, and quickly deduce I am now in Recovery.  (Freaking brilliant aren’t I?)  Let me tell ya, the recovery unit in that hospital is Union Station at rush hour crazy.   I think it was only about an hour after Nurse Nancy had come to get me, so The Man #2 had certainly cranked through his portion of the program, and now I was happily back in Happy Juice Land.  All I remember is I kept lifting the blanket to see this huge dressing on my leg.  I just couldn’t comprehend the fact the surgery was already done and over with.  I must have had a giant goofy grin on my face and said something typically ridiculous, because I soon had not only my recovery nurse, but the one in the next curtain, laughing hysterically.  Because that is WHAT I DO.

FUNNY-FUN-FUN.COM

A fast hang time in recovery, and back to post-op we go.  Back to the anxiously awaiting hubby. (Not so much. Man found himself a tap-room across the street.  I would’ve been seriously disappointed had he not).  A pair of crutches and a comical attempt at trying to get my street clothes back on later, and I was OUTTA THERE.  Being the tough chick that I am – okay, maybe it was just the leftover happy juice talking – I volunteered to take the stairs.  One look from Nurse Lindsay, followed by a “yeah, don’t think so girl”, and into a wheelchair I go.  The lobby was only one floor down but let me tell ya, happy juice and elevators can be a lot of friggin’ fun.  A LOT.

wheeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!

wheeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!

So endeth the tale of Black Dog’s Surgery Shenanigans.  My only conundrum is I really hope I didn’t say anything too embarrassing to the cutie patootie anesthesia guy when I was out…

Up next: Black Dog Recovery Shenanigans.  Stay tuned!  You know you wanna!

 

Enjoy the ride.

Let’s hear them!  I know somebody out there has a funny happy juice/anesthesia/recovery room story.  Divulge state secrets while you were out?  Unknowingly flirt with any surgical team cutie patooties?  Wake up with a strange phone number on your dressing?  C’mon….you know you wanna tell me!

And We’re Off! Part 2

We now return to our regularly scheduled program……

On the last installment of Black Dog Freaks Out (here!), we left as I was about to start raking my nails down a chalkboard if it was only to get someone to notice I had been sitting in the outpatient surgery waiting room for OVER AN HOUR.  Me.  Over an hour.  In a hospital.  Patient I am not…

impatient kitty

After robbing me blind and not even saying thank you – amazing how quick they are to take your money, isn’t it? – I was FINALLY called into pre-op.  And given THESE oh-so-fashionable garments to change into.

hosp clothes1

Completely jelly, aren’t ya? Yeah, you know you are….

Being the impatient guy that he is, the hubby decided to do some pre-op recon.  And came back with the bad news.  I was number 8 of 12 surgeries The Man Part 2 had scheduled for the day.  Eight.  EIGHT.  (No wonder these guys are rolling in dough.)  That place was a darn processing plant – get’em in, get’em out.  I had expected I wasn’t going to be back home any time soon, and I have to say that once things really got going – chat with the anesthesia doc, start getting goofy on the meds my pre-op nurse gave me, and, oh yeah, having to listen to the lady in the next curtain puking her guts up – yeah, THAT was pleasant – it didn’t take long to get the party started.  And to accompany me on my trip into La La Land, an NCIS marathon.  Score!

Oh Gibbs, you're such a looker.

Oh Gibbs, you’re such a looker.

And what pre-op festivities are ever complete without the requisite stupid hat photo-op?

Say cheese!

Do these come with Mickey ears?

Then again, we started getting all kinds of crazy when Nurse Claire turned up the happy juice.  You know what I’m talking about.  The stuff that makes you all loopy.  The best part was I could feel it hit my system, and as it did, I started comparing it to shots of tequila.  And providing said tequila narrative to the hubby.  Who apparently thought it was absolutely hilarious.  So much so that he recorded it on my phone.  Which shall never be aired on Black Dog Airwaves.  Ever.  EVER.  You’ll just have to live with a live action shot of the happy juice.

"Nurse? Is this Patron or Don Julio?"

“Nurse? Is this Patron or Don Julio?”

Since I know you’re all at the edge of your seats, like all good authors, I’m going to leave you there.  Yes, my sick, evil, twisted brain is going to keep you guessing until next week as to what happened next.  SPOILER ALERT: Girlfriend made it out alive.  But you know that.  Obviously.  Because my readers are THAT smart.  And have great blog taste.  And that’s why we love you.

nomnomnom

nomnomnom

 

Make sure you tune in next week for the final installment of “Black Dog’s Surgery Room Shenanigans”!

 

Enjoy the ride.

Did you ever think I could make the interminable wait of pre-op so entertaining?  Have you ever partook of pre-surgery cocktails?  Were they top-shelf?

And We’re Off! Part 1

When we last parted ways I believe I was undergoing the fully expected pre-surgery freak out.

scary cat

All that kept spinning through my head was that stupid documentary I had watched umpteen years ago about people who had undergone anesthesia, but it didn’t work and they felt every.single.thing.  With my luck, I was going to be one of those freaky few whose anesthesia didn’t take and I was going to be seeing, hearing, and feeling EVERYTHING.  AAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!

freaky sponge

(SPOILER ALERT: Out like a light.  Took all of about a nanosecond.  Didn’t feel doodlysquat.)

Back to our regularly scheduled program…

Knowing that I wouldn’t be able to eat anything after midnight the night before, the hubs filled me up on cheese, tortellini, and of course, a nice bottle of Cabernet.  Because he’s awesome like that.

Oso1

After finishing up the evening’s gut-busting with a bowl of vanilla ice cream mixed with dark chocolate pieces – go ahead, it’s okay to drool, I won’t tell anyone – it was time to face the inevitable…..girlfriend had less than 18 hours to go before the surgical shenanigans were to begin.  Yeah.  YOU try sleeping with THAT hanging out there.

can't sleep

Oh Homer, you are right on buddy.

When we return, I’ll take you on the laughable journey I like to call, “Black Dog’s Adventures of Arriving at the Hospital Early For Absolutely No Friggin’ Reason Whatsoever”.  On the next installment of “And We’re Off!. Part 2.”

Can’t hardly contain your self, can ya?

be-excited

 

Enjoy the ride.

How were you able to sleep the night before your surgery?  Did you sleep better with some Cabernet, Merlot, or a Sauvignon Blanc?  Mint chip or Rocky Road?  Did it work, or was it an exercise in futility?  If you had to have surgery, how do you think you would be the night before?