BMI - Body Mass Index

Also known as "Bite My Idler"...

I woke up in a bad mood today. It's unexplainable given the great evening I had with my bookclub gal-pals last night! Those chicks rock!

As soon as my fill-in co-worker spoke the words yesterday, I knew I'd be posting about it. And now, as I sit here and share the story with you, because of said foul mood, it pisses me off even more!

I am all about taking care of ourselves. I think it's our responsibility, to ourselves and to those who love and care about us. I mean, afterall, they will be the ones who have to carry the burden of our healthcare when and if our bodies shut down. So while we can and while we have some control over our lives, let's be smart; eat right and MOVE!

But there's a balance. A happy medium. A meeting of the mind and body.

Yesterday, my fill-in co-worker and I were chatting about workouts we liked; biking, swimming, hiking, etc. and how important it is to find something that's fun to do or you won't stick with it. We also talked about how our thinking and our bodies change as we get older. But I fell off my stool when she told me how, during a recent physical, the doctor said, "Overall, everything is fine. However, your BMI is "x" percent, which is too high." She responded with, "Compared to what? An Ethiopian?!"

Really world? Really fashion magazines? Really mean girls? Really media? Really Hollywood?

Balance. Let's just find our balance. Our Upekkhā...shall we?

Namaste

A Tisket A Casket

Last Spring, I took you with me on one of my long runs here and shared with you some of the things I see along the way. We can all agree that road-side findings are not always pleasant.

This afternoon, I had the opportunity to chat with my mom while she and my dad were driving from their house on the shore to my daughter's in Virginia Beach to spend the weekend. She says to me, "Oh, Joyce! I have to tell you what we saw on the way to the dump yesterday! You won't believe it." She was right. It was a road-side finding that I could not compete with. Mom's road-shoulder findings have officially trumped mine.

As my dad drove along the two-lane road, mom was simply enjoying the ride - you know, glancing to the right, turning to admire my dad's profile, looking ahead again. But then she thinks she sees something odd just up ahead on the shoulder to the left. They whiz by it. "Huh," she says to herself. The thought is so unbelievable, that after a few seconds she simply has to ask my father, "Papa? Did you see that?" In perfect Papa fashion, he responds, "See what?". Mom hesitates a moment before elaborating for fear my father would feel the need to make an immediate U-turn and head to Salisbury to the hospital entrance marked "Psychiatry".

"Um, I'm pretty sure there was a coffin sitting along the side of the road."

My dad says, "A coffin?" My dad is a man of very few words.

"Yes, Speed, a coffin." My dad has been known as "Speed" his entire life. That's another story for later.

"Mema, we'll look again on our way back, ok?"...

Once they've unloaded the truck at the recycle center, my folks head back to The Big House...with eyes wide open and going well below the speed limit. And sure enough...

"See! A Coffin! Speed, what's a coffin doing sitting out there along the side of the road with no one there?!"

"Oh, someone's there. They're in the coffin."

You don't want to get into a conversation with my dad. You will consider driving YOURSELF to the nearest hospital entrance marked "Psychiatry".

This experience just confirms my growing interest in cremation because the last thing I want is my dead ass left waiting on the side of the road for the grave digger...or for my mom to have to run to the ATM to "get some cash to pay the man"!

Rest In Peace.

I Ran The Rest Of The Way With My Mouth Open

I was in the middle of my tempo run on the treadmill last night at the Y, ear buds in place listening to something catchy, minding my own workout business... While you get that vision in your head, I'll give you some background info that will help set the stage for this post.

I only utilize the treadmill for 3 events/reasons during my training programs: 1) for tempo runs, 2) for speed work and 3) during the winter months when it gets dark at 5:30 in the evening. Otherwise, I'll be outside if you need me.

The evenings I am at my local YMCA, there is van-load of high school-aged girls that come in around 6:00 and leave by 6:45. I don't know where they come from, if they're from a group home or just some after school program they participate in. And for the most part, they're pretty well behaved.

Last night, one of them used the treadmill next to me. When she finished her run, she hopped off, grabbed the cleaning towels and, abiding by the gym rules, came back and wiped down her machine. But then, in a flash, she reached over and thoughtfully (?) mopped up MY puddle of sweat! I thought, huh...did that just happen? Did she just do what I think she just did?

I mean, she may as well have reached over and blown my nose.

Maybe she could be the next Marvel super hero.

"Mop Girl...avenger of sweat puddles".

God people are weird.

One Is Just Like The Other

Look at this...

Now look at this...

Yeah, my thoughts exactly!

Sam I Am

Over the holidays, I found myself watching/listening to The Hallmark channel while decorating, cooking, wrapping - you know, doing holiday stuff. I like Hallmark; Hallmark Cards, Hallmark Christmas Tree ornaments (although I don't "use" them), Hallmark stores (they sell Vera Bradley...I DO use Vera Bradley). But this isn't a post about Hallmark. It's just that the subject of this post was seen multiple times on the Hallmark channel. This is a post about being googly. All googly. Am I too old to be googly?

I don't ever remember being googly over any movie star or rock star or anyone of any Hollywood status as a kid. And I'll have to check with my mom but I don't even remember having my walls covered in posters...hmmm, that may explain a lot about me.

But as I turn the pages on my calendar and the years go flitting by, I find myself sighing dreamily at two star-studs - Tom Selleck (have you SEEN Bluebloods????) and this guy...

Sam - then

Now, clearly, Sam Elliott was a good looking young man. And maybe, certainly my opinion of a good looking man has/is changing as I, too, age gracefully. But, regardless of the number of candles on my birthday cake or yours, it's hard to argue that today's version of Sam Elliott is not a fine specimen in deed. But I'm partial to graying hair. And I love wrinkles. They, along with our visible scars, tell our story.

Sam - now

So, if this is what I have to look forward to in the coming years with my husband, I am one lucky girl.

I'll have to ask him how he feels about my aging process.

On second thought, I'm smarter than that.

Keep up the good work, Sam.

This Shit Cracks Me Up!

Like many of you, I'm sure, I am a faithful and loyal follower of The Pioneer Woman.

Everyday, sometimes a few times a day, I take a trip to Oklahoma and check in on my friend Ree and her life on the frontier. Today was no different.

I work for a general surgeon. He handles your standard hot gallbladders. The sometimes volatile, thumb-shaped appendix. Those pesky hernias that can pop up in numerous places. Cysts and boils and lipomas, oh my! And...the colon. You know, your poop shoot.

I've never been one to shy away from an uncomfortable conversation, unless it involved money. I don't like to discuss funds. Aside from that, I'll chat with you about anything. Including poop. I mean, everyone poops. There's even a book out there called "Everyone Poops", check it out at the library, I'm sure there's an available copy.

Since I've been working with this physician, I have learned a WEALTH of information on feces and the process our body goes through to expel it. I bet you have no idea the stories your poop can tell about the overall health of your plumbing system! Interested? Let's set a coffee date. I'll even bring a picture book!

So, imagine my excitement when The Pioneer Woman posted about this:

Get it? Poo Pourri!!! Bahahahahahahahaha!!!

And the tag line for the Crap Shooter is "Spray The Bowl First, Guns-A-Blazing, The Smell Is Contained, This Stuff Is Amazing!"

If we're all being honest, we've been in an embarrassing situation where we've left a little evidence behind after leaving the guest bathroom. I mean, despite pooping being a natural act of life, we get silly about it.

So, if you're that self-conscious, visit the crapshooter spray site, pick up a purse-sized bottle and let nature takes its course.

I'm glad I was here to educate you.

Know Your Body Parts

A post-operative patient called in to the office this afternoon. The conversation went something like this (of course, the names have been changed to cover my ass):

Patient: Yes, this is Cornelius Dishwasher. Can I talk to Dr. Warmblood?

Me: I'm sorry but Dr. Warmblood is in surgery today. He'll be calling and checking in before the office closes. I'd be happy to take a message and get back to you once I've spoken with him.

Patient: Yeah, okay. Well he operated on me Monday and I'm out of my pain medicine. I want to get some more.

Me: What medication did Dr. Warmblood have you on Mr. Dishwasher?

Patient: Percocet.

Me: Uh huh...and what type of surgery did you have?

Patient: He took my pancreas

Me: (To myself in my head..."huh...really...well...how 'bout that...huh..."). Ok. Well, Mr. Dishwasher, I'll relay your request to the doctor and get back to you as soon as I can.

Fast forward one hour...

Dr. Warmblood: Hey Joyce. Anything going on? Got anything for me?

Me: Actually, I do...you operated on Mr. Dishwasher this past Monday?

Dr. Warmblood: Yeah. Yep, sure did.

Me: And...you...removed his pancreas?

Dr. Warmblood: (...without missing a beat)... I did and I'm amazed he's doing so well.

Me & Dr. Warmblood: ...sigh...wow...BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The moral of this story...people are stupid (and oh yeah, by the way, YOU CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT YOUR PANCREAS YOU IDGET!!!)