Sex and Fruit

Today's Miles: 502 miles on my butt; 1 mile walking to/from Walmart; 2 miles of wandering aimlessly in Walmart; 3 miles running on treadmill

I'm ready for race season. Although I've thought about it, I haven't run a single race yet. But I'm itching too.

Here's the problem - in a world where there's a 5K about every weekend, there doesn't seem to be any local ones when I actually have a free weekend! That's a bit annoying.

I decided a couple of weekends ago to run a 5K on the spur of the moment. That moment came on a Friday morning and the race was early on Saturday morning. I really wanted to run that race to measure where I was and if I had improved over last year. I didn't get home until late on Friday night, and racing at 7a.m. the next morning was just not going to happen.

On that Sunday, I decided to run my own race. But it was hot. And I'm a wuss. I changed my plans and decided to run it on the treadmill.

A 5K racing history for me:
August 2010     37:29
May 2011         32:58
August 2011     32:38

The thing about running on the treadmill is I know that the calibration is off a bit, but I wonder how much? I strapped on my Garmin footpod that's supposedly calibrated for my cadence as a backup. (And I pulled the incline to 0.5% so that I wasn't running a completely flat course!)

According to the treadmill, I ran a 5K in 30:39.
According to the Garmin, I ran a 5K in 28:32.

I haven't decided if I'm bummed I didn't run a sub-30 or completely stoked that I did run a sub-30. I'm so confused. 2 minutes is a HUGE difference on a 5K. And going sub-30 has been a dream of mine. I'm not even sure if I fulfilled that dream or not. Most likely not because a week later, my footpod died. I think it might have a battery inside it, but I'm too much of a dork to figure out how to take the back off without breaking it.

What does all of this have to do with Sex & Fruit....nothing...but you're reading anyway.... you perve.

So here you go...I have an extreme aversion to Walmart. I always leave completely pissed, totally exhausted, and typically without what I went there for because I gave up looking for it. Plus, I'm really scared of Walmartians. I akin them to large, wild, carnivorous animals. I like to look at them from afar or behind a glass (like on Walmart.com), but I don't want to get close enough to be injured by them (like getting run over by a buggy).

Against my better judgement, I went to Walmart today.

I went into Walmart in Live Oak, FL for two things. If I were looking for either 1) condoms or 2) fresh peaches I would have had no problems and would have been in and out in 5 minutes flat. Seriously. The people down here must have A LOT of sex. The condoms were front and center when you walked in, and I randomly saw a half a dozen posted around the store. But Hey! At least they use protection! And they like fresh peaches, but I can't blame them on that one. I LOVE fresh peaches.

They support the sex and agriculture industries down here, but you know what they are ashamed of? Mother Nature and literacy. The two things I needed were tampons and a spiral bound notepad. So, if you ever go to the Live Oak Walmart and need these two things, let me draw you a map - you're going to need it. The tampons are stuck in the most obscure alcove possible, next to the garden center. Because doesn't everyone plug up the holes in the bottom of the clay pots with tampons as a slow release moisture trap for outdoor plants? And the notebooks are in the opposite corner next to the automotive department. Because Bubba needs highlighters and sticky notes to properly change the oil in his car?

Really Walmart? What's up with this?

Oh WAIT!! I GET IT!! I'm in FLORIDA! Full of retired people! The tampons are more useful as garden tools than anything else; they don't let the grandkids visit (unless they need their car serviced); fresh peaches are easy to gum; and well - just because you're old doesn't mean you're dead. There's hope for us all!

Gotta run...

Apples v Carrots

Today's Miles: none yet. Flipped out tired from working & driving home yesterday. Me, the A.C. and the Treadmill will make peace later.

I've got an ass.

I know. So do you. But mine's different.

Mine is cute.
Mine is white.
Mine is dirty.
Mine is wooly.
Mine does not like to be touched.

Jealous? I bet you are, except about the wooly & dirty part.

If you haven't figured it out yet, we've got donkeys. Several donkeys in fact. There's Ollie - the first (four-legged) ass on the farm. Ollie was lonely and needed a friend, mostly so he'd stop trying to bite and mount the heifers. So, then came Jennie with her little one, CrackerJack. Well. As these things happen, Ollie and Jennie went out on a date, and forgot to take protection.....

Along came:

Depending on the day of the week, and which niece/nephew you ask, his name is either Brody or Jackson. (Yes, they name them after friends or siblings of friends they like.)

I, however, named him "Little Donkey." Because I'm original like that. In our family we have Barn Cat, Yellow Dog, Pond Dog, Little Man, Black Cat. We're so creative.

The last few weeks, I've been trying to teach this little ass to trust a lady with apples. His mamma is very skiddish, and I'm the only person she'll take carrots from. (Which I've learned little asses prefer apples over carrots, and big asses prefer carrots.) She taught Little Donkey well. He's in the barn being weaned from his mamma, and I'm trying to teach him people are okay.



It takes time. It takes patience.
You just can't shove an apple into a little ass and expect a good outcome.
You must convince the little ass that he wants it.

And as of earlier this week, I finally petted this little ass! Just for a moment. He's finally letting me touch his head. He doesn't like it. But now he knows he must let me do that if he wants an apple.

Just call me the Ass Whisperer.

Gotta run...