This is your brain on drugs

blubbbbb. . .not sure how to make the noise of a tongue lolling out of mouth. . .

Sore back. Muscle relaxant.

The only reason I'm putting anything in here is because I got my coolass new camera and I want to post a picture.

I finally made the jump from film to digital. I mean, I've got the little tiny Coolpix but I get the feeling if I showed up to an event for which I was hired as a photographer and I whip that out. . .

Anyway, this is a picture of the corgi of my dreams, Clementine. This was shot at 1/8000 of a second (she's chasing water from a hose - note the little white streaks. No they're not dust. They're my camera being bitchin'.)

More to follow as I'm currently taking pictures of just about everything.

Well THAT was disappointing

Yesterday was supposed to be a two hour bike ride. My back is supposed to be better.

So how can two hours turn into 15 minutes? Fifteen minutes spent wondering "Does it or doesn't it? Is that pain or muscle weakness? Do I really want to screw up a lifetime more of training from this one bike ride?"

Do I feel like a wimp? Yes. Am I second-guessing myself? Yes. Did I sit around for the rest of the day having a Pity Party? You bet.

I managed to pull it together for the editor of Southwest Cycling News (a wonderful, literate cyclist whom I'm looking forward to writing for). But when I went to visit my friend Michael (also the Tattoo King of the World - check out his link listed below), I was busy trying to sound cheerful and like not a thing was wrong.

You know how this usually goes. High pitched voice, nervous laughter obnoxious enough to annoy anyone within 10 feet of you, diarrhea of subject matter coming unedited out of your mouth, blah blah blah.

Oh, well. I'll see him Sunday while I'm under the influence of muscle relaxants for further work on my beautiful dragon on my back. At least my speech will have slowed and I'll probably be in a coma so he can get lots of work done.

One huge point of note and enough to pretty much turn my day around: My new camera is here!! Oh, it's delicious. This is my first foray into professional digital photography. Yes, my faithful fossilized Nikon is being put out to pasture. He and my Dad's wonderful Nikon will live their days out in harmony.

Unless I throw my hands up in frustration with the three 400-page instruction manuals necessary to just set the thing up and revert to my old celluloid ways.

I realize if I am to be marketable, I need to go digital. But if you ask any fossil who, like people who refuse to leave their houses despite the onslaught of a hurricane, are stuck in the days of photo processing and the unadulterated pleasure of losing oneself for hours in a darkroom, we are NERVOUS.

I feel like Mom in front of her computer, slowly picking my way across the keyboard hunting and pecking, reading the entire screen to make a simple decision. It will be a painful (and freakin' expensive) transition but I'm looking forward to the new wrinkles in my brain.

Bun Therapy

I held a baby bunny tonight. He was soft and fuzzy and brown and leeeeetle. In my opinion, if everyone held a baby bunny at least once a week the world would be a better place.

Think about it, oil magnates would lower the price of gas because no one can rip people off when there's a little bun sleeping in their arms.

I swear, teeny little cutie pants baby animals make me talk about eight octaves higher than I usually talk. This frequency makes dogs howl because I think I hit the same range as ambulances do. It goes something like this: "Eeeeeee!!!! Look at how leeeeetle!!!! Just one ITSY. BITSY. bunny fits in one hand. . .Eeeeeee!!!!"

Sometimes there's a silent pause in between words it seems to human ears but dogs and aliens know better.

Here we go!

To say that I enjoyed being stuck with a needle 15 times, including three times in the base of my head, is a first.

I was seriously dreaming when I thought this would be just one little *poink* in my back and the fat lady sings. Nooooooo. . .we killed three vials of Botox. Just like Britney Spears, I am "Toxic."

BUT. I am also free to start training on Thursday. No, wait. I AM FREE TO START TRAINING ON THURSDAY!!!!! WHOOOOHOOOOO!!!

Yah, we're a little sore today and in a strange sort of way. What do I mean? I mean, my friggin' muscles no longer hurt. She not only took care of that nasty, pesky little back muscle but all of the nasty, pesky little muscles that ever dared to interact with the nasty, pesky little back muscle.

What animal is it whose botulism am I carrying? A pig? A squirrel? I forget. I purposely stay off the Internet for medical research lest it convinces me I'm about to grow a curly tail.

Anyway. . .yes, Thursday. Here comes Ironman Louisville! Here comes 1/2 Ironman Orlando!! My bikes need some serious lovin' before I take them out this week, my running shoes have grown spider webs (actually, these are new Nikes I'm trying out. They look like Moonboots if Moonboots were running shoes. They are actually UFO green on the bottom and look kind of like I just descended on the surface of the moon.) and my swimsuits have curled themselves into dejected, over-chlorinated balls in their little swimsuit drawer.

Until Thursday, I become one with the icepack and muscle relaxants. I don't mean to complain but how do people inject themselves in the forehead?

Oh, one important thing. I almost passed out. There something about feeling a needle in the base of your skull and (don't read this if you're easily freaked) hearing the "whoooosh" of the medicine getting squeezed out of it. Yeah. Who wouldn't faint, really? My doctor and the nurse turned into, well, a doctor and a nurse - putting me into the "special" chair, putting cold things all over me and watching me to make sure my lips turned from white/blue to red again. Very patriotic.

OK, I'm obviously falling into a medical induced haze aka "HappyLand". Merry Christmas. Don't let the bedbugs bite. Sit up straight and no elbows on the table. Be good or I'll turn this computer around.

<24 hours 'til Botox

I honestly don't believe that, apart from Cher, anyone has looked so forward to getting Botox injected into their body.

Botulism Toxin = swim, bike, run.

(Not sure if "botulism" is spelled right but it's not redlining me, so I assume it's ok.)

I don't even know what to say apart from this except I've sighted all the hills I'm going to have ridden before Ironman Louisville and the order in which I'm going to ride them.

My coach is probably aware that I'm going to assault him with a desperate need to get the Ironman ball rolling.

Til tomorrow!

Four days 'til Botox

Monday is Botox day.

I wish I could say I'm getting it injected into my forehead to erase all the creases on my forehead from getting ignored by editors. No, it's going into my back. Frankly, I prefer it this way because this injury has gotten way outta hand.

That is why I'm battling a vicious muscle relaxant hangover this morning. Everything is still, well, relaxed.

My doctor changed my prescription because the other muscle relaxant was putting me in a coma (not a bad thing) while not relaxing my muscles (like Ambien without the side effect of unknowingly ordering expensive crap from Amazon). This prescription on the other hand gives me the benefit of the coma AND makes me look like a mime doing an impersonation of someone with no skeleton.

I still stubbornly refused to put down my book last night until I realized I was only reading the first three words of a paragraph before going to the next paragraph. Which became the next page, the next chapter, etc. I wonder how far I'm going to have to go back and try to remember where I really left off. That is, if I remembered to mark my page.

*burp*

This is so TMI but what's a blog for but to share my Inner Grossness?

I decided to make the most out of my last days of vacation by contracting the stomach flu. Um, I really don't have much else to say about that.

Here's a haiku:

*pop* bad sound front wheel
rental car far from Mom's house
Drive! Drive! Outrun flat!