Ice Baths, Balls, and the Evil Parking Authority

You know that since this will address the Evil Parking Authority there will be cursing in this post. I am saving it for the end, so if that sort of thing offends you...well, you can stop before we get to it.

These three things named in the title are completely unrelated, one to the other. Hence, they are tangents ...stabbing out into the world from my life. And today is Tuesday. But Triple Tangent Tuesday as a title is so trite. No offense intended if you titled your post thusly today.

First up, the Ice Bath. After Sunday's run, which was my longest run in a few months and doubled my mileage for the month of March even though it was 'only' 6.6 miles, I was feeling pretty thrashed and decided an ice bath was in order. My awesome family had come to retrieve me from my hand-off spot and delivered me to my own vehicle post-haste. (I was lucky enough to get a good walk in between finishing my leg and getting picked up...a nice walk through a questionable part of town but everyone loves a runner wearing a race bib so I encountered nothing but smiles...also lucky for me). My husband hurried home to start an ice bath for me. So thoughtful! The only downside of this was... when the equivalent of a 5-lb bag of ice has been sitting in a tub of cold water for 15 minutes it is WAAYYYY harder to sit your heinie down in the water than if you wait until you're IN the water and THEN add the ice.

See? Major goosebumps...and you can't hear the screeching of bad words...

fortunately, I kept that under my breath...but did say them out loud.

Lesson: always get in before adding the ice!

Next up, the Balls. Why do people do this? We dropped Big G off at his tutor yesterday and this was parked out front of the trendy Berkeley café...

He found this hilarious...that someone would put a ballsack on their car. I found it even more hilarious that they were put on a Volvo station wagon...the absolute ballsiest of cars...not. I especially love how the driver of this Volvo color-coordinated his/her TruckNutz (that is their real name) with the car's exterior...snazzy. And tough. Do you have TruckNutz? What color TruckNutz should I put on my dark grey minivan?

Now for the bit about the Evil Parking Authority...get set... the vile profanity is about to begin...



...are you ready?


Okay.


After the car-nad sighting and dropping G off with his tutor, I decided that the sunshiny day would be perfect for a brief playground outing with the other three kids. We drove a very short distance to a fun park and parked the car here...

view from driver seat...

street sweeping schedule signage peeking out from behind telephone pole...

the identical sign just behind my car (out of view) stated that this was NOT street sweeping day.

We walked across the street to the play structures and had a blast for about 35 minutes. Then it was time to head back to the car. Upon arriving at the car, I noticed a white envelope tucked under my windshield wiper. Yes, a f*cking parking ticket. Issued five minutes before we returned to the car. Nice. I couldn't for the life of me figure out the statement in the 'reason' section...something about 2-hour zone and permit only...we had only been there for 35 minutes! And the resident permit parking areas allow non-permitted vehicles to park for 2 hours...in most places. So then I start walking up and down the street trying to figure this bullsh*t out....truly baffled... and I see this ONE f*cking sign...

...a single, lone sign and it had been neatly obscured from my view by that telephone pole. 

Probably the only BLOCK in Berkeley that has this sign on it...f*ckers.

The City of Berkeley is notorious for overly vigilant, borderline vicious parking officers. The sit near meters that are ticking down and start writing tickets as the driver is climbing into the car. They will watch a driver park in a weirdly signed, ticketable spot and not say a thing...eager to write that ticket and reach their quota. It has created an incredibly hostile parking environment. There are warnings posted on meters and on the officers' vehicles declaring that assault on a parking enforcement officer is a crime and will be punished to the fullest extent of the law. People want to seriously hurt these guys.

Anyway... so I got my ticket, found out why, got in the car, and what was running through my mind? Stupid mutherf*cker assh*le cocks*cker d*ckwad f*ckface b*tches...seriously...what.the.f*ck? Then I realized...my bad. Not healthy to get so f*cking worked up over a missed sign. There was a sign. That officer was just doing his/her job. It was not personal. It was just business. And I broke the rules. Once I was done being angry about the situation, I just felt stupid. I really didn't want to pay $49 for 35 minutes in the park. That's my set of chrome TruckNutz right there.

Sick. Physical. Effort.

I have always been really good at math. In eighth grade, the teacher would correct everyone's tests off of my paper. I got in the 700's on my math SAT. I can add my groceries up as I shop and always come out within $5 on 6 to 8 bags of groceries. I'm not bragging. I'm just trying to show that math is one of my strong suits. 

So what happened?

Sunday's run... 12 miles. I picked an X-treeeeemely hilly run because ... because I like extremes.

I've done this run before... a million years ago. It's pieced together off of regional park trail maps. I added up all the parts once and came up with a tiny bit over 12 miles. Perfect. Or so I thought. I should've checked my math.

Here's the map of The Beast....

you can move the map around and zoom in and out to see the whole thing

View Larger Map

It looks so far when I see it on a map. It's an out-and-back with a loop on the end (point B). And 12 miles is far.


But 13.1 is farther.

One point one miles is not a huge difference. Except mentally. I realized when my Garmin beeped at 6 miles, and I had not arrived at the farthest point from the start, that I was in for more than I had planned. Throw in the fact that I was in the middle of The Widowmaker (aka Hill from Hell) and I can tell you I was a woman on the verge of something... and it wasn't pretty. (refer back to my f-bomb post...which was inspired partly by this run).

Elevation Profile of The Beast

This is a bonafide example of

sick.
physical.
effort.

I only wish the downhill had felt as noticeable as the uphill.

It was a gorgeous day and a gorgeous place... just hard to appreciate all that gorgeousness when in the middle of climbing hill after never-ending hill...

Here's the scene at 2.5 miles...beautiful rolling hills.

Naked trees at 3.5 miles.

Interestingly, when the going felt nearly insurmountably impossible, it was not the f-word that sprung to mind. My mind kept going to this amazing woman and her phrase... dream big. Thank you for that, Dorothy. 

8.7 miles in, I saw the funniest name for a bathroom door lock EVER.

And was so grateful for clean bathrooms and flushing toilets :)

My husband and I had set up for the family to meet me here, at what I thought would be the 8-mile mark. My math was off. And we had estimated my pace at 10-min miles. Ummm... a bit overly-optimistic. Even without the math screw-up, I knew after the first sllloooowwwww mile that they would be waiting.

I got to the meeting place later than we had planned. They went the flattering route and guessed that I had been running so fast that they had missed me... and they left. We missed each other by moments.

But....

Look what was waiting for me at the end!

Awesome kids greeting me at the finish!

and 

my super husband who let my sweaty self hug him :)

Distance: 13.1 miles
Time: 2:22:18
Avg. Pace: 10:52

And for those of you who enjoy hearing my charming voice, I have prepared a video. My plan was to reward myself at each mile completed by shooting a tiny snippet of video so you could see my surroundings and hear me gasping for air. That lasted for the first 6 miles. It is boring, and it required more effort to stop and start than seemed rewarding, so I scrapped that plan... and just uttered the f-word a few times. Not on camera.

I will continue to dream big.

But I might also sometimes use the f-word.

The F-word... Yea or Nay?

I don't ever swear in front of my kids.

Hardly ever.

Really.

But I have been accused of a foul mouth in other areas of my life. Honestly though, it's how I was raised. In fact, nowadays I have to keep on my folks to not swear around my kids.

I recently read a blog in which the writer was decrying the dropping of f-bombs in a movie detailing intense physical exertion, camaraderie, sleep-deprivation... In the 2-hour movie, the word was used something like 6 times.

The comments left by readers were mostly of the "oh, I hate the f-word" ilk. Except mine.

I find that Sick. Physical. Effort. strips away my already-porous filter. And I have heard training partners, teammates, other athletes fall into that same camp.

I ran this yesterday...

I'll tell you more about that amazing, mutherbleepin', hilly-ass run tomorrow, but right now I am talking about the f-word.

While I just exercised some self-censorship in the blog, you can bet I dropped a few f-bombs out on that trail... in the 80ºF blazing sunshine, most notably at 0.75 miles, 2.5 miles, 4.5 miles, repeatedly from 6 to 6.6 miles, and again when I hit 12 miles and realized I still had at least a mile to go. There might have been a few additional moments of f-ness and maybe a few other choice words tossed in, but honestly, I was pushing my limits... and when I push my limits, it is that edge I am leaning over that becomes my focus... not my choice of language.

I challenge you to run this route and not drop an f-bomb...aloud or in your own head.

I could say something judgmental like "People who do not ever drop an f-bomb in a super intense workout are simply not pushing themselves hard enough." Or "People who never drop an f-bomb ever are repressed, uptight, dispassionate beings." But instead, I understand that they are working with a different vocabulary than I.

The f-word is not offensive to me in certain situations... well, in most situations. But I don't want it used around my kids.

How do you feel about the f-word? Do you ever use it? When?


Do you think less of me now that you know I do use it sometimes?




This post is linking up with Lovelinks #29! Come check out the great blogs participating :)