There are no words that can accurately detail the horror I felt when viewing the following commercial: http://www.ispot.tv/ad/7AgE/daddys-money-secret-wedges-extreme-height
Skechers: SHAME ON YOU. Shame. On. You. I've never purchased a pair of Skechers of any kind and now I positively never will. Granted, I'm not their target market, but my kids are and hells no, I'm not giving them a dime of my husband's hard earned money.
Part of me doesn't even want to write this post and link the TV ad because then I feel like I am perpetuating this train wreck of a marketing concept. At first, when I felt the initial rage welling up inside me, I thought perhaps it's menopausal Maude coming out, it really couldn't be that bad could it? So I watched it again, and yes, it's that bad.
I am so upset I honestly don't even know where to start. Do I start with the fact that this ad is objectifying young girls who've barely started to wear bras? That it makes them look like little mini-prostitutes?
Do I start with the fact that it, in fact, appears that "Daddy" might possibly be a wink-wink reference to a pimp?
Do I talk about the fact that I find it disgusting that this TV spot insinuates how young girls can dress up in their daisy dukes and ask their Dads for money to buy teenage hooker shoes and he'll hand over a wad of cash because he's A) clueless about the fact that the shoes cleverly disguised as hideously ugly tennis shoes are really high heels and B) he's trying to get rid of the girls as quickly as he can because he's getting a boner over her friends in their stripper clothes? Ugh.
I've watched the ad a couple of times and there are just a few inconsistencies I'd like to point out. And, for the record, my nine year old is almost 5 feet tall. I will buy a pair of these shoes the moment I win the Miss American Pageant contest. Which is, you know, like NEVER.
For one, Skechers is operating under the grossly outdated assumption that Dads have any money. Last time I checked, from the moment of conception any and all spare change is given to, stolen by and spent on the every whim of our children. Pretty sure any spare wads of cash are stowed safely in my kid's piggy banks.
Skechers also appears to assume that these daughters are either A) the product of a broken home or B) they have no mother or C) they are being raised by a pack of wolves. Or ladies of the night (remember that thing about the pimp?).
Because I swear to you that I can count on one hand the number of mothers I know that would ever ever ever ever ever in the history of ever and all that's good and holy ever ever ever let their daughter out in public looking like that: NONE.
Also, do the creative folk at Skechers REALLY think "DADDY" is that stupid? That he wouldn't notice the shoe is slightly oddly shaped or think his teenager has hit a growth spurt all of the sudden when she bops home in her zebra striped "tennis shoes" paired with what can only be described as a "Pretty Woman Halloween costume?"
Men, God love them, are far more observant than we give them credit for. Him: "Hey Maude, when did you get those boots?" ME: "Oh these? I've had them FOREVER, I just don't wear them very much." Him: "Really. When did you get them?" Me: "OK, they were on clearance, like only $20, and I had to get them, they were normally like $80!" (translation: $29.99 on clearance from $59, jussayin).
Damn him and his keen observation skills. I mean seriously, the man can find the one gray hair my Preference by Loreal hair color missed from across the room.
And seriously people. As a woman, I've spent well over half of my life topping out at just a hair over 6 feet tall. You mean to tell me I suffered all those "stretch" and "Larry Bird's daughter" jokes as a kid only to grow up and discover that in this crazy parallel universe girls actually WANT to be taller now? WTF?!
Skechers totally missed the mark on their target audience with these shoes too. No joke, I showed my nine year old (who wears a size 5.5 thankyouverymuch) and she was completely disgusted by the ad. Her words were: gross and inappropriate. I love her so much.
And the last time I checked, animal prints, chunky earrings, clothing items made of netting and bright florescent colors were locked in a time capsule known as the 80's, and also VH1's Behind the Music episodes. And occasionally at Justice (a store for girls that makes me want to pop a Valium and down a bottle of wine before I ever step foot in there).
I actually think that Skechers might even be the teeniest bit embarrassed by their own product. There's a website designated specifically for these shoes, but the funny thing is I was hard pressed to find the Skechers name anywhere on it: http://www.daddysmoney.com/
I swear to you I wanted to smash my g-damn computer speakers because every fricken time I clicked on a link on this website I heard the unmistakable sound of "cha-ching", eluding to the fact that Daddy's are nothing more than a cash register.
Maybe to some girls they are, but seriously, I wanna be a fly on that wall during the brainstorming (or in this case brainshitting) session that this "whore in training" marketing concept came from.
My guess is that they were locked away for an entire weekend, told they couldn't come out until they came up with a winning concept and in a fit of desperation hatched this hapless egg thinking they would get a break and instead Skechers rolled with it.
I'm willing to bet a pair of legwarmers, most of the team has now fled the country.
I could go on and on about this company, the ad, the concept, but I find that I've devoted far too much time and ink on what amounts to a campaign that thinks it's OK to dress our daughters up like call girls and inappropriately use their budding sexuality to manipulate money out of their fathers.
Hey Skechers, here's another idea that seems to be in concert with your branding: why don't you offer a free "temporary" tramp stamp with every Daddy's Money streetwalker shoe purchase? That's gold right there.
Hey, somebody let me know if they start doing that? You know they will. Maybe I can collect some royalties....
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Friday, February 1, 2013
The Rules of Life, According to my Children
I love my kids, I really do. They are sweet, kind, generous thoughtful....clearly they take after their father. They are also, at the end of the day, children.
And that means that, well, kids will be kids and as much as we love them, they frustrate the living shit of out us. Daily. Hourly, even.
And, at this very moment I hear them arguing and fighting about God knows what, with the door closed. So, being the BEST MOM EVER (not) I'm letting them duke it out while I write this post.
Here are their rules for life, from their perspective, in no particular order:
1. If I ask you something over and over and over and over and over and over and over I know you'll eventually wear down, give in and give me what I want. That's why I relentlessly ask the same friggin' question 20 times or more, even though you say no. Every. Time. Just give it up already, Mom, will ya?
2. If I say I'm full, and there's a half eaten dinner on my plate, what I'm saying is you suck as a chef and this food is crap. I won't eat it and will swear I'm stuffed to the esophagus, yet, you must give me a snack 20 minutes later when I wander in and tell you I'm starving. What I WANT you to believe is that I have the metabolism of a hummingbird, but I won't tell you I actually think you are trying to poison me.
3. When you tell me to go outside and play, I'll drag my feet, stomp around, pretend I'd rather play inside and make a lot of heavy sighing sounds. But, once I'm out there, the secret is out: I'd REALLY rather be outside than inside the stuffy house playing with crappy old Lego's and barbies whose hair has been "cut & styled" so there isn't any left. You'll see, because when you call me BACK inside, I'll drag my feet, stomp around and make a lot of heavy sighing sounds. And it will take you at least 20 minutes and a bribe of a treat to get me indoors.
4. When you ask me to put my clean laundry away, just know that unless I'm supervised the WHOLE FREAKING TIME, I'll A) hide my hangers, B) stuff my clothes in the dresser, closet, under my bed and in the linen closet to avoid actually putting anything away. And, I'll ASK YOU where my crap is when I can't find it, because you should know better than to let me put my stuff away unsupervised.
5. Unless you hide, under lock and key, things you don't want me to "borrow" (like your really expensive printer paper) we will conveniently forget that you've told us 8,000 times and will use your good paper manufacture three dozen paper airplanes. And we'll totally have a fit when you put them in the recycle bin.
6. We are expert negotiators. You may not know this, but we are. We will negotiate to the gnat's ass our bedtime, how many bites of dinner we have left to eat, which shoes to wear and how long we can play on the computer, iPad, iPhone or Wii. And we always win. You just don't know it.
7. All the things you have purchased for us, like toys, that are stored in our bedrooms, lost their excitement the moment we opened the box. They are boring and we don't want them anymore. UNLESS you threaten to donate them, and we'll play with them for hours. For one day. And then they'll be boring. AGAIN. Sigh.
8. We know that arguing about our chores for several minutes at a time does not mean we get out of the aforementioned chore, we DO know that it raises your blood pressure and makes you more likely to throw us in time out, which inevitable prolongs the time we have to actually START said chore. That's how we roll.
9. When is comes to brushing teeth or washing our hands we'll tell you until we're blue in the face that we've done one or the other. You MUST KNOW that the ONLY WAY to VERIFY completion of the task is the smell test. Nine times out of ten we haven't brushed or washed. And it's YOUR fault if we don't. 'Cause you didn't check.
10. We know we're cute when we're sleeping. We count on it. So we're not in as much trouble for items #1-9. And even though we make you want to sell us on Craigslist sometimes, we do love you. This is how we show it. By taking you to the very brink of insanity, to the point of no return, to where all you want to do is pour yourself a tall one and try and remember the days of no children and then we POUNCE, give you a big hug, a messy kiss and tell you we love you and then you feel all warm and fuzzy and remember why you had us in the first place. Boom. Done. Don't even bother to deny it.
And that means that, well, kids will be kids and as much as we love them, they frustrate the living shit of out us. Daily. Hourly, even.
And, at this very moment I hear them arguing and fighting about God knows what, with the door closed. So, being the BEST MOM EVER (not) I'm letting them duke it out while I write this post.
Here are their rules for life, from their perspective, in no particular order:
1. If I ask you something over and over and over and over and over and over and over I know you'll eventually wear down, give in and give me what I want. That's why I relentlessly ask the same friggin' question 20 times or more, even though you say no. Every. Time. Just give it up already, Mom, will ya?
2. If I say I'm full, and there's a half eaten dinner on my plate, what I'm saying is you suck as a chef and this food is crap. I won't eat it and will swear I'm stuffed to the esophagus, yet, you must give me a snack 20 minutes later when I wander in and tell you I'm starving. What I WANT you to believe is that I have the metabolism of a hummingbird, but I won't tell you I actually think you are trying to poison me.
3. When you tell me to go outside and play, I'll drag my feet, stomp around, pretend I'd rather play inside and make a lot of heavy sighing sounds. But, once I'm out there, the secret is out: I'd REALLY rather be outside than inside the stuffy house playing with crappy old Lego's and barbies whose hair has been "cut & styled" so there isn't any left. You'll see, because when you call me BACK inside, I'll drag my feet, stomp around and make a lot of heavy sighing sounds. And it will take you at least 20 minutes and a bribe of a treat to get me indoors.
4. When you ask me to put my clean laundry away, just know that unless I'm supervised the WHOLE FREAKING TIME, I'll A) hide my hangers, B) stuff my clothes in the dresser, closet, under my bed and in the linen closet to avoid actually putting anything away. And, I'll ASK YOU where my crap is when I can't find it, because you should know better than to let me put my stuff away unsupervised.
5. Unless you hide, under lock and key, things you don't want me to "borrow" (like your really expensive printer paper) we will conveniently forget that you've told us 8,000 times and will use your good paper manufacture three dozen paper airplanes. And we'll totally have a fit when you put them in the recycle bin.
6. We are expert negotiators. You may not know this, but we are. We will negotiate to the gnat's ass our bedtime, how many bites of dinner we have left to eat, which shoes to wear and how long we can play on the computer, iPad, iPhone or Wii. And we always win. You just don't know it.
7. All the things you have purchased for us, like toys, that are stored in our bedrooms, lost their excitement the moment we opened the box. They are boring and we don't want them anymore. UNLESS you threaten to donate them, and we'll play with them for hours. For one day. And then they'll be boring. AGAIN. Sigh.
8. We know that arguing about our chores for several minutes at a time does not mean we get out of the aforementioned chore, we DO know that it raises your blood pressure and makes you more likely to throw us in time out, which inevitable prolongs the time we have to actually START said chore. That's how we roll.
9. When is comes to brushing teeth or washing our hands we'll tell you until we're blue in the face that we've done one or the other. You MUST KNOW that the ONLY WAY to VERIFY completion of the task is the smell test. Nine times out of ten we haven't brushed or washed. And it's YOUR fault if we don't. 'Cause you didn't check.
10. We know we're cute when we're sleeping. We count on it. So we're not in as much trouble for items #1-9. And even though we make you want to sell us on Craigslist sometimes, we do love you. This is how we show it. By taking you to the very brink of insanity, to the point of no return, to where all you want to do is pour yourself a tall one and try and remember the days of no children and then we POUNCE, give you a big hug, a messy kiss and tell you we love you and then you feel all warm and fuzzy and remember why you had us in the first place. Boom. Done. Don't even bother to deny it.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Hot Stuff, Baby
Oh my goodness, I am just giggling over this one. Both of my children (whom I completely adore, even if Maude makes you think I want to sell them) have decided that perhaps they also suffer from one of menopausal's most annoying symptoms: HOT FLASHES.
Case in point, I went in to check on my baby boy (I know he's 6 but he's still the baby, which I know, I know, will entitle him to a lot of therapy someday) and he'd shed his pajama top & socks. I covered him all back up and tucked his blankie back around his little frigid shoulders and he woke up to tell me he "had a hot flash" and needed to strip down.
My lovely daughter (who is growing sooooo fast) also had a moment the other day where she refused to layer up. She was in her basketball uniform (short sleeves) and shorts and I kept after her until she replied, with that ever-annoying foot-stomp-eye-roll-saying-it-with-a-heavy-sigh "I'm having a hot flash MOM!" (emphasize the Mom, like it's the LOUDEST WORD IN THE SENTENCE, SAID WITH COMPLETE DISGUST AND ANNOYANCE OVER MY IGNORANCE). Can't argue with that.
It makes me giggle, and I am reluctant to tell them anything different, I find it CUTE that they want to be like me, hot flashes or not. As I've been enjoying them (hot flashes) ever more frequently (in my mind I'm hoping PRAYING that this is the Cliff Notes version, and I'm that I'm getting to the climax of the story and for-the-love-of-God they will begin to taper off soon) I thought I might make a list of what they are like, for those of you who may never get the joy, and those of you who still have another ten years to wait:
1. A Hot Flash is when you are driving to work with the windows rolled down (yes, all four) it's 37 degrees outside and raining, the AC is on and you've stripped off all but one layer (to be appropriate) and you don't give a flying freakshow because you're still hotter than hot.
2. A Hot Flash is when you're typing on your computer (work or home, same diff) and you lift your wrists to find puddles of sweat under them.
3. A Hot Flash is needing to keep a stick of deodorant in the car, your husband's car, your desk drawer, your kids' backpack and your purse because you never know when you're going to break through that prescription strength anti-persperant/deodorant barrier. (yes, it can be done. jussayin')
4. A Hot Flash is waking up in the middle of the night because you "feel" like the universe is somehow out of balance, then 30 seconds later you're covered in a layer of sweat despite the fact that you've knowingly stripped down to your chonies and a tank top. You open the bedroom window and realize your husband is shivering uncontrollably in his sleep and you can't find a cool spot on the bed. Thirty seconds later you freeze, put all your clothes back on, close the window and snuggle up with the covers over your head, only to repeat in another 2 hours.
5. A Hot Flash is helping a student in your job, trying to explain the ins and outs of the FASA form, why it's important and where to go for additional help, meanwhile you're fanning yourself with the FAFSA practice form as your student keeps reaching for it, you're totally red in the face and you realize that the student may misinterpret your flushed face and reluctance to hand over the papers for something completely different. You imagine a call from HR soon.
6. A Hot Flash is like walking out of an air-conditioned building in Phoenix in August when it's 120 degrees, and not immediately being able to go back inside. You sweat in places you didn't know you could. Then suddenly you feel like you've walked into a freezer. Boom.
I've got a few more, I think, but I'll save them up for later. I'd be curious what other hot flash descriptions are out there. Feel free to post a comment, just know that I've still got my "filter" on and I have to "approve" of your comments before they are posted. So much for instant gratification. But I guess that's what cleaning's for.
Signing off,
Maude
Case in point, I went in to check on my baby boy (I know he's 6 but he's still the baby, which I know, I know, will entitle him to a lot of therapy someday) and he'd shed his pajama top & socks. I covered him all back up and tucked his blankie back around his little frigid shoulders and he woke up to tell me he "had a hot flash" and needed to strip down.
My lovely daughter (who is growing sooooo fast) also had a moment the other day where she refused to layer up. She was in her basketball uniform (short sleeves) and shorts and I kept after her until she replied, with that ever-annoying foot-stomp-eye-roll-saying-it-with-a-heavy-sigh "I'm having a hot flash MOM!" (emphasize the Mom, like it's the LOUDEST WORD IN THE SENTENCE, SAID WITH COMPLETE DISGUST AND ANNOYANCE OVER MY IGNORANCE). Can't argue with that.
It makes me giggle, and I am reluctant to tell them anything different, I find it CUTE that they want to be like me, hot flashes or not. As I've been enjoying them (hot flashes) ever more frequently (in my mind I'm hoping PRAYING that this is the Cliff Notes version, and I'm that I'm getting to the climax of the story and for-the-love-of-God they will begin to taper off soon) I thought I might make a list of what they are like, for those of you who may never get the joy, and those of you who still have another ten years to wait:
1. A Hot Flash is when you are driving to work with the windows rolled down (yes, all four) it's 37 degrees outside and raining, the AC is on and you've stripped off all but one layer (to be appropriate) and you don't give a flying freakshow because you're still hotter than hot.
2. A Hot Flash is when you're typing on your computer (work or home, same diff) and you lift your wrists to find puddles of sweat under them.
3. A Hot Flash is needing to keep a stick of deodorant in the car, your husband's car, your desk drawer, your kids' backpack and your purse because you never know when you're going to break through that prescription strength anti-persperant/deodorant barrier. (yes, it can be done. jussayin')
4. A Hot Flash is waking up in the middle of the night because you "feel" like the universe is somehow out of balance, then 30 seconds later you're covered in a layer of sweat despite the fact that you've knowingly stripped down to your chonies and a tank top. You open the bedroom window and realize your husband is shivering uncontrollably in his sleep and you can't find a cool spot on the bed. Thirty seconds later you freeze, put all your clothes back on, close the window and snuggle up with the covers over your head, only to repeat in another 2 hours.
5. A Hot Flash is helping a student in your job, trying to explain the ins and outs of the FASA form, why it's important and where to go for additional help, meanwhile you're fanning yourself with the FAFSA practice form as your student keeps reaching for it, you're totally red in the face and you realize that the student may misinterpret your flushed face and reluctance to hand over the papers for something completely different. You imagine a call from HR soon.
6. A Hot Flash is like walking out of an air-conditioned building in Phoenix in August when it's 120 degrees, and not immediately being able to go back inside. You sweat in places you didn't know you could. Then suddenly you feel like you've walked into a freezer. Boom.
I've got a few more, I think, but I'll save them up for later. I'd be curious what other hot flash descriptions are out there. Feel free to post a comment, just know that I've still got my "filter" on and I have to "approve" of your comments before they are posted. So much for instant gratification. But I guess that's what cleaning's for.
Signing off,
Maude
Saturday, January 19, 2013
The Devil You Know
The past few weeks have been filled with a back and forth debate
in my head between logic and common sense. No makin' fun of me and saying
a woman with common sense & logic is like a $3 dollar bill (I've heard it
before!).
While I do have common sense, in all honesty Maude and I choose to
exercise it when convenient. So there. Logic? Totally
different story. Never been my strong suit, and when you factor in that I'm a woman (who used to have a period) now in menopause, well let's just
be honest: logic is out the freaking window 99% of the time. And I'm at
peace with that.
What I have been debating, researching, talking about and
wrestling with is whether or not I REALLY want to take an additional hormone
suppressing medication. I pull a hair out of my chin almost daily now,
I'm not in the business of wanting to shave my whole damn face.
I discovered after my surgery (because as previously mentioned I
don't often use common sense) that having my ovaries removed at age 40 causes
all kinds of other issues, aside from just the daily joy of menopause.
It's loads of fun for the whole family!
Aside from reducing my risk of breast and ovarian cancer
(eliminating that baby entirely) and uterine cancer ('cause I had that
worthless POS yanked out too) I'm now signed up for increased risk of bone
loss, heart disease, glaucoma (although a legal excuse for me to finally try
marijuana…..not that I would….well maybe in a brownie) and joint pain.
Do you know what happens if I take another hormone suppressing
drug? Magnify my risks above by 10. No thank you. Had I known
the risks of the complete hysterectomy, I'm pretty sure I would have done the exact same thing. No
doubt about it.
But now we're splitting some very gray hairs here…..I have a 10%
chance of breast cancer coming back. With hormone suppression therapy it drops to 5%. FIVE
PERCENT. If it would 100% guarantee me a get out of jail free card, I'd
take it. And be glad. And put up with all the crappy short and long term side effects.
But it doesn't, and it won't and to be honest Id rather roll the
dice, put all my chips on black and hope to hell I win. The short and
long term side effects in my logical, common sense opinion, do not outweigh the
benefits. I'd rather risk it with the Devil I Know.
That devil was a slow growing hormone receptive cancer, one whose ass I started kicking the day I decided to live a healthier life, months before I ever even found it. A life that, to this day, I continue to lead. Regardless of how many other medications I'm told to take, my life will still be filled with annual screenings of my breast tissue to see if that little devil has come back. Pill or no pill, I'll be checked.
Believe me when I say this (unless genetics reveals something entirely different) I hold the firm believe that farting around with my hormones for almost 20 years with varying methods of birth control, combined with the fact that I had a fairly sedentary lifestyle (and 50 extra pounds of fat all over my body) and then just top that off with the heaping pile of processed soy products I ingested for five months and you've got the recipe that I know is what caused those nasty old cells in my old boobies turned into cancer. You'll never convince me otherwise.
I, Amy Maude Little, have a 90% chance of cancer not coming back, I'm a million times healthier than I ever was before, have done everything I can aside from taking another pill to mess around with my hormones, do not see the benefit of 5% reduction in risk so I can end up with such severe joint pain, glaucoma, bone density loss or heart disease that I can't run or exercise or be healthy the way I have learned to be.
No, I'm not taking another medication destined to cause more health issues for me. I'm done, ready to move on, but continuing the fight in my own way, on my own terms.
The way I see it, I've got the same chance of getting it now that I had before when I got it the first time. And I'm physically not the same but in a very good way, and in my heart of hearts I know that IF I were to get breast cancer again I'll kick it's ass all over again. And I'm not afraid.
Friday, January 11, 2013
Runner's Code of Honor
Recently Maude has been on a big ass tirade over stupid runners not wearing anything bright, light, or reflective while running in the dark. Seriously, do they have a death wish?
Do they WANT to get hit so they can sue someone? I don't know, but Maude has taken to rolling her window down (much to the embarrassment of the kids who are in the car 50% of the time) and yelling at these Darwin-Award winners to Put Some Freaking Reflective Shit ON!
I have people remind me all the time it's a survival of the fittest but I sure as hell don't want to be the one making that prophecy come true. I've already had one near miss (another blog for another time).
I sure don't need the guilt, panic and memory of actually taking someone's life for Pete's sake. (who is this Pete anyway? and did you ever notice the word ASS is in embarrass? I just noticed....) SQUIRREL! (I am so unable to focus lately)
So it got me thinking, there's a lot of dumb ass stuff we runners do, not all of us, not all the time, but we've all done something we shouldn't, at least once.
You have to pass a test before you get your driver's license and God knows you should have to pass one to be a parent, so why should we not have a code, a pledge, a "gentleman's agreement" if we lace up & pound the pavement?
I have attempted to capture a few things that I find important, as a runner, and as the operator of a motor vehicle (and yes, I'm aware I'm a bad driver, but STILL.....) and list them here.
Feel free to add on if I missed something, just be aware that I'm apparently a man-hating American whore and as such I need to "approve" your comments before they are published, you know in case you're some douche-bag with no life from Australia...
So much for instant gratification, eh? I apologize for any comment-approving delays that may occur because I'm too busy hatin' the man. Here is the CODE, in no particular order:
1. I will always wear reflective shit if I run in the dark, near dark, pitch dark or kinda dark. I will wear it if I think I might still be running hours later in the dark even if I leave while it's light. This should include things like a headlamp, knuckle lights, reflective vest, reflective shoes, clothes that resemble fruit loops in color and/or blinkie lights if you have them. At least two items from this list should be worn.
2. If I choose to run in the dark, near dark, pitch dark or kinda dark I will (in particular if you don't have a penis on you) run with at least ONE HUMAN BUDDY. It does NOT matter if the buddy has a penis or not, just remember safety in numbers. A dog, as great as they are, does not count. I'm sorry.
3. I will NEVER assume that a car sees me. Even in broad daylight. Even when I've made eye contact (or so I think). I will wait for the wave or nod before I move. This includes, but is not limited to driveways, stop signs or parking lots.
4. I will obey the traffic laws, even if it means I have to stop and wait until the crosswalk light says walk. That means I have to pause my Garmin and stop, and yes it sucks. But you don't want to be the bug on someone's windshield that doesn't see you and goes flying through the intersection.
5. I will NOT run when I am injured. It only makes things worse. Your BRF will miss you for a few runs, but the endless hours you'll log because you didn't have to have something surgically repaired will be just desserts for the down time. Speaking of dessert and downtime, be careful there.....dangerous territory.
6. I will take water with me on long runs, when it's hot, or any combination thereof. And fuel. If I need fuel I'll bring that too. And if I run with a buddy, I'll be sure to have fuel for said buddy in case they forget. (I've been the forgetter......more than once, thank BRF for the Skittles)
7. I will compete with myself, every time I race, and even if I have a shitty time I'll high five the CRAP out of all my running buddies, regardless of how I'm feeling. (I have never met anyone who didn't do this, just thought it should be part of the CODE). Runners are generally the most supportive bunch of athletes I know.
8. I will not attend any race and post myself at the "2 miles to go mark" and hold a sign that says"You're Almost There" because that's just not done. Thank you Another Mother Runner ladies for bringing that to my attention. (note, this was not an original thought, thank you again Sarah Bowen Shea) This should unequivocally and absolutely be part of THE CODE.
9. I will always, no matter what, be proud of what I accomplish. Every run. Every time.
10. I will always be proud of my running buddy too.
Above all else, if you see Maude out there running, slap her on the ass and tell her to relax a little, would ya?
Love always,
Maude, the menopausal maniac
AKA Amy Little
AKA the man-hating American woman whore
Do they WANT to get hit so they can sue someone? I don't know, but Maude has taken to rolling her window down (much to the embarrassment of the kids who are in the car 50% of the time) and yelling at these Darwin-Award winners to Put Some Freaking Reflective Shit ON!
I have people remind me all the time it's a survival of the fittest but I sure as hell don't want to be the one making that prophecy come true. I've already had one near miss (another blog for another time).
I sure don't need the guilt, panic and memory of actually taking someone's life for Pete's sake. (who is this Pete anyway? and did you ever notice the word ASS is in embarrass? I just noticed....) SQUIRREL! (I am so unable to focus lately)
So it got me thinking, there's a lot of dumb ass stuff we runners do, not all of us, not all the time, but we've all done something we shouldn't, at least once.
You have to pass a test before you get your driver's license and God knows you should have to pass one to be a parent, so why should we not have a code, a pledge, a "gentleman's agreement" if we lace up & pound the pavement?
I have attempted to capture a few things that I find important, as a runner, and as the operator of a motor vehicle (and yes, I'm aware I'm a bad driver, but STILL.....) and list them here.
Feel free to add on if I missed something, just be aware that I'm apparently a man-hating American whore and as such I need to "approve" your comments before they are published, you know in case you're some douche-bag with no life from Australia...
So much for instant gratification, eh? I apologize for any comment-approving delays that may occur because I'm too busy hatin' the man. Here is the CODE, in no particular order:
1. I will always wear reflective shit if I run in the dark, near dark, pitch dark or kinda dark. I will wear it if I think I might still be running hours later in the dark even if I leave while it's light. This should include things like a headlamp, knuckle lights, reflective vest, reflective shoes, clothes that resemble fruit loops in color and/or blinkie lights if you have them. At least two items from this list should be worn.
2. If I choose to run in the dark, near dark, pitch dark or kinda dark I will (in particular if you don't have a penis on you) run with at least ONE HUMAN BUDDY. It does NOT matter if the buddy has a penis or not, just remember safety in numbers. A dog, as great as they are, does not count. I'm sorry.
3. I will NEVER assume that a car sees me. Even in broad daylight. Even when I've made eye contact (or so I think). I will wait for the wave or nod before I move. This includes, but is not limited to driveways, stop signs or parking lots.
4. I will obey the traffic laws, even if it means I have to stop and wait until the crosswalk light says walk. That means I have to pause my Garmin and stop, and yes it sucks. But you don't want to be the bug on someone's windshield that doesn't see you and goes flying through the intersection.
5. I will NOT run when I am injured. It only makes things worse. Your BRF will miss you for a few runs, but the endless hours you'll log because you didn't have to have something surgically repaired will be just desserts for the down time. Speaking of dessert and downtime, be careful there.....dangerous territory.
6. I will take water with me on long runs, when it's hot, or any combination thereof. And fuel. If I need fuel I'll bring that too. And if I run with a buddy, I'll be sure to have fuel for said buddy in case they forget. (I've been the forgetter......more than once, thank BRF for the Skittles)
7. I will compete with myself, every time I race, and even if I have a shitty time I'll high five the CRAP out of all my running buddies, regardless of how I'm feeling. (I have never met anyone who didn't do this, just thought it should be part of the CODE). Runners are generally the most supportive bunch of athletes I know.
8. I will not attend any race and post myself at the "2 miles to go mark" and hold a sign that says"You're Almost There" because that's just not done. Thank you Another Mother Runner ladies for bringing that to my attention. (note, this was not an original thought, thank you again Sarah Bowen Shea) This should unequivocally and absolutely be part of THE CODE.
9. I will always, no matter what, be proud of what I accomplish. Every run. Every time.
10. I will always be proud of my running buddy too.
Above all else, if you see Maude out there running, slap her on the ass and tell her to relax a little, would ya?
Love always,
Maude, the menopausal maniac
AKA Amy Little
AKA the man-hating American woman whore
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