If you wanna feel better about your family, just read about ours...

Starring: a dad, a mom, a son & daughter-in-law, a daughter & son-in-law, a teen, a tween, 1 grandson, 3 granddaughters, 3 dogs, and a whole lot of love.

Family Story Pic

Family Story Pic


Friday, October 19, 2012

Mudder's Maintenance

I didn't purposefully plan to schedule all of my female upkeep appointments in the same month as Tough Mudder.  It just worked out that way.  I guess it's good to know that my body is perfectly healthy before single-handedly destroying it.

Two weeks ago was my annual visit to my Gynecologist.  The past couple of times, I've been scheduled with the Physician's Assistant.  I don't know if that's by chance or if the doctor got fed up with saving me from all my home remedy attempts.  I'm not complaining, because she's really awesome.  I think we're about the same age, which probably means she's at least 10 years younger than I am but I'm delusional enough to put myself in her age bracket, and she's extremely nice.  (Read: Tolerant.)  She stands patiently by the scale while I set down my purse, remove my shoes, belt, sunglasses, hair clip, earrings and spit in the sink before stepping on.  She also kept a straight face when I asked her if she could please help me alter my menstrual cycle by a week and was very polite when she refused. 
(Note to self:  Google home remedy.)
As it turns out, she and I have a lot in common...besides our age.  She runs 5k's, competed in her first Tri this past Summer and plans to do a Tough Mudder.  I couldn't believe it!  I lay there thinking, if she weren't cranking open my hoo ha right now, I bet we could be friends.  But, alas, lines have been crossed.

This morning was my Mammogram.  More dignity lost.  Where you stand there telling a total stranger your entire life history and are relieved for any distraction that keeps your eyes from focusing in on your breast that's squeezed flat between two pieces of plexiglass and you swear off ever eating a chicken cutlet again.  Sensing my awkwardness as she man-handled my boobs and completely violated my personal boundaries, she said, "Got any big plans this weekend?"

Funny you should ask.  As I described what I was about to do, the tides took a turn and suddenly she seemed to want me out of there as fast I did.  I didn't bother telling her our team name is 'Balls and Dolls' or that our shirts say, 'Mudders Like It Rough.'  I got the sense that she wouldn't appreciate that as much as I do.  Maybe she lacks an inner stripper.

Tomorrow is the big day.  As I type this, I'm wondering if this will be my last blog entry....ever.

What are a Mudder's final words?

Tonight I'll lay me down to sleep,
I'll pray the Lord my soul to keep.

For I might die down in Kentucky,
Or just get injured, if I'm so lucky.

Although I don't deserve provision,
protect me from my poor decision.

You know the number of my days,
and how I'll go, there are so many ways.

If I show up in Heaven tomorrow,
I won't be mad or filled with sorrow.

I'll be covered in mud and speak with a stutter,
but it'll be worth it to hear, 'Well done, my good and faithful Mudder.'

***In lieu of flowers, eat a Big Mac for me***
Catch ya on the flip side, one way or another.

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