Road Kill

I started running in January. Since there was a foot of snow on the ground, I began running on my treadmill. I had my IPod and a reasonably cool basement. Life was good.

When spring finally broke, I decided it was time to take my feet to the pavement. I wanted to run a 5K in May and needed to maybe-kind-of-sort-of run on - um - a road - since not many 5Ks take place on a treadmill.

Unfortunately, I wasn't prepared for a lot of things (like how I clomped like a Clydesdale, or how my joints ached, or how my lungs felt as if they were going to explode rocket-like out of my chest). I wasn't prepared for how difficult the transition from treadmill to pavement would be.

Hence over the last six months I've worked on building my cardio capacity through intervals, stretching before and after runs and buying a cushy pair of running shoes (which still haven't helped with the clomping, unfortunately).

But there's one thing that still freaks me out about running on pavement and it is this: road kill.

Birds, chipmunks, squirrels, raccoons, turkeys, frogs, turtles, fish (yes, fish) and really really big bugs have all made an appearance during my runs. With birds, chipmunks and squirrels, my reaction is usually, "Oh, poor mushed thing. I hope it didn't suffer," while smashed frogs and turtles make me just plain sad.

However, when it comes to raccoons, turkeys and really, really big bugs, my fight or flight response kicks in. Actually it's just the flight response. Those dead things require a very very W I D E berth.

Last week I saw a lumpy "thing" in the distance and the anxiety instantly creeped in. "Oh geez, don't tell me that's a dead animal. It's just garbage, right? Please, please, please don't be dead animal. No. No. No. Doh!" As I got closer, it was apparent that a rather large raccoon had mets its maker at the end of someone's driveway. It was tiped on one side with its front legs outstretched toward me. "Gah!"

I slowed down, looked over my shoulder (because I didn't want to be road kill) and then moved to the other side of the street just in case the raccoon suddenly came back to life, grew ten times its normal size, raised up on its hind legs and decided to chase me. While I have made progress in my running; I haven't made enough to outrun a rabid zombie raccoon (or deal with my insecurities).

Road kill kills my running times.

This summer we went to Michigan to visit friends. My son wanted to jump off a jetty in Frankfort because a group of older kids were doing it. As a parent my concern wasn't the sharp pointy rocks just below the surface or how high the jetty was from the water or that he might break his neck in spite of both those things. My concern was the huge ugly DEAD carp that was floating next to the ladder that my son needed to use to get back onto the jetty. "Gah!"

He jumped, headed toward the ladder and the fish didn't come back to life, turn into Jaws and eat him. But you can see where the dead fish (yes, a fish) I recently ran across (well, around) on the road led me.

You'd think that I'd be old enough now to NOT be scared by road kill. But something primal kicks in every time. It ain't pretty. And it's ruining my running times.

But alas, the snow will soon fly. I can already hear the happy hum of my treadmill.

Men are Dogs and Women are Cats

My friend remarked on Sunday how cats are the women of the domesticated animal world. Does that mean dogs are the men? Are men dogs and women cats?

Our cat runs the house. He always has. He's managed to terrify into submission every animal we've brought into our household during the past 13 years. Fish, guinae pigs, hamsters, other cats - they've all quickly learned to be very. afraid. of. the. cat. The cat doesn't hiss or let the claws fly. No, that would be too easy. Instead, he simply narrows his eyes and somehow manages to put the entire animal kingdom on notice with "the look."

When the cat discovered that he could tame the furry and finned ones, he figured he could take over the unfurry ones too. Most of our friends are now afraid of "the psycho cat." We don't help the situation because we are always saying, "He's really nice but watch it, he can turn on a dime." He can. And he does. Not many friends have seen the inside of our house.

The cat is no dummy. He's a perfect gentleman to the one who feeds him and who keeps his litter box clean and who lets him in and out and in and out and in and out and in and out.

We got our dog, Daisy, in 2004. She is the consummate black lab. She does everything at full speed. There's nothing subtle about her. That alone was reason enough for "pyscho cat" to pick her as his new terror-toy.

I think part of it is because the cat is completely overwhelmed by the dog. After all, she is big and bumbling and like a burst in that she's everywhere at once. That's so uncool. Clearly, the dog has to be stopped.

Meanwhile, Daisy tries everything within her little dog pea-brain to make friends with the cat. Much to the cat's dismay, "the look" does nothing to derail the dog. Daisy trots up to the cat with a toy, only to experience the usual charge, swipe, hiss. She tries to nuzzle the cat and it's charge, swipe, hiss. She walks in a room and it's charge, swipe, hiss. Poor Daisy.

So, are cats the women of the domesticated animal world? And are dogs the men? I'm not sayin'.

Stretchy Covers, Paper Bags and Debit Logs

Soren needs book covers. And he needs them by Friday. Or he'll get - pause - a debit.

You know those stretchy book covers that were on sale back in July? Well I knew about them and I dutifully purchased the two required by Soren's school (along with the gazillion other items that were on the supply list). He needed two. Just two. But on Wednesday, it was upgraded to five. What?!

"No problem," Soren said. "The teacher said to bring in wrapping paper and we can use that to cover the books."

I said, "Don't kids cover their books with paper bags anymore? When I was a kid, decorating them was so much fun and. . ."

"Mom, please."

Okey doke. Wrapping paper it is. Problem solved.

Guess who forgot to take the wrapping paper with him? And guess who delivered a roll of wrapping paper to school for him? And guess who came home with the same roll of wrapping paper because "it didn't work." What?!

Turns out that paper bags are the book cover of choice, second to stretchy covers of course (which don't exist in September because I looked).

So now we are down to the wire. The books are at school; the paper bags are at home; the stretchy covers have apparently flown south for winter. What to do. What to do. What to do.

Back to - pause - the debit. That's just not fair.

By the way, that's a stretchy book cover on Soren's head. If we only knew how difficult it would be to find them now, we wouldn't have turned this one into a doo-rag. But that's another story.