As part of my "fit back into my jeans" plan, I got up early, squeezed into my sports bra (somehow it seems to have gotten awfully small), strapped on my ipod (did ya ever notice how much the arm-band on those things smell?), slid my feet into my running shoes (the only thing that seems to still fit the same) and hit the road for one of my bi-monthly "long run". YES, I did wear pants, while I didn't mention them, (there is nothing funny about how they fit, yeeesh) don't assume I was out there jogging the streets of Calgary bottemless, I do have more class than that...ha! Anyway, the capri pants I did have on, didn't have pockets so I had to stuff two carefully folded kleenexes into my already too snug sports bra, no not to add "volume" to my chest, but rather as a precaution. I have this tendancy on long runs, to get as far away from all indoor plumbing as possible, and then suddenly be overcome by this raging sense of...uh..welll, need for "use" of indoor plumbing. More than once I have found myself in a situation that has forced me to take refuge in the ditch. By "take refuge," I mean, look for anything that might provide shelter from the vehicles passing by on the road, squat behind it, inconspicuously "relieve" myself, reach for whatever weed is available as a wiping tool, use it, and dash out of the ditch before being noticed....not always successfully! Yes, it is as embarrassing and as awkward as it sounds, but, when I remember the kleenex, the entire experience, somehow, seems way less uncomfortable!! Today, day 4 of Stampede Recovery Week, I remembered the kleenex, but I can thankfully report, that I did NOT need to use it today. I made it all the way home without needing a "bathroom break" yay me!!!
My long run was followed by a shower, breakfast and a trip out to the farm to help Jamie "doctor" Panda again. Today, I was determined to administer the needle with success on my own, without the help of the Farmer. Not because he is arrogant in his offerings to help, but because my own ego needed to prove I could do something as simple as give a horse 35ml of Penicillan! With confidence I jabbed the penicillan filled needle into Panda's neck, while he stood there perfectly still and co-operative. I am telling you, this horse is the perfect patient for two novice vet assistant "wann-bes" like Jamie and I. I pushed on the syringe and the first 10ml drained easily from the needle, however just as I was beginning to feel confident, all flow stopped!!! Nomatter how hard I pushed I couldn't make it go. With a sense of total defeat, I asked the farmer to come show us what we were doing wrong, seriously though, how many ways are there to give a needle? He watched me choose a new site on Panda's neck in the proper "stabbing zone" and stick the needle in, same problem, nothing was coming out the other end. He took over the syringe, but couldn't make progress either, funny how his failure made me feel good...hey he couldn't do it either! After some investigating, he decided the needle was too small, ah ha, it wasn't my incompetency after all!! He lent us a bigger needle and showed us one more time how to do it, but this time, he pushed way to fast and wherever all that penicillan is supposed to go, got full and it started to come back out of the hole where the needle was! Panda, our perfect patient, threw his head in pain and the farmer ripped the needle out, while penicillan dripped down the neck that was already showing signs of a big lump! "Make sure you go slow next time you do it," were his last words of advice as he left us rubbing poor Panda's neck feeding him cookies to ensure that he would forget about this experience! Here's hoping he has a short memory!
I have only had a couple of pedicures in my life and usually so much time goes by between each one that I forget what the experience is like. I like the idea of it though, it my mind it sounds like something...glamourous, like something ladies do on a lazy afternoon to pamper themselves while sipping wine. Jamie and I had side-by side appointments at 2pm this afternoon. We strolled into the joint and our senses were overcome with the smell of .....chemicals. I tried to ignore it and remember how glamourous and pampering this was gonna be. We chose our colors, i wanted a sparkly pink polish and Jamie chose some shade of peach. We were ushered over to the big chairs. There were four of them, all in a row. I sat in my chair, put my feet in the warm mini jet tub and started hitting buttons on the remote I found in the armrest pocket. The chair immediately began folding itself in half...while I was sitting in it! The sounds coming from it were loud and obnoxious! The pedicure ladies, all four of them, started yelling at me in a language I didn't understand, until finally, one of them stood up, grabbed the remote, stopped the chair and pointed to the three buttons, the only three buttons I was supposed to touch. They were labled: rolling, kneading and tapping. This was a "massage chair" and these were my three options for massage! The "tapping" option felt like there was someone inside the chair whose job was to reach out and punch me in the back at random intervals, no thank you! The kneading and rolling felt the same, like giant hands grabbing every sore spot on my torso and pushing on them as hard as possible, while I noticed an "intensity button" that would probably have made the whole "kneading and rolling" option more pleasant, I dared not push it. When I couldn't take the pain any more, I simply turned the chair off and sat there staring at the poor girl assigned to rub my feet. My feet are gross, they are the feet of someone who has trained for, and run three 1/2 marathons this summer, the feet of someone who refuses to wear socks, especially in cowboy boots and they are the feet of someone who, apparently keeps her toenails obsessivly short! I had no idea how weird my super short toe nails were until the lady scraping all the dirt out from under them, pointed it out, huh, who knew? Now anyone who knows me, knows that sitting still is NOT my thing and that I am...well, I'm hyper! I had been sitting quietly for quite a while, but then it started....the wiggles. I get really wiggley when I have been sitting still for a long time, I mean I get really wiggly! I was starting to feel like I was going to explode if I couldn't get up from the chair! Suddenly the glamour of getting a pedicure and relaxing with a glass of wine had been exchanged for feelings of anxiety. I felt like a wrestless kid in the barber's chair, besides there was no glass of wine and I was TIRED OF SITTING!! Just when I thought we were done, and I'd be able to get up, she threaded some rolled up kleenex between my toes, slid some generic flip flops on my feet and sent me to....the toenail dryers! Are you kidding me? We have to sit here and dry our toes? For how long? She told me we had to sit for ten minutes and when no one came to "check on our toes" after 25 I was a wiggly, grouchy, wrestless bitch! I checked my own toes, they were a little soft I discovered after putting a fingerprint in my fresh polish,grrrr, but I was done! I put on my own sandles, got up, paid and left. It felt sooo good to move, halelujia!!! I know, I sound like a little kid, but I can't help it. Today I remembered why I don't get pedicures. I like the sound of them, but I do NOT have the patience to spend a sunny afternoon, not sipping wine, pampering myself!
Day 5 of Stamped Recovery Week will see Marty and I hop on a plane and head to Montreal. We will be gone for ten days, but I will write when I can. Salut!