Here I am, less than two weeks from Hagg Lake, and my %*^&# back is messed up again. Haven't been able to run since Sunday. Went to the doc yesterday, and she says it's a muscle spasm, which is causing my sciatic nerve to go all wacko on me. The sciatic problem I can handle. The low back pain that switches between aching and feeling like an SOB, I cannot handle. For now, I'm hopped up on muscle relaxers and Alleve. Tomorrow I go see the MAT therapist who worked a miracle on my knee a couple of years ago. Keeping my fingers crossed. I didn't have any plans to go all out at Hagg Lake since it's a training run for AR50, but I sure as heck didn't want to go into it hurting or not being able to train for the two weeks prior.
{sigh . . .} I need ice cream . . .
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Memories, Part Duce
When I was a kid, I loved to sing. Still do. Did a 2-year stint with the local Interfaith Gospel Choir, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Only problem was we were performing every weekend, Saturday and Sunday, leaving no time for me to spend with my husband.
Since I left the choir, I've stuck to performing at occasional weddings. This past summer I sang at my niece's wedding and it is fair to say I blew my family away. With the exception of my dad, no one had ever heard me before. Interesting predicament for the bride-to-be to not know what her singer was going to sound like, even if the singer was her aunt. But she held her chin high and said,"Even if it's bad, she's family," and she marched on (secretly praying the entire time, I am sure, that I wouldn't totally screw things up). And I am happy to say that I DID NOT screw up, but performed quite a wonderful rendition of Etta James' "At Last." During the singing, my niece (the bride) is looking her dad (my brother), and they're both mouthing to each other, "That's Aunt Leslie?!?!?" Yep, quite a surprise.
Yes, it was the hours upon hours in front of the bedroom mirror, trying desperately to capture the facial and wide-mouthed expressions of Hayley Mills singing as Pollyanna. Or the moody sounds of The Carpenters and Debbie Boone. The hours of listening to Loretta Lynn, Lynn Anderson, Johnny Cash, Marty Robbins, Jim Ed Brown and Helen Cornelius, Jim Reeves . . . I was never a rock and roll person. I was the pure definition of Barbara Mandrell's "I Was Country When Country Wasn't Cool," - - and damn proud of it.
So much incredible influence from all parts of music - Often I wish I had had the balls to pursue music. But the way I was at that time of my life, I would've been eaten up and spit out in less time than it takes to say, "Excuse me, I have an appointment?" BAM! Door would be slammed in the face and that'd be all she wrote.
So I content myself with living room and car singing, the occasional shower singing, and the even less occasional wedding. Hey - Did I tell ya I can belt out a mean National Anthem? I just need a ballgame to prove myself.
Since I left the choir, I've stuck to performing at occasional weddings. This past summer I sang at my niece's wedding and it is fair to say I blew my family away. With the exception of my dad, no one had ever heard me before. Interesting predicament for the bride-to-be to not know what her singer was going to sound like, even if the singer was her aunt. But she held her chin high and said,"Even if it's bad, she's family," and she marched on (secretly praying the entire time, I am sure, that I wouldn't totally screw things up). And I am happy to say that I DID NOT screw up, but performed quite a wonderful rendition of Etta James' "At Last." During the singing, my niece (the bride) is looking her dad (my brother), and they're both mouthing to each other, "That's Aunt Leslie?!?!?" Yep, quite a surprise.
Yes, it was the hours upon hours in front of the bedroom mirror, trying desperately to capture the facial and wide-mouthed expressions of Hayley Mills singing as Pollyanna. Or the moody sounds of The Carpenters and Debbie Boone. The hours of listening to Loretta Lynn, Lynn Anderson, Johnny Cash, Marty Robbins, Jim Ed Brown and Helen Cornelius, Jim Reeves . . . I was never a rock and roll person. I was the pure definition of Barbara Mandrell's "I Was Country When Country Wasn't Cool," - - and damn proud of it.
So much incredible influence from all parts of music - Often I wish I had had the balls to pursue music. But the way I was at that time of my life, I would've been eaten up and spit out in less time than it takes to say, "Excuse me, I have an appointment?" BAM! Door would be slammed in the face and that'd be all she wrote.
So I content myself with living room and car singing, the occasional shower singing, and the even less occasional wedding. Hey - Did I tell ya I can belt out a mean National Anthem? I just need a ballgame to prove myself.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Memories
I grew up on the Central Coast of California in the small hamlet of Cambria, nestled in between San Simeon (home of the famous Hearst Castle) to the north, and Morro Bay and San Luis Obispo to the south. It really was a wonderful place to grow up. One of those small towns where crime was unheard of, everybody knew everybody, and you didn't have to worry if your kids wandered off for hours on end. In fact, I remember my mom telling us, "Go outside and don't come for back for a couple of hours!"
We lived "in the woods" and "by the beach" all at the same time. We had great trails we'd made from our back yard straight through the pine trees and down to the beach, which was a couple of miles away (a very long way when you were a kid!). We'd grab our dog, Kraut (like sauerkraut. He was a German Shepherd mix) and head off for hours of exploring, with our only worry being whether or not we'd end up with poison oak.
If you headed off in one direction, within perhaps half a mile you'd end up on the edge of the tree line and on a dead end road, which would lead you back to the main road to our house. There was a house at the end of that dead end, and in order to get back on the main road, you had to enter their property for a few feet. To my recollection, there was nothing strange about it in looks, but for some reason we kids had it in our heads that whoever lived there hated kids, and if we ever caught on the property all hell would break loose.
We'd emerge from the trees and stand, looking across the wide expanse of the dirt driveway/dead end road, watching for any signs of life. Only when we were absolutely certain no one was home would we hit that road at a dead run until we passed through the gate. It was always thrilling. Why we didn't just turn around go back the way we'd come, I don't know. Guess it was the lure of the known.
I don't ever remember seeing anyone out and about on that property, however, I do remember a woman I'd never seen before "suddenly" appearing before me once when I was by myself with Kraut near that property. . . . . But that's a story for another time.
We lived "in the woods" and "by the beach" all at the same time. We had great trails we'd made from our back yard straight through the pine trees and down to the beach, which was a couple of miles away (a very long way when you were a kid!). We'd grab our dog, Kraut (like sauerkraut. He was a German Shepherd mix) and head off for hours of exploring, with our only worry being whether or not we'd end up with poison oak.
If you headed off in one direction, within perhaps half a mile you'd end up on the edge of the tree line and on a dead end road, which would lead you back to the main road to our house. There was a house at the end of that dead end, and in order to get back on the main road, you had to enter their property for a few feet. To my recollection, there was nothing strange about it in looks, but for some reason we kids had it in our heads that whoever lived there hated kids, and if we ever caught on the property all hell would break loose.
We'd emerge from the trees and stand, looking across the wide expanse of the dirt driveway/dead end road, watching for any signs of life. Only when we were absolutely certain no one was home would we hit that road at a dead run until we passed through the gate. It was always thrilling. Why we didn't just turn around go back the way we'd come, I don't know. Guess it was the lure of the known.
I don't ever remember seeing anyone out and about on that property, however, I do remember a woman I'd never seen before "suddenly" appearing before me once when I was by myself with Kraut near that property. . . . . But that's a story for another time.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Scrooge, Here
The Hub and I have decided to forego Christmas this year. No family coming, we already spent all our money on vacation in October and a new bed a couple of weeks ago, enough's enough.
All the adults in our family decided years ago to not get gifts for one another and just call. Gifts went to the kids when they were little, it turned to money as they grew up. Now that they're all adults, they get what all the other adults get, a card, and a phone call, if you're lucky.
This year, we're not even doin' the cards. Heck we aint' even doin' a tree or ANY kind of decorations. Do I look at other Christmas decorations and lights somewhat wistfully? I'd be lying if I said no. Do I miss dragging out all the boxes, spending hours upon hours decorating a $100+ tree and the house? Heck, no! And I won't miss all the hours I would've spent putting all the crap away.
So this year, we're hum buggin' it, and I don't mind one bit.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Desert High 50k
Ridgecrest, California
Sunday, 12/06/09
Fashion Report: Black capris with a blue stripe down the side, light blue tech shirt, bright yellow Moeben sleeves, hot pink sports bra, hot pink gaiters, blue and gray Mizuno trail shoes, baby blue hat
I participated in the 30k distance of this race last year and enjoyed it so much, I decided to go back this year for the 50k. My aunt and uncle live in Ridgecrest and my dad goes with me, so he and I get in some much needed father-daughter time, and we get to see family, too.
I live in Northern California, and Ridgecrest is way down at the other end of the state in the Mojave Desert (do the Tehachapis ring a bell with anyone?), about 12 hours away. Dad and I left around 3:00 Thursday and drove halfway before we got a room for the night, then took off the next morning for the second half of the drive. My uncle, in an effort to get out of having to visit with us, decided to go in for hernia surgery Friday. However, being the devious persons that we are, we forced ourselves upon him by visiting him in the hospital. He was only allowed to stay one night, so he had to come home and face us Saturday and Sunday. (Grins to Uncle Wayne!)
On Saturday, my aunt and I walked to the town’s annual Christmas faire about a mile away, which gave my legs a chance to loosen up. It was really windy, and I was hoping against hope that it would die down before the next day. My aunt made a great baked spaghetti casserole for dinner Saturday night, and I did my best to eat as much of it as possible.
Before dinner, I went to race headquarters and picked up my race packet. There was lots of people waiting in line, so I struck up a conversation with the two guys in front of me. One had run Western States before, and both had run AR50 (American River 50 Mile), which I plan to run in April. It was nice to get some more insight into the run, which ended with one guy saying, “You just have to come to terms with the fact that the last few miles are going to suck.” Okee dokee!)
I slept remarkably well Saturday night, and woke up Sunday ready to face the run. Got myself dressed, ate a bowl of oatmeal, and waited for nature to take its course. My dad got up to use the bathroom at one point and asked if I wanted him to sit up with me, but seeing as how it was around 5:30 a.m. and there was absolutely no reason for him to be up, I sent him back to bed . . . much to his relief, I must say.
(Finish line workers braving the cold)
It was quite chilly when I got to Cerro Coso College, where the race is staged. The cement pad going in to the gym (which was open for bathroom use and for people to hang out) had quite a layer of ice on it. The edges had thawed and there were lights along the outer edge of the iced areas, and someone was standing there to ensure people were aware of the ice. Regardless, as I was heading down the steps back to my car, I heard someone bite it - hard. Whoever it was, he or she had to have done themselves in, and I could only imagine how much they were gonna hurt once the shock wore off.
The early start was suppose to be at 6:00, and around 6:10 they took off to cheers and horn honks from those of us waiting for the 7:00 a.m. start. I stayed in my truck with it running and the heat going full force. No reason to hang out in the cold! A little before 7:00, I double-checked my gear, then headed to the start line. Directions were given, a short prayer was said, and with a countdown, we were off.
This course, although at some elevation (2500 feet at the start) and with a couple of long uphill hauls, doesn’t have the intense climbing that I usually encounter on trail runs, so it’s a good place to set a PR. My previous PR had been in July at SOB (Siskiyou Out Back in Ashland, OR), which I finished in 7:39 and some change - a really good run for me. My verbal goal for this race was to finish in 6.5 to 7 hrs, but I was secretly hoping to finish faster.
One of the great things about this race is that the distances between aid stations are fairly short, with the longest being around 5 miles. I wish, however, that they allowed drop bags. I use my own fluid mix during runs, and with no drop bags, it meant I had to carry it all with me. This allowed very little room in my waist pack for anything extra (like my Mojo Clif bars), so I was hoping against hope that the aid stations had foods that would agree with my stomach. They were well-stocked, and I subsisted on bananas, potatoes, and a few pretzels for the entire run. At one station, I stared longingly at what looked to be homemade brownies and at miniature Snickers (I LOVE Snickers!), but with heartburn just a stupid food choice away, I reluctantly walked away from both.
About 1.5 hrs into the run the winds picked up with a vengeance, and never let up the rest of the run. It was awful. 90% of the time it was a direct headwind or was coming at you from the front left. My uncle emailed me on Tuesday after the race and said their paper indicated the winds were blowing at 30-40 mph with gusts of 55 mph. Did I already say it was awful? The couple of times I remember it being at my back, we were, of course, going downhill. Gee, thanks. At times, it felt like you were pushing against a wall, with the wind buffeting you all over the place. When it was coming from the front side, I’d find myself half turning my body trying to protect myself. I finally gave up trying to keep my hat on, and eventually tucked it around my waist pack.
The aid stations workers were da bomb. Those poor folks, all bundled up against the wind and cold, kept us going while trying to keep food and drinks from being blown off the tables. And the Christmas station was back! Christmas bobbles and stuffed animals lined the course beginning less than a 1/4 mile from the station, and just as you got to the station, there was a length of PVC pipe covered with gold garland arching over the course. The only bummer about the station was the guy who, with very good intentions, said, “This should be the end of the headwinds, folks.” Alas, he was wrong. :o(
There was a point where I was getting really mad because of the wind and curse words went flying. But I realized it was wasted energy and wouldn’t change anything, so I changed to positive thinking as much as possible. Also, because this an easier course, you’re never far from other runners, so there was a lot of commiserating with one another.
One thing that brought a smile to my face - at the M11 aid station, a group of women came in just behind me. Of the 4 or 5, it sounded like only one had ever run this distance before. One of the newbies says, “We’re all Mile 11? Great! Only 20 miles left!” I thought, “Hope you’re that cheery come Mile 20!”
(Look! Two feet off the ground!)
Despite the wind, I was doing really well. A little before Mile 20 or so, I could feel my legs tiring, but I was still able to effectively execute my run/walk up the hills without much ill effect. I was doing my best to take in food and fluids on a regular basis, and felt it was possible to attain my secret goal. . . . Then M28 came and it all began to fall apart. I’ve hit walls before, but it’s always come on gradually. This time - WHAM! It felt like it came from out of the blue. Even though there were only 3 miles left, I knew it was going to be a long 3 miles. Thankfully, there was a good downhill section, but I even had to resort to walking some of that, which was a real bummer since that’s where I (along with most people) can really make up time.
All the aid stations have signs indicating what mileage its at in the run, as well as the distance to the next station. With this race, there’s one final aid station at M29.9. Even though I knew the last station had been at 25-something, in my “you have nothing left” state of mind, I asked what mile we were at. One lady says, “24.9.” Well, I guess my head almost flew off my neck I turned it around so hard, and the other lady manning the station started laughing like crazy. The first one says, “No! 29.9! 29.9!” and the other says to me, “Oh, you should’ve seen your face!” I told her, “Well, I thought I was in hell for a second!”
There was a group of about 4 or 5 of us who left that station at the same time, and one guy, doing is best to urge me along, ran with me for a few yards saying, “Let’s go! Only one mile left. We can do this! Don’t go crazy and go too hard. Let’s just get this done.” Well, he had a little more oompf in his legs than I did, and it wasn’t long before I let him go on his merry way. From that point, I leap-frogged a few times with a man and woman who were running together, each of us intermittently walking and running.
I eventually pulled away from them, and once I hit the last downhill section, I let it go. My dad, who had showed up about an hour or so earlier so he could take pictures, saw me coming and stood out in the middle of the road snapping away. Because he had been chatting with the folks around them, they knew my name, and as I ran toward them, they were all yelling, “Go, Leslie!” It was really cool to hear.
The end of the race takes you back through the parking lot and up what is an imperceptible incline. Imperceptible, that is, unless you’ve just run 31 miles and your legs are like jelly. But I refuse to walk through a finish line, and I gave it everything I had those last yards, finishing in 6:39:29, a distance PR.
(This smile took a bit of effort.)
My dad gave me a big hug, and I told him, “I think I’m going to puke or poop all over myself. I gotta sit down.” We headed to my truck, and my poor dad, he got to watch me start to shake like crazy, beginning in the legs and working it’s way up. I sat on the bumper and he kept asking, “What can I do for you, sis? What can I do for you?” He got me the rest of the Mojo bar I had in the truck, and once I got that down, I started feeling a bit better.
(There was a bit of an updraft behind the truck.)
After a walk to the bathrooms, we headed back to my aunt and uncle’s house, where I ended up having all three of them standing in the dining room watching me shake while I ate a banana. My aunt says to me, “And you pay to do this?!?” Yep!
This is a great run, but you definitely have to like the desert and not mind using the bathroom behind a see-thru bush. I intend to go back next year, the run’s 25th Anniversary, and hopefully Mother Nature will be a little kinder and keep the winds to a low roar.
Sunday, 12/06/09
Fashion Report: Black capris with a blue stripe down the side, light blue tech shirt, bright yellow Moeben sleeves, hot pink sports bra, hot pink gaiters, blue and gray Mizuno trail shoes, baby blue hat
I participated in the 30k distance of this race last year and enjoyed it so much, I decided to go back this year for the 50k. My aunt and uncle live in Ridgecrest and my dad goes with me, so he and I get in some much needed father-daughter time, and we get to see family, too.
I live in Northern California, and Ridgecrest is way down at the other end of the state in the Mojave Desert (do the Tehachapis ring a bell with anyone?), about 12 hours away. Dad and I left around 3:00 Thursday and drove halfway before we got a room for the night, then took off the next morning for the second half of the drive. My uncle, in an effort to get out of having to visit with us, decided to go in for hernia surgery Friday. However, being the devious persons that we are, we forced ourselves upon him by visiting him in the hospital. He was only allowed to stay one night, so he had to come home and face us Saturday and Sunday. (Grins to Uncle Wayne!)
On Saturday, my aunt and I walked to the town’s annual Christmas faire about a mile away, which gave my legs a chance to loosen up. It was really windy, and I was hoping against hope that it would die down before the next day. My aunt made a great baked spaghetti casserole for dinner Saturday night, and I did my best to eat as much of it as possible.
Before dinner, I went to race headquarters and picked up my race packet. There was lots of people waiting in line, so I struck up a conversation with the two guys in front of me. One had run Western States before, and both had run AR50 (American River 50 Mile), which I plan to run in April. It was nice to get some more insight into the run, which ended with one guy saying, “You just have to come to terms with the fact that the last few miles are going to suck.” Okee dokee!)
I slept remarkably well Saturday night, and woke up Sunday ready to face the run. Got myself dressed, ate a bowl of oatmeal, and waited for nature to take its course. My dad got up to use the bathroom at one point and asked if I wanted him to sit up with me, but seeing as how it was around 5:30 a.m. and there was absolutely no reason for him to be up, I sent him back to bed . . . much to his relief, I must say.
(Finish line workers braving the cold)It was quite chilly when I got to Cerro Coso College, where the race is staged. The cement pad going in to the gym (which was open for bathroom use and for people to hang out) had quite a layer of ice on it. The edges had thawed and there were lights along the outer edge of the iced areas, and someone was standing there to ensure people were aware of the ice. Regardless, as I was heading down the steps back to my car, I heard someone bite it - hard. Whoever it was, he or she had to have done themselves in, and I could only imagine how much they were gonna hurt once the shock wore off.
The early start was suppose to be at 6:00, and around 6:10 they took off to cheers and horn honks from those of us waiting for the 7:00 a.m. start. I stayed in my truck with it running and the heat going full force. No reason to hang out in the cold! A little before 7:00, I double-checked my gear, then headed to the start line. Directions were given, a short prayer was said, and with a countdown, we were off.
This course, although at some elevation (2500 feet at the start) and with a couple of long uphill hauls, doesn’t have the intense climbing that I usually encounter on trail runs, so it’s a good place to set a PR. My previous PR had been in July at SOB (Siskiyou Out Back in Ashland, OR), which I finished in 7:39 and some change - a really good run for me. My verbal goal for this race was to finish in 6.5 to 7 hrs, but I was secretly hoping to finish faster.
One of the great things about this race is that the distances between aid stations are fairly short, with the longest being around 5 miles. I wish, however, that they allowed drop bags. I use my own fluid mix during runs, and with no drop bags, it meant I had to carry it all with me. This allowed very little room in my waist pack for anything extra (like my Mojo Clif bars), so I was hoping against hope that the aid stations had foods that would agree with my stomach. They were well-stocked, and I subsisted on bananas, potatoes, and a few pretzels for the entire run. At one station, I stared longingly at what looked to be homemade brownies and at miniature Snickers (I LOVE Snickers!), but with heartburn just a stupid food choice away, I reluctantly walked away from both.
About 1.5 hrs into the run the winds picked up with a vengeance, and never let up the rest of the run. It was awful. 90% of the time it was a direct headwind or was coming at you from the front left. My uncle emailed me on Tuesday after the race and said their paper indicated the winds were blowing at 30-40 mph with gusts of 55 mph. Did I already say it was awful? The couple of times I remember it being at my back, we were, of course, going downhill. Gee, thanks. At times, it felt like you were pushing against a wall, with the wind buffeting you all over the place. When it was coming from the front side, I’d find myself half turning my body trying to protect myself. I finally gave up trying to keep my hat on, and eventually tucked it around my waist pack.
The aid stations workers were da bomb. Those poor folks, all bundled up against the wind and cold, kept us going while trying to keep food and drinks from being blown off the tables. And the Christmas station was back! Christmas bobbles and stuffed animals lined the course beginning less than a 1/4 mile from the station, and just as you got to the station, there was a length of PVC pipe covered with gold garland arching over the course. The only bummer about the station was the guy who, with very good intentions, said, “This should be the end of the headwinds, folks.” Alas, he was wrong. :o(
There was a point where I was getting really mad because of the wind and curse words went flying. But I realized it was wasted energy and wouldn’t change anything, so I changed to positive thinking as much as possible. Also, because this an easier course, you’re never far from other runners, so there was a lot of commiserating with one another.
One thing that brought a smile to my face - at the M11 aid station, a group of women came in just behind me. Of the 4 or 5, it sounded like only one had ever run this distance before. One of the newbies says, “We’re all Mile 11? Great! Only 20 miles left!” I thought, “Hope you’re that cheery come Mile 20!”
(Look! Two feet off the ground!)Despite the wind, I was doing really well. A little before Mile 20 or so, I could feel my legs tiring, but I was still able to effectively execute my run/walk up the hills without much ill effect. I was doing my best to take in food and fluids on a regular basis, and felt it was possible to attain my secret goal. . . . Then M28 came and it all began to fall apart. I’ve hit walls before, but it’s always come on gradually. This time - WHAM! It felt like it came from out of the blue. Even though there were only 3 miles left, I knew it was going to be a long 3 miles. Thankfully, there was a good downhill section, but I even had to resort to walking some of that, which was a real bummer since that’s where I (along with most people) can really make up time.
All the aid stations have signs indicating what mileage its at in the run, as well as the distance to the next station. With this race, there’s one final aid station at M29.9. Even though I knew the last station had been at 25-something, in my “you have nothing left” state of mind, I asked what mile we were at. One lady says, “24.9.” Well, I guess my head almost flew off my neck I turned it around so hard, and the other lady manning the station started laughing like crazy. The first one says, “No! 29.9! 29.9!” and the other says to me, “Oh, you should’ve seen your face!” I told her, “Well, I thought I was in hell for a second!”
There was a group of about 4 or 5 of us who left that station at the same time, and one guy, doing is best to urge me along, ran with me for a few yards saying, “Let’s go! Only one mile left. We can do this! Don’t go crazy and go too hard. Let’s just get this done.” Well, he had a little more oompf in his legs than I did, and it wasn’t long before I let him go on his merry way. From that point, I leap-frogged a few times with a man and woman who were running together, each of us intermittently walking and running.
I eventually pulled away from them, and once I hit the last downhill section, I let it go. My dad, who had showed up about an hour or so earlier so he could take pictures, saw me coming and stood out in the middle of the road snapping away. Because he had been chatting with the folks around them, they knew my name, and as I ran toward them, they were all yelling, “Go, Leslie!” It was really cool to hear.
The end of the race takes you back through the parking lot and up what is an imperceptible incline. Imperceptible, that is, unless you’ve just run 31 miles and your legs are like jelly. But I refuse to walk through a finish line, and I gave it everything I had those last yards, finishing in 6:39:29, a distance PR.
(This smile took a bit of effort.)My dad gave me a big hug, and I told him, “I think I’m going to puke or poop all over myself. I gotta sit down.” We headed to my truck, and my poor dad, he got to watch me start to shake like crazy, beginning in the legs and working it’s way up. I sat on the bumper and he kept asking, “What can I do for you, sis? What can I do for you?” He got me the rest of the Mojo bar I had in the truck, and once I got that down, I started feeling a bit better.
(There was a bit of an updraft behind the truck.)After a walk to the bathrooms, we headed back to my aunt and uncle’s house, where I ended up having all three of them standing in the dining room watching me shake while I ate a banana. My aunt says to me, “And you pay to do this?!?” Yep!
This is a great run, but you definitely have to like the desert and not mind using the bathroom behind a see-thru bush. I intend to go back next year, the run’s 25th Anniversary, and hopefully Mother Nature will be a little kinder and keep the winds to a low roar.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
How Many Male Cats Does it Take to Start a Good Ole Cat Fight and Pissing Contest?
We've acquired 2 more cats. I'm blaming at least one of the acquisitions on Shorty. I came back from Conference in August and he says, "You know that orange and white cat? He's eating here now." (deep breath) Come to think of it, I can blame 3 out of 6 on him. two years ago, I came home from Conference and we had acquired two kittens. Maybe I should stop going to Conference . . . . . .
But I digress . . .
The other is our neighbor's cat, who we now affectionately call Mister Mister after mistakingly thinking he was a girl (the neighbor told us he was a she) and calling her Missy Pants to begin with. The neighbors apparently couldn't care less 'cause he's with us all the time. The orange and white cat? He's Chico - because he really belongs to the Mexican family up the road, which family obviously doesn't give a whit about him, as well, because he, too, spends all of his time at our house. Plus he's never been de-balled, which will be taken care of soon.
So we are now a family of 6 male cats. One very old guy (19 1/2), one middle-aged guy, 2 youngin's, and 2 hanger-on-ers. As in the two-legged world of males, the 4-legged world of males are now strutting their stuff and be the alpha male. Well, all them except our old guy who is confounded by all this in the first place, and Ziggy, our middle-aged guy who, smartly, seeks refuge as often as possible in the field across the street. I foresee issues . . . lots and lots of issue. Lord, give me strength!
But I digress . . .
The other is our neighbor's cat, who we now affectionately call Mister Mister after mistakingly thinking he was a girl (the neighbor told us he was a she) and calling her Missy Pants to begin with. The neighbors apparently couldn't care less 'cause he's with us all the time. The orange and white cat? He's Chico - because he really belongs to the Mexican family up the road, which family obviously doesn't give a whit about him, as well, because he, too, spends all of his time at our house. Plus he's never been de-balled, which will be taken care of soon.
So we are now a family of 6 male cats. One very old guy (19 1/2), one middle-aged guy, 2 youngin's, and 2 hanger-on-ers. As in the two-legged world of males, the 4-legged world of males are now strutting their stuff and be the alpha male. Well, all them except our old guy who is confounded by all this in the first place, and Ziggy, our middle-aged guy who, smartly, seeks refuge as often as possible in the field across the street. I foresee issues . . . lots and lots of issue. Lord, give me strength!
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