Taking one for the Team

When my husband went on Lupron as part of his prostate cancer treatment, we knew that weight gain was almost inevitable. If you take a 55 year old man and drop his testosterone to zero, he is going to put on weight. Over the last year he put on 30 pounds and he has been very unhappy about it (Don't even ask how I, who am a full 7 inches shorter than him, gained 20 pounds in the same time frame while NOT on Lupron. Whatever.)

Now, I married a big man. Not fat, but big. (And, if I may crow a bit, I married an extremely hot man.) I have never been particularly attracted to 'willowy' men, and still think he is hot as hell even with the extra weight.

Meh. 
I am old school when it comes to men; I want the man that can slay the dragon, not run away from it real fast. 

Prostate cancer and prostate cancer treatment is hard for men. It not only makes their mortality a reality for them, but its after effects can make him feel like less of a man and less attractive as a man. As his wife, I would prefer that I be the one that helps him feel more attractive as opposed to some other woman. Just saying...

So even though I have all but given up on the thought that I can lose the weight I have been trying to lose since I hit puberty (Funny how the total number of pounds I want to lose stays the same, but the final weight that loss will result in keeps creeping up as I get older. I think that is because, as I age, the weight at which I look down at the scale and say, "Fucking hell! I cannot possibly weight that much!" increases.) Anyhoo... to show him that I was supportive I suggested to him that we join Weight Watchers together.

Those eyes and that half smile still make my knees weak. 

Some of you may be thinking, "That is so sweet!" Others, know that men lose weight faster and more easily than women and think that a head-to-head weightloss program with their husband sounds like slow dance through hell.  I certainly fall into the latter camp, but he has always been very supportive of my weightloss attempts and I owe this to him.

I have been either losing or gaining weight for 20 years. I have NEVER maintained a weight. I am tired of it. I am tired of counting calories, fat grams, carbs, etc. I am tired of being on a weightloss program period, but this one is for him and he is certainly worth it.

Of course, as I told a friend a while ago, if he comes out of this and has some sort of  "I am alive! I survived cancer and I want to live my life!" type crisis and leaves me for a 20-something year old Pilates instructor, the weightloss will still be a good thing because there will be less of him to dispose of.

 If I am going to pick a picture to represent my husband's hypothetical bimbo you are damn right she will have bad hair and hideous roots.

We just finished our first week and so far so good.

My Humble Apologies to the Washingtonians

This past week hubby and I went on our annual journey to Puyallup, WA to visit the in-laws.  Now, if you have been reading for a while you know that these trips have not been so FAB in the past. And on our last trip I said some not-so-nice things about the Washington State Park System, their questionable trail sign polices, and the general fucked-upness of their maps (Ok, 'fucked-upness' is not a world, but it should be)

On this trip, we decided to mix business, in the form of familial obligation, with pleasure, in the form of a trip to the Quinault Rainforest that is a part of the Olympic National Forest in western Washington. It is "one of only three coniferous rainforests in the Western Hemisphere" according to the website and only about 2 hours from the in laws.

 So nice to have a talented hubby :)

We stayed at The Lake Quinault Lodge (whose claim to fame is the fact that Franklin Roosevelt stayed there, like, a billion years ago and all the of towns children dressed up as "Indians" - meaning Native Americans not people indigenous to India- very few of whom were actually Native Americans 'cuz that is how we rolled in the non-PC 1930's, BUT nine months after his visit he did sign a bill that created the Olympic National Forest and saved this area from falling prey to overlogging, so maybe I should not be so snarky) which was as beautiful and relaxing as I could have hope for.

Frankie D and the little indians, circa 1937

The main lodge. FYI - We stayed in the Lakeside rooms. I am not so much of a 'share a bathroom with total strangers' girl.

View of the Lake Quinault from the back of the lodge. 

Driving around serene beauty of Lake Quinault surrounded by the dense greenery of an old world rainforest, I could not help but think, ...

"What a great place to dump a body!"

The 'unwanted organic material' would be reclaimed by this natural wonder in a week, tops. Just saying....

What? That is not your first reaction when faced with the staggering natural beauty of a dense, moss covered rainforest? Whatevs.

Anyhoo..

I decided to run my long run (on the schedule was 6-8 miles) on Thursday, so I could run it in the rainforest all mystical woodnymph style, so I asked the gal at check in for a trail map.

 Is this not the most Mickey Mouse piece of shit map you have ever seen?

Christ, even our local Happy Hollow Zoo has a more descriptive map and, unlike Olympic National Park, you can not wander for days in Happy Hollow Zoo without finding another warmblooded life form (other than cougars apparently, for which there were signs warning of  "many recent sightings" and helpful tips how to 'scare' off the predator. Sadly, one of those tips is not to  "piss your pants and cry like a little girl", since I am certain that would be my reaction upon 'sighting' a real live cougar )

 The list of what to do was below. Sadly, an hour later when alone and hearing "strange noises" from the forest this is all I remembered of the sign. Something about ... "looking big, and fighting back"

I was convinced that I would be hopelessly lost in the rainforest and found years later living amongst the ferns, eating beetles, and braiding my leg hair to pass the time.  But, in true RBR style I headed out on the run anyway.

Beginning of the Run: Cautiously (or foolishly) optimistic

The trail started out running along the edge of the lake

 and then headed inland to wind along through the forest.... (scenes from the trail)

Single track through paradise

 

The sun came out at a rare clearing in the forest overstory. I experienced both springlike sun and heavy rain in this 2 hour run. It was really the perfect run. 

 Please note GIGANTO tree, please ignore GIGANTO ass

There were many bridges and waterfalls along the way. I was having such a great time I was 3 miles in and 2000 ft up before I realized I forgot my iPod. Yeah, it was THAT beautiful and fun out there.

They even had a wooden pathway over a bog. I always forget the difference between a marsh, a swamp, and a bog, so now you have to learn it again too! 

In a nutshell, they are all poorly drained depressions with a think growth of water plants where the water level remains above or at the soil line. Swamps and bogs have trees, whereas marshes do not. Bogs are found in coniferous forests, but swamps are characterized by deciduous trees.

My bog picture, which sucks because you can not see the coniferous trees that tell you it is a bog. Whatevs. I looked it up after the run. Sue me.

I had planned to run 6 to 7 miles depending on how I felt, but I was having such a good time that I did not want it to end and I ended up running just over 8 miles. I am not in good enough shape for an 8+ mile trail run, so it was beyond slow, but totally worth it.

5 miles in, channeling my inner wood nymph. Just call me Hamadryades

 Ok, so the real Hamadryades was a tad hotter and a shitload scarier. 

There were signs that contained the full map at every junction that clearly marked where you were on the trail (yes, like you see at the mall)

 Note that they had to amend the "You are here" marker, but still very helpful once that slight confusion was cleared up.

As I was finishing up my run, I started to remark to myself, (Shut up. I was the only one there, who else would I remark to?) "There is virtually NO WAY to get lost on this trail. Only a fucking MORON would get lost on this trail!"

So you can imagine what happened next...

Yep. I am the fucking moron that could get lost on the only single track that ran through the rainforest. 

Here is how it happened. I ran along until I spied a rest room at a camp ground that I was certain I had seen before, I briefly left the trail to use the facilities. When I came out and could not for the life of me figure out where to go. After a few false starts that dead ended or had me heading back out to the rainforest instead of toward the lake, I stood in the center of the camp ground parking lot, slowly spinning in a circle trying to figure out which way went back to the trail. Until a kid at the wordly age of 9 came up and asked me what I was doing:

Know-it-all 9 yo: What are you doing?

RBR: I am trying to find the trail back to the lake

Know-it-all 9 yo: *snickers* There is only one trail [I think the little bastard rolled his eyes too, but I am not certain]

RBR: *weak smile* I know, but that one goes back to the rainforest.

Know-it-all 9 yo: Ummm... what if you go that way?

*points to the ground behind the restroom where, to my horror, I see this....*

RRR: *mumbles inappropriate things for 9 year old ears* Ummm.... thanks  

*snickering from smug, nine year old continues as I run down the trail*

So there you have it. I can no longer blame Washington, nor it's fresh-from-Walt-Disney-school-of-cartography map makers. It is me. I can truly get lost anywhere.

But it was a great run :)



* Photo credits (that are painfully obvious, but need to be pointed out anyway) - The over or under exposed, blurry, or just generally crappy photos are mine. The pretty, professional looking photos are hubby's. Here is a link to his photos of Lake Quinault: http://erader.zenfolio.com/p726862123 if you are interested in seeing more of the area. The painting of Hamadryades is from some weird ass LARPer site that may or may not have a virus, so I am not linking to it, but it was my favorite wood nymph picture.

Back at Baylands, Baby!

Today was my first run back out at one of my favorite places to run, Baylands Nature Preserve. 

This place makes me happy

 On the schedule was an 'on your own' run and this is a recovery week, so we were told to run between 2-4 miles. I decided on a 4 mile run since I joined the team late.

Thursday's 3 mile midweek run was in a word, fucking miserable. Oops. That was two words. My bad.

I know that the return to running outdoors from the treadmill is always hard. I also know it hurts a bit when you up your weekly mileage by like 200%. If you add to that the additional, ahem... "donut damage" I inflicted on myself during my running laziness, and it becomes downright painful, and not pretty to watch. I was hoping that by returning to one of my favorite running spots I could offset some of the pain.

I was right. Sort of.

My white pelicans were there. Shitty picture, but cool birds. 

This time I ran along the single track trail that goes closest to the water, so I could watch my feathered friends.

Pretty day out there...

 Now you may have noticed that it was a nice, bright, sunny day. You may have also noticed my bright, butt-white, winter skin shining in that bright sunny day.

That lead to my first flesh tank top of the season

Molly Melanoma at your service.

 It was slow,

Calling this run slow is like calling Lady Gaga odd, it is a massive understatement 

but it was really great to be out there again. I almost felt like a runner again.

Now we don our gay apparel.....

Alternative title: She's Baaaaaaaa-ack!

Pink Run Hat? Check! 

I had to make a more major commitment to get myself moving for more than 3 miles at a shot on the treadmill a few times a week, which has been pretty much the totality of my running for the last 5 months. I decided to rejoin Team in Training (yes, G, the tranny shot was just for you) for a third season to train for the Portland Marathon in October. 

I could not get back into my running and I could either tell myself that it was ridiculous that after so many marathons I could not train on my own (which just results in me feeling bad about myself and STILL not running enough) or I could get some help. I chose to get help from a group that has worked for me before and that raises money for a great cause that I believe in. So there it is. 

On Saturday, I ran 5 miles, outside without stopping. I was really proud I could do it. It has been a long time since I have gone that far without walking.  I did not want to write that because I was getting caught up in where I have been previously with running. Didn't I run a 50K last October? Who gives a shit about 5 miles? 

I do.

I have always believed you have to take your wins where you can get them. You start from where you are, not where you were, or where you want to be. I have done some pretty cool (and frankly shocking) long distance running.  Does that mean I do not get to be proud of myself again until I run 35 miles? Fuck that. I am more of an instant gratification girl. I would rather be proud now.

Ok, so RBR, where the hell have you been? 

I won't spend a bunch of time making excuses for why I have not been posting, but I will show you one major reason: 

Introducing Michael Quinn!  

Obligatory Baby Stats (which no one really cares about, but you have to post because, duh, 'obligatory') 

Born: April 28 at 1:15 pm

Weight: 9 pounds 1.5 oz (that is 4.13 kg for our Canadian friends)

Length: 21.25 inches

Method: C-section a mere 41 HOURS after her labor was induced.

Yes, you read that last part right. 41 fucking HOURS after her labor was induced, young Michael who was already two full weeks passed his due date, had to be ripped from her stomach in a procedure reminiscent of Luke Skywalker's Han Solo's evisceration of the Ton Ton  Tauntaun in Star Wars. (UPDATE: strikethrough edits due to Joja Jogger's superior Star Wars knowledge database. Umm... I am not sure I would around bragging about that one, darlin' :) )

 Ok, this is an actual  groom's cake for a wedding. It brings up so many questions, not the least of which is, "who the fuck would marry a guy that insisted on a cake with a dude entwined in a fictitious creature's intestines at her wedding?"

LA Run Buddy is now the poster child for birth control, adoption, abstinence, or selling your children into slavery. God help the little bastard if he ever forgets Mother's Day. I am just saying... It was horrific. 

He is cute though. Here is the He-baby sucking 'em back at the local Starbucks. 

A brief observation about newborns from RBR 

Titled: "Shit a new mom can not say about the reality of newborn babies without sounding like a monster, but RBR can say because she is already known to be a bitch."

Newborn babies are patently NOT fun and they are not nearly cute enough for how unfun they are. They scream a frantic  "Help me I am dying and your incompetent ass can not figure out what I need to save me, you worthless excuse for a mother" scream.

They do this ALL. THE. TIME. 

Before feedings, after feedings. Before, during, and after diaper changes. (For the record, when the nurses came to give him two vaccines, and gouge out a chunk of his little pink heel to get blood samples, Master Michael did not make a peep. Four minutes later when his exhausted and loving parents tried to change his diaper he let out a wail that had even his grandmother dialing child protective services. Fucker.)

Then there is breastfeeding. I am sure that all of the readers that do not have children believed, like myself, that you put baby on boob, baby eats, take baby off boob. Simple dimple, right? I mean, it is a basic mammalian function for Christ's sake. 

Uh, no. That is NOT how it works. How it works is that two nurses and a lactation specialist are required to teach mom and baby how to nurse. Seriously? Teach a baby to nurse?! No wonder there are people that do not believe in evolution. And this teaching process is not a one shot deal. You fight with the little sucker (pun not in intended, but I had already called him a 'fucker' and it was funny so I left it) for like the first couple WEEKS of his life to get him to eat enough to NOT DIE. Oh and you know the thing about boobs? They do not have a neat little measurement tool on the side to tell you how much Junior has actually eaten so he could look like he is nursing away and actually not get enough nutrition to sustain life!  No pressure, Mom! You know what has a nice little measurement tool on the side and is VASTLY easier for the baby to get milk out of? A fucking BOTTLE! *gasps of horror from all the crunchy granola, midwife loving, birthing tub advocates*

CGMLBT Advocates: Bottles are the devil! It destroys the mother child bond! It gives them 'nipple confusion'

RBR: He just spent 43 weeks in her stomach, she controls his access to food and shelter. And later a cell phone plan with an adequate amount of texting allowed. The bond is fucking fine. Let's not starve him now. And nipple confusion? Maybe if he is that stupid that is something we should know now.

Sorry, but goddamn. Watching my best friend fall apart and feel like a failure as a mother because he could not latch or he lost more weight than he should, and having each feeding take one and half to two hours when feedings are two hours apart (meaning she had to start over almost immediately after finishing the last feeding) was awful.

He is better now. Still not what you would call 'fun', but everyone says that is on the horizon. I will believe that when I see it.

It is an honor just to be nominated....

And the Teacher of the Year award goes to....

NOT RBR!

*the crowd goes wild*

This was my fourth nomination in 11 years of teaching.

I have never won.

Yep, I am the Susan Lucci of my school's 'Teacher of Year' Award.

 Susan Lucci played Erica Kane on All My Children for 41 years. She was nominated for an Emmy 18 times before she finally won in 1999. She started on the show at 24 years old. I had to check my math on that, like, three times. Holy Shit! I certainly hope she had cosmetic surgery to look this fucking good at 65. If not, we know who you will find perched next to Satan ruling Hades.

I will be honest two of those times there were such more deserving teachers that even I voted for the winners (Ok, if I am REALLY honest the guy that won this year really deserved it, but you know what? I voted for my fucking self anyway. Sue me), but one of those years I lost to a complete ass wipe and that one still stings.

That particular Teacher of the Year is now a low level administrator at my school. All of his gratuitous ass kissing garnered him the worst gig in administration. Even I can make his life miserable and I have about as much juice in the educational hierarchy as the dude that repaints the panther logo on the front of the school during the summer. So, at least I can bitterly cling to that. *smirk*

The real reason I want to win is that they give you a "crystal" apple that is engraved with 'Teacher of the Year' and your name. It sits on your desk, quietly and unobtrusively telling all that see it that you rock and they can just suck it. It is like a marathon t-shirt that you can 'wear' on your desk everyday.

Sorry if that offends you. If you were thinking that I was not shallow or vain you have not been reading this blog very carefully.

It probably cost $20 and is mass produced in some third world country by enslaved children, but I do not care. I want one, damn it.

Random musings in lieu of any real news:

1. I am considering doing a nutritional "detox" to clear out the remnants of 2010 (IMHO, it is a lot of voo doo BS with a small dose of science thrown in, but at least the one I am considering won't hurt me. Carefully check out any of these 'cleansing' products or programs. Anything that makes you shit neon green 15 times a day for 10 days is NOT good for you no matter what the Barbie doll on the infomercial says)

I also want to cut back on the overly processed so called "white" carbohydrates that I adore so much and that make up at least 90% of my diet.

I am a carbivore of the highest order. Supposedly cutting the amount of carbohydrates (esp. highly processed carbohydrates, like say Hostess pies and Lorna Doone cookies...) in your diet helps regulate blood sugar, fat accumulation (nerdy literature link on fat cell maturation), and level out moods (More nerdy links 1. CHOs and brain chemistry 2. CHOs and depression (specifically SAD) .

At this point, I am willing to bite the head off a fucking chicken if it will help me shake even some of the batshit crazy off of me and, hell, if I can shave a few pounds off the ol' derriere in the process, win/win.

2. I am sick to fucking death of the Pseudoephedrine Law. (Pseudoephedrine (PSE) is the only nasal decongestant, short of  mainlining epinephrine, that works worth a a shit. It is an essential ingredient (in my opinion) in cold and allergy medicine.)  This law was tacked on to the Let's take away all civil liberties under the guise of "protecting freedom"  Act (also known as the Patriot Act). It's goal was to fight the war on methamphetamine production (PSE can relatively easliy be converted into methamphetamine. I say 'relatively' because it takes some pretty serious chemicals and heat to accomplish this and you can be assured that anytime you hear an explosion in a trailer park it is some meth freak vaporizing himself and his miserable existence off the planet. To wit I say. "good fucking riddance")  

Anyhoo.... this law limits the purchase of PSE to the equivalent of ten 24 hr pills per day and up to thirty 24 hr pills for a month AND makes it so you must go to the pharmacy counter to get it. This means that I have to return to the pharmacy every 10 days, stand behind 754 old people (I am sorry, that was not very PC, I mean 'youth challenged' people) that are complaining to the pharmacist about the price of hemorrhoid cream to get some goddamn decongestant.

I am the reigning Snot Queen.  I often need more than one 24 hour pill to continue breathing all day. I can currently buy Vicodin, Oxycontin, and Viagra without a prescription easier than I can get 'over-the-fucking-counter' allergy medicine.

The meth dealers, by the way, are still churning out meth as fast as they make toothless zombies of their clientele. They just have to be sneakier about it and that raises the price of meth. I am sure that won't effect crime rates at all. When drug addicts need money for drugs they always find legal ways to do it, right?

I wonder how effective meth is for congestion? I bet I can get a month supply of that in one purchase. Fucking assholes.


Lola Update - Trail Dog Project: Day 1

Ok, so maybe my prissy, little chihuahua mix is not the most logical choice for a trail dog. On Sunday we attempted our first trail "run." Run is a bit of an over statement, and from her first tentative steps off the sidewalk onto the uneven trail, her face looked like this:

"For the love of all that is holy, please pick me up!" -Lola

Her new campaign slogan for Couch Dog of the Year: Lola! Shorter than grass!

Then she would occasionally stop dead in her tracks in an attempt to make it all end. Unfortunately my tiny canine friend did not pay attention in physics class, because her 5 lb ass was no match for my *mumble mumble* pound ass.

Momentum = mass • velocity

My velocity may not have been for shit, but my mass more than made up for it. This caused her furry little body to skip along behind me, her ears pinned back in a petulant pout. On a downhill section I even got a little 'yip' as she was jerked back into motion by her harness.

Rough day for Lola.

"Can we go home now? My stories are on." - Lola

Some pictures from the family outing to the beach

"Sand smells. Pick me up now." -Lola

"Still hate her. In case you were wondering." - Lucy

One last bit of non-news

We had some issues with the hair. This is the new me for a while at least.

The blond streak is natural from a scar on my scalp. It does not take color well and we were trying to just cover up some really fucked up issues and protect it from further damage. I was not intentionally going for the Lilly Munster look. Upside, I have finally stopped gasping in horror when I see myself in the mirror and I have not cried about it since, well, yesterday.

20 years is a long f-ing time

Let us escape to the 4th dimension so I can jump around wildly in time.

*shaky camera focuses on lame spiral while the hallmark 1960's-going-back-in-time-'doooo dooo dooo' music plays* 

It is March 31, 2011 

OK, I will give you that it is lame to go back in time for just a few days, but I had NO time to write and you, dear reader, got to dust off your white go-go boots and hear the 1960's time machine 'doooo dooo doooo' music, so quit your bitching. 

In my ten year old mind I looked like Nancy Sinatra in my go-go boots,... 

 but in reality I had more of a Miss Piggy thing going on. Whatevs.

It is important that this post be written on that exact date because March 31, 2011 is the day I celebrate 20 years clean and sober.

Side Note: Feel free to skip my self-congratulatory, mental vomitus and go to the end of this post. There is an announcement that you  DO NOT WANT TO MISS.

I will not go into a long, sappy monologue about how my life used to be and how much it changed over the time I have been clean (I did that last year for my 19 years if you are really interested) instead, I wanted to contrast my life today to the last time I celebrated this particular birthday.


Yes,that means you have to get back in the time machine. Get a move on, please...

 Time Machine from Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, circa 1989. This came out two years before I got clean so, yes, I was high as hell when I watched it. That is pretty much the required mental condition to endure any Keanu Reeves film anyway. 

So March 31, 2010...

My husband had recently been diagnosed with aggressive prostate cancer, he had just started on hormone deprivation therapy (essentially chemical castration to stop the progression of the cancer cells), he was depressed and scared, and I was so terrified I thought I would lose my fucking mind. 

Then 2010 started to throw me curve ball after curve ball. The one downside to having wonderful people in your life that you love so much it makes you feel like your heart will stop is that when something bad happens to them you actually give a shit. That is painful and I am not a fan of feeling pain or most of the emotions associated with fearing for a loved one.   

 I would love to tell you that I trudged bravely through all of the events of the last year with warrior-like stoicism, but, truthfully, I was a mess. Just a hot, fucking mess. I was closer to throwing it all away this time last year than I had ever been in the 19 years prior.  

I have many people, including many that read this blog, to thank for helping me scoop up that hot mess, put it in a bag, and keep moving forward. Through this we both found that we had been taking a lot of things for granted and recommitted to both each other and the thing  that made all of the rest of our life possible and eventually, and yes, I am sorry to say it, but 'one day at a time', (it is ok for you to roll your eyes. I do when I hear that cornball cliche) I got to today. Today is pretty goddamn good. It ain't perfect, but it is pretty goddamn good.

Today on March 31, 2011, hubby has completed treatment, is doing well, and is slowly getting back to where he feels like his old self.  The rest of my friends and family are healthy and happy. My best friend in all the world is going to have a baby sometime very, very soon. 

And me? I feel like the 6-ton elephant that was sitting on my chest has finally moved off. He will occasionally stand in the middle of the room as a reminder that we have still some major stuff going on, but at least I feel like I can breathe again. 

I searched for images of 'elephant on my chest' and this came up. It never ceases to amaze me what idiots will have permanently inked on their skin. 

"Give me a call in 15 years, Sweetie, when that elephant looks more like a giraffe."

All in all, I had a great birthday and celebrated with friends. They even got me my favorite cake (Yes, Jo Lynn, I know owe you one of these cakes. I swear someday I will get you one!) 

From Aki's Bakery in San Jose. It is white cake with whipped cream frosting and fresh strawberries and whip cream in the center. It does not sounds like the over-the-top decadent you have grown accustomed to on Run Bitch Run, but believe me it is SCREAMIN' !! 

Ok, back in the time machine for the for the BIG news...

Now we are back at Tuesday, March 29, 2011. 

I would like to introduce the newest member of our family

LOLA! 

 This was taken about 15 minutes after we adopted her. I look like shit on a stick. Taking pictures of a nervous, wiggling puppy with piece of shit Palm Pixie cell phone camera, was harder than you would think and I imagine you think it would be pretty hard. I had to kind of squish her and it is still blurry. I have lots of shots of the car seat and the side of her body if you want to see those.

She is a ~1 year old chihuahua mix that we adopted from STAR Rescue. (I found her by searching on Petfinder.com. An easily searchable website that rescue organizations and shelters from all over the country can advertise their pets available for adoption on for free.) We do not know much about her life before she ended up in rescue, but she was on the street and did not do well in the shelter and a very kind woman named Elizabeth from STAR Rescue came to foster her.

Steppin' out at the park this morning. 

She is tiny (MUCH smaller than I ever thought I would have. 5.25 lbs.) she is a little shy, but I will make a trail dog out of her. This weekend I focused on letting her settle in and we went to the park twice a day, and to an event held at Downtown Dogs called a Small Dog Social.  (yes, I am one of THOSE people. When anyone asks, "Who spends money on shit like that for their dog?" I am that 'who'.)

 Hanging with her big sister, Lucy. I LOVE Lucy's body language in this picture. I put her in a stay and that stance is how she could technically be in a stay to get her treat and still be as far away from the puppy as possible.

The Small Dog Social was a lot of fun and I was really proud of how well Lola did. We will go back next weekend. I am also going to take her out on the trails either this week or next weekend and start getting her used to running with me. So expect puppy pictures ad nauseum. I am also checking out different dog trainers and we will start puppy classes on April 20th.

I had minor surgery last week, but it was enough to keep me off the treadmill. I am going to try my first run tomorrow and see how I am feeling. The next run I am planning on right now is the WildCat 1/2 Marathon on April 30.