Gully washer

This makes the second weekend I've gone out to run and gotten soaked through in the rain. Last week was brutally cold; this week was manageable through most.

Because of a shindig at Shelby Farms, I made my way out to the Greenway. It was still very nice out with sun shining through the trees. The clouds were a ways off and I hoped they'd dissipate or skirt the area.

As I went along, I had to slog through several semi-ponds that left my shoes soaked and squelching. It wasn't too bad, though. It's better than getting all muddy I guess. And the place was decked out in flowers and green. I wasn't about to let a few puddles ruin my day.

After warming up a bit, I got down to business plodding along at a slow pace. Then I somehow managed to be somewhere else entirely where wisteria lazily hung from outstretched tree branches and dogwood blossoms filled the air with their gentle scent. I've never breathed so deeply while running.

It reminded me of a scene out of "A Wrinkle in Time" where the travelers are taken up into the thin atmosphere of another planet. They stayed alive by breathing in the delicate scent of strange flowers given to them.

But I digress ...

I started scouting for areas with lots of flowers so I could inhale the smell, forget I was running and coast as long as possible.

Then the clouds gathered.

On my way back, it started to rain. There was no lightning and no wind at that point. I thought the storm must be pushing its way northwest instead of my direction. But as I kept going, I saw I was wrong.

At one point, the wind blew so hard it nearly knocked me down. I had to remind myself it'd be a quicker trip back to the car if I kept running. Get small and outlast the gusts. Wow, this is hard. Come on, legs, let's keep pushing. Rain stings when it's blown into you this hard.

It must have been the area. Back under the trees, it was much calmer and I could keep going. I had planned on going for a run, not a swim. In a moment of commiseration, I said as much to a runner headed the other direction.

He laughed. Then he recognized my shirt.

"Is that for Texas A&M?" he asked. I met an old Ag on the trail. He went there back when it was all military and no women attended. He lived in the same dorm as I. Crazy world.

Gig 'Em.

Run for it

I tell you, it's really goofy how much random crap you're given for doing something healthy. You give blood and you get all kinds of stuff. Lifeblood offered a chance for donors to get free Baskin Robbins ice cream through August.

I ran the Chick-fil-A 5k with a good friend on Labor Day. I had just gotten to the point where 3 miles wasn't an incredible mountain to climb, and the 5k was a way to gauge just how well I was running it. I finished in less than 30 minutes.

Anyway, I came away with all this free stuff for no reason. Some of it is junk. I don't ever use coozies (or however it's spelled) and the binoculars say "Viagra" on the top of them.

Since Pfizer was a sponsor, there are pads of paper for prescription drugs including Zoloft. It's too bad exercise produces endorphins or the majority of race participants might be interested. Other than that, it's mints, a free Chick-fil-A sandwich and pens. It might not be fancy crap, but it was still all free.

So, let this be a lesson. Should you want a random assortment of stuff for doing something beneficial for your health, run races or give blood. No, I kid. Don't do it for the swag, do it because you want to. It's still fun to get stuff. Congratulations, it didn't kill you! Here's a pen.

Raining bitches and douchebags

It's raining like hell today. Roads are flooding and accidents are keeping people locked in traffic. Against my better judgment, I head over to the local mall to look for some things for my apartment. I have yet to find curtains I like and I'm still searching for nice pillows for my couch.

I go to Pottery Barn and don't find what I set out for but find something worthwhile all the same. After finally getting the attention of a store rep while the rest remain firmly entrenched in setting up the new Halloween offerings (jeez, people, it's still August), I buy my selection.

My debit card has an image of the college I attended.

Clerk: "Did you graduate from that school?"
Me: "Yes, I did."
(one point awarded for observation skills not entirely lacking)
Clerk: "And you didn't stay there?"
Me: *eyebrow raise* "No, I decided to branch out a little."

What the hell? Stay there? Uh, yeah ... whatever.

Scratching my head, I make my way over to Macy's to look at curtains. As I wander through the housewares, I manage to make my way into the most tomblike and somber area of the store. There's furniture and home furnishings all around but nary a soul to be seen.

I pass a service desk where two women are posted. For the sake of brevity, I'll call them Bitch 1 and Bitch 2.

Bitch 1: "May I help you?"
Me: "Yes, I'm looking for curtains." I point over to where I think there are some curtains hanging.
Bitch 1: "We don't have curtains."
Macy's. No curtains? Is she kidding? Even if the online selection is wider than the store, they have curtains. Maybe they're not in this area, but somewhere they have curtains.
Me: "Really? OK, thanks."
Bitch 2: "Have you tried J C Penney? They have some nice curtains."
Me: "Been there." Forgive me, O great ones, for trespassing on thine hallowed ground of outdated and cheap veneer furniture.
Bitch 2: "What about Pottery Barn? They have some nice curtains there, too."
Me: *holding up Pottery Barn bag* "I looked there, too."

All this time, Bitch 1 has been staring at me as though I'm going to try to sneak a dining table into my bag and run off.

Good Lord! I know I look a sight having come in out of the rain, but I don't look like trouble. Fine, Macy's, if you don't want my money I'm not going to make an effort.

I'm a little bugged about that brush-off, so I make my way to Victoria's Secret. What can I say? A chance to regain a little sauciness helps.

I look around, disappointed I hit the store in between seasons when there's very little selection. While I'm perusing some undies, three guys walk up to a store employee nearby.

Dude: "Where can I get an application?"

Alright, dude, I know from how you're dressed you're not looking for a stockroom job. I also know you brought your buddies with you to prove you have the balls to ask for the application. My best guess is he likes the thought of an employee discount to keep his womens in lacy drawz. Good luck, douchebag.

Whatever is falling from the sky is making people weird.

A giving mood

Today, after several urgings from a good friend, I donated blood. It was the first time I had ever done so, and I was pretty scared.

But there was no reason not to do it. This is the best my health has ever been and I have no medical issues that would make my donation unusable. Still, for years I couldn't bring myself to sit down, be stuck with a large needle and give some fluids that would potentially save someone's life.

What finally tipped the balance was reflecting on what would happen if ever I was seriously injured or in need of surgery. I'd have to be given blood. I couldn't expect someone to do for me the same thing I wouldn't do in return.

So there I sat with my feet propped up in a special chair and a thick needle in my arm opening the path for me to give up a fraction of something I take for granted.

I hate needles. They're so small and invasive. In the blink of an eye, they slide right through every layer of skin. But since we're technologically more advanced than medicine's bloodletting days, the only way this would happen was with a needle stick.

It ended up as no big deal thanks in part to the marvelous skill of Karen the phlebotomist in finding and penetrating the vein. She was masterfully quick with an almost imperceptible touch.

The buildup was a little frightening with Karen telling me the needle is larger than what is used to take blood samples as she placed a towel across my shirt. "Sometimes there's a little spray." When she told me I should expect to feel "a bit of a prick," I looked away expecting something much more gruesome than the pinch and drop of blood on my arm.

Stress ball in hand, I squeezed every 5 seconds to keep blood flowing through the long tube and down into the bag. For whatever reason, it took a little longer and the machine collecting my fluids complained when the flow slowed.

Maybe I was a little dehydrated, Karen said. It could also be that my vein is about the same size as the tube leading from the needle to the collection bag.

Feeling inadequate, I squeezed the ball a little harder and wriggled my toes inside my shoes. It must have helped because the bag was filled not long after that. Then Karen sprang back into action, filling a few vials to test for any unknown nasties floating around in my system.

The needle shifted ever so slightly and I clenched my jaw, reminding myself not to be such a sissy.

My feet no longer propped up, I had to take a minute to drink some water and make the room stop spinning. I have never fainted and I didn't want to start now. Not long from that point, I was back in the car with a bright pink merit badge wrapped around my arm and a free t-shirt in my hand.

They say I can donate again at the end of August.

Thanks, Lifeblood.