Anatomically correct

Besides the whole having a penis thing, I usually consider myself to be one of the guys. I can hold my liquor, shoot a mean pool game and I appreciate a nice rack just as much as they do. I don't talk about emotions or my dreams and goals in life. Instead we usually sit around a fire listening to 80's hair band butt rock and throwing out funny jabs at one another.

And then there was this one time that I was having some female issues, and I thought I'd play doctor (not the dirty kind you played with the neighbor boy down the street) but like, the total self medicating kind (and not the kind you do with a bottle of bourbon after a really shitty day).

I found some expired hormone pills in my bathroom medicine cabinet. I thought I remembered my doctor telling me that if I started to experience problems that we could always fix those problems with progesterone. Well, I just so happened to have some. It was expired, but wasn't growing mold or anything. I took ONE pill. One.



The next morning I woke up one crazy(ier) bitch.

I had my nieces Birthday party to get to and the boys were on their way. I hustled to get ready in the mist of my emotional roller coaster and sweat spells. The boys were running ahead of schedule to pick me up. We needed to leave early to have enough time to buy fireworks and beer.

I tried on seven different outfits. I looked like a chubby sweaty line backer in just about everything I tried on. I finally settled on something black and flowey.

In a rush to get my hair done, I gave the boys a brief explanation that "I'd only be a few more minutes" and "I was sorry, it had just been a weird morning."

Half way through poofing my hair I heard "Erica, why has your morning been so weird?" I walked out with my hair balled up and ratted, looked at my boys sitting on the couch wondering what the hell was up with me, and started to explain in what can only be described as a sobbing-slobbery-sweaty-fit.

*Quakey high pitched voice, going octives higher each scentance and ugly-cry-face emerging**

I just, I'm an idiot. To spare you guys the details, I was having some girl problems and I remembered my doctor said I could fix it with this one hormone and I found some in my medicine cabinet that was expired, but I thought hey no big deal, So i took one... and then this morning I wake up all crampy and angry with fucking everyone and bloated and I don't feel cute and I can't wear any of my clothes because nothing fits and I can't quit sweating and I could seriously just cry at the drop of a hat!

They both just stared at me with their mouths wide open. Then they laughed. Then they started saying random words like "Banana" and "Dolphin" and "Baseball bat" because they were playing the game "Words that will make Erica cry"

I'm pretty sure I've been driving everyone around me, including myself right up the wall. My co-worker asked if everything was OK and what the loud popping noise in my office was and I had to explain that I had hit a wall. Both legitimately and figuratively.

I don't know if it's that I've been on my fucking period for 3 weeks now, or I'm stressed about leaving both my dogs and jobs and regularly scheduled life to trot off to Alaska for TEN DAYS with nothing but a carry on, or spending my birthday on a chartered fishing boat hopefully catching fish and NOT vomiting into the sea for 15 hours, or that I'll be away from all my friends on my birthday, or trying to plan my first ever baby shower co-ed celebration of life kegger for one of my bests and I want it to be so perfect, or that work is super crazy, or that right before my husband decided to leave for Twin falls to go golfing with buddies this weekend he told me that "we're" throwing a going away party on Saturday for one of his friends who joined the Air force and by "we're" he means ME since he won't be back until people start showing up for farewells and hot dogs, or that I was suffering separation axiety from being away from my sister for 5 days, or that one little expired hormone pill threw me into a fit of even more emotional instability than normal and made me forget how to deal with shit and multi task.

I feel. Super. Super panicky.

Things may be winding down however. Last night I was googling "lip gloss" right before bed. That is one sure small sign of normalcy.


I fucking hope.

If anyone knows me, It's Amazon.

I just logged in to my Amazon account.

Hey Erica, It's Amazon. We wanted you to know that based on your browsing history, we made you a list of things we're pretty sure you want right here on the main page.

My browsing history is as follows:

Whiskey glass set.

Pirate treasure chest.

Red pirate jewels.

Anti chaff stick.

Led head lamp.

A bormioli rocco selecta 7 piece whiskey gift set.

Teraforma whiskey stones

Webkins plush stuffed Dragon.

Toddler building blocks.

Pirate flag.

Decanter.

Pretty much just the every day essentials.

After the run it's the after party. After the party it's the hotel lobby.

I haven't had sweat drenched hair in over 72 hours.

I'm no longer chapped in places that have no business being chapped.

I've gotten to wear my pretty lacy bras and panties the last 3 days and smell like the Dillards perfume counter.

Last night I indulged in pizza, beer and sex until 11:00pm.

The best part of the race?

POST RACE.

Well, maybe carb loading. That was pretty neat too.

I actually had a really good time doing the Wasatch Back Ragnar Relay. They say it's one of the hardest, yet funnest races out there.

My first run was in the heat of the day on Friday. I ran 3.2 miles in 31 minutes. I was feeling good afterward, and to be honest a little proud of my pace. I maintained a 9:39 minute mile, and ran my best pace of 7:13 during the 1st mile.

My second run took place at 2:30am Saturday morning along Echo Reservoir. I ran 10 miles, in the middle of the night with no van support along a rocky dirt path complete with bear sighting and all. I finished my 10 miles in one hour and 57 minutes. I managed a pace of 11 minute miles over the entire 10 miles. Some miles were under 10 minutes, some miles were 12 minutes. Overall I felt very proud to have ran the longest leg on the entire course in under two hours.

The third leg was just as I suspected. Pure hell on earth. Over a short 3.2 miles I climbed nearly 1500 feet in elevation. It's the 2nd steepest leg of the entire course, and the steepest only has it beat by a short 200 feet. It took everything I had. My mind was as focused as ever and I was completely jacked up knowing it was my last run, but after being up for 30 hours with no sleep and fatigued muscles from the previous 10 miles my body was all "Excuse me, bitch!?!"



I finished. I cried like a little bitch at the exchange point. Tears for every emotion possible. I was so happy to see my suburban full of misfits waiting for me. I was so tired and delirious and my body needed to rest.

Our team crossed the finish line in 37 hours.

We ran into a few problems, but we overcame them and finished. Everyone poured their heart, soul, strength and determination into this unbelievable race. I know I made personal sacrifices and pushed myself to lengths that I normally wouldn't have all in the name of Ragnar.

I met some complete badasses. Our driver Derek cracked me up the entire time. Derek's wife Jodi is one neat chick. A few of us showered together, baring our cash and prizes to God and everyone. Jodi even dropped the soap. Derek and Jodi flew back east to their home on Monday. They contacted me through a friend to let me know that next year, they want ME in their van with them. The feeling is totally mutual.

Speaking of complete badasses, I had 11 of my closest ones at the finish line to cheer me on. I can't even begin to describe the amount of support, love and true friendship that I felt that afternoon. I have some of the most amazing friends and family a girl could ever ask for.

They're there for me now matter what, where, who or how. They're genuine people through and through and I couldn't feel any luckier to be a part of each others lives.



Thank you to everyone for all of the humbling support you've given.

We all make a pretty damn good posse if you ask me.

Oh, and the after party was off the CHAIN.

Cheers to next year.

Covering all my bases.

I remember when I was 17.
I was living with my dad and his wife.
I moved out one day while he was at work.
I relocated 4 miles south to live with my Nana.
My dad didn't eat or sleep for 2 weeks and had a borderline breakdown.
I won't get in to all the hairy details. Just know that I was really the victim here.

Today is his birthday and Sunday is fathers day.
I'm his only offspring and I'm pretty sure this weekend would be the worst weekend like, ever to die. Which, is WAY worse than moving 4 miles south.

But since the chances of me meeting my untimely demise are considerably high, I'd like to list a few of my final affairs.

I hate bugs. HATE THEM. Please don't put me in the ground. As unpleasant as burning up a body in a wrath of fiery inferno sounds, it's better than being stuck in the ground inside a pine box among creepy crawlies. I don't like tight, stuffy places either. I just don't think a burial is my style.

I want something super creepy done with my ashes.
Like, maybe make a shit load of little necklaces with glass vials dangling from them, and then disburse my ashes accordingly in to said vials?

Or maybe mix my ashes in with some ink and all my loved ones get tattooed.

In lieu of a funeral, I'd rather a celebration.

I want 3 beers on tap (Budweiser, Amberbock and Corona) and a shit load of liquor. By liquor I mean, mostly bourbon and tequila.

I also want a nacho bar.

My music play list shall consist of Eric Clapton, Neil Young, The doobie brothers, Bob Segar, Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Eagles, Bad Company, Journey, Styx, Foreigner, White Snake, INXS, Jimmi Hendrix and Fleetwood mac.

Each one of my friends and family members must get up and share their most favorite memory of something we did together. I hate public speaking, so if you wanna just sit in a circle and play spin the bottle to see who you have to pass the mic to, that's totally fine too.

Please print off and frame up all the bagillion pictures I have of nights the majority of us don't remember but somehow wound up on my camera.

Even the one of the Halloween night I drove home completely naked except for my ugg boots and a seat belt strategically covering my nipples.

As far as my personal belongings go, my infamous hoodie collection is to be divided among my 4 best girls. If you're unsure if you're on the list or not, small scrolls summoning your presence at The great hoodie division of 2011, will be delivered by doves to your house upon the occurrence of my death.

For all of my other belongings, I'm requesting all my loved ones gather in to one place. Get pant shitting drunk and have a physical battle to win ownership and victory of my things.

Also, please capture said events on a camcorder and then replay the video onto a huge projection screen so I can watch it from heaven.

***Someone please delete my facebook account. It's pretty disturbing when dead people keep updating their status and "Liking" things. My login and password will be written down in my day planner on my desk.

I also have a $20.00 deposit down for a tattoo at Michas Twisted Tattoo in Layton. My appointment is on the 25th of this month at 4:30 if anyone wishes to go in my place.

I love you all.

Not to jinx anything, but.....

I ran a short 4 miles this morning before work.

I did it in 43:10.

There were a shit load of birds lined up on all the telephone pole wires and a ton of asshole drivers with ZERO consideration.

I felt like I was stuck between a fucked up mixture of Angry Birds and Frogger.

I arrived back home and actually felt OK.

My mind felt good and focused.

My left knee hurt a little, but nothing intolerable.

For the most part, I felt really good.

Race day is in 3 days and I think, I might, Just have my oomph back.

LOST: Oooomph. Hefty reward will be given for it's safe return.

Death race 2011 is a mere 8 days away. Everyone I've spoken with is "Feeling great" and "Totally ready for it" and "Super excited".

Me?

I'm fucking tired.

I'm tired of running.
Running used to be an activity I did because I liked it. It was my "me" time. It was my stress relief. It was my therapy.

Now? It's a chore. Something I HAVE to do. Instead of running wherever the wind takes me, I'm setting up routes that coincide with the distance I need to run, the elevation changes I need for training, I'm constantly looking down at my garmin to see my pace, distance, heart rate...

Last night I set out for 6 miles. I just HAD to do 6 miles. I ran 6 miles on Sunday and it was the worst run of my life so I needed to do better this time. I needed to show myself that I could for the sake of restoring some confidence.

I made it 3.1.

I feel as if the more I train the worse I get.

I got home. I got in the shower and just about lost it. The only thing that kept me from having a complete ugly-cry breakdown was knowing that the boys were coming over to watch the Miami Heat game and eat dinner. I can't let them see me break.

Running is as much mental as it is physical.

I'm to the point where I'm willing to whore my brain out for a good mental mind fuck, because I don't know what else to do.

I'm tired of running.
I'm tired of being tired.
I'm tired of bugs in my eyes and up my nose and getting stuck in my chap stick.
I'm tired of the inside of my thighs feeling tender and chappy.
I'm tired of vomiting up everything I put in my mouth.
I'm tired of my feet bones hurting.
I'm tired of walking around like I've just been fucked by a 2x4.
I'm tired of ball sweat.
I'm tired of everything sweat.
I'm tired of lugging this thick, curvy, chubby, lady body all around town.
I'm tired of every decision I make in regards to food or beverage being a conscious one that revolves around running.
I'm tired of spending money on things like reflective vests, compression socks and anti chaff cream.
I'm tired of never having the time or energy to get laid.
I'm tired of traffic.
I'm tired of drinking fucked up drinks to help my performance or restore my body.
I'm tired of TALKING ABOUT RUNNING.

I'm at my breaking point. I've lost my oomph. I want to quit.

Hopefully writing all of this down and getting it all out will help me in some way because in 8 days I've got some pretty damn amazing people who are willing to make the journey to Park City just to support little old me, in what hopefully is one huge mother fucking accomplishment.

A balls out Sunday.

This last Sunday was made of magic glittery unicorns.

It was a cold, rainy day. I woke up around ten to let the dogs out. We peed, then got in bed together for a solid 3 hours of nothing but snuggles, Oregon Trail and wet noses.

I made it to Fort Bridger with 4 of my 5 members.
Let's all now take a moment of silence for Timothy, whom died of dysentery.

...............................................................................................................

The dogs and I were starving by one.
We made it to the couch for Spicy nacho Doritos and half of a left over breakfast burrito from the night before.

I decided to make something of myself and shower.
I dicked around on my guitar for a while. Learned half of two new songs.
Had myself a beer.
Then the husband and I met up with his youngest brother (s).

The 4 of us headed to the driving range to hit a bucket of balls.
The driving range is just like swimming. You're always hungry after, so it only made sense to hit up one of my favorite spots.

THE OAKS.

The Oaks is a tiny, bitchin' little joint up Ogden canyon. It sits right along the river and has outside dining. The weather totally sucked so we dined indoors but it was still awesome nonetheless. There was a live band playing everything from The Eagles to Nirvana.

The boys had burgers and I had chicken wings. We all sat around drinking beer, checking out the waitresses and playing with our balls. It was totally my kind of dinner. While we were there I recieved a text from a friend of mine who was bartending at the local watering hole in Brigham. The text read:
"Your dad brought his guitar in and is playing tonight if you want to come in."

We paid our bill, gave the waitress a phone number to reach my brother from another mother on, and hauled ass back to town.

We made it to the bar just in time for my dad to put his guitar away. I guilted him into playing an electric guitar that had been left out. He played me my favorite song, Bojangles and a few new ones I hadn't heard him do.

Afterward we sat and visited with eachother over a beer. It was well past his bedtime once 8 o'clock rolled around so I kissed my old man on the cheek and joined my boys at the pool tables for a few competitave games of "Fuck your neighbor"

To sum it up Sunday was pretty much the balls. Thanks brudders, for making me, an only child feel like the luckiest sister in the world.

Mad love.