Humor of the Day: Penguin Pacer

I seem to have hit a real dry spell in my Humor of the Day posts. Since the "Night of the Living Dead," there seems to have been little to nothing that has made me noticeably smile or laugh. But, because I have "allowed" myself to rely on past events, I am able to make this post.

A week or two ago, my neighbor Laura offered me a part time job. I, the slowest of the slow of Penguins, have been offered a job as "a pacer." That job offer made me laugh. A lot.

For those unfamiliar to the world of running and/or racing, a pacer is someone who sets the pace of a race for the other runners. Serious runners use pacers in races; not-so-serious runners use pacers to train and "penguins" call upon other penguins as pacers when all else fails.

Because Laura is currently training for a 10k and because I run ever-so-slightly faster than her, she has offered for me to be her pacer. She even went so far as to offer to "pay" me to run a 5k race with her. This, according to Laura, will be the key to her setting a personal record.

Although visions of dollar signs flashed before my eyes, she then proceeded to explain that she would pay my race entry fee; however, I would not be paid on an hourly basis to prod her along as we run.

Despite the salary restrictions, I seem to have accepted the offer and am now proud to be among the elite few who can call themselves "pacers."

As I waddle ever so slowly ahead of Laura on the rail trial, I am continually assessing our pace and pondering if I am running too fast (doubtful), too slow (probably) or just right (hopefully).

My success as a pacer currently remains unknown. However, if Laura does ultimately set a personal record in the next 5k that we run, I foresee myself engaging in some serious salary negotiations with her ....lol

Humor of the Day: Night of the Living Dead

After a too long dry spell of "no humor," I can thank this old, out of shape man at All Sport last night for this Humor of the Day post.

While sitting quietly and rather motionless at the blood pressure machine (as instructed), I saw this large, old man, with a huge "spare tire" heading towards me.

He approached me and said "You don't need to speak to me, but you look like you have died."

Something told me this wasn't a compliment.

There were many thoughts that went through my head about how he looked, but I bit my tongue and simply replied "I am tired."

He then slumped over, contorted his face, closed his eyes and told me again that I looked "dead."

After his dramatic re-enactment of my deadly appearance, he explained that he was looking for a piece of paper and there are usually small slips of paper at the blood pressure machine. After rising from the dead, I handed him a piece of paper, he rambled on about my red hair and how I must be Irish. And then, he waddled off.

It wasn't until after my grueling spin class that I actually laughed about this bizarre encounter. I thought to myself "If he thought I looked dead before, he should only see me now....." lol

Humor of the Day: Conjoined at the Wrist

Though this Humor of the Day incident occurred a week ago, I wanted to be sure to post about it because it not only made me smile, but it made me laugh out loud - a lot.

Lauren and I were planning "Prom Dress Shopping Take 2" and had decided that we would make a quick trip to a local dress shop. As I was getting ready for the shopping excursion, I put on my usual "bronze" color watch. At some point, while I continued to get dressed, I put on a sweater with a silver zipper. In my mind, that meant that my earrings should also be silver. And hence, I should also wear my silver watch. Clearly, I had seen one too many episodes of "What Not to Wear."

So, I placed my silver watch on my wrist.

Because the local dress shop closed at 5 and because I also knew that prom dress shopping is always an ordeal that lasts several hours, I was conscious of how much time we had for actual shopping. As we were driving to the dress shop, I glanced at my wrist to see the time. And that's when the Humor of the Day incident occurred.

Unbeknowst to me, when I put on my silver watch, I never took off the bronze watch. And so there, on my wrist, were my two watches co-habitating.

After laughing and convincing myself that I really wasn't going crazy, I took my "conjoined watches" as a sign that "Prom Dress Shopping Take 2" would take twice as long, be twice as much fun and end up costing me twice as much money...lol

Humor of the Day: The Wicked Witch of the West Goes South

This past Saturday, I didn't have to look too far to find humor. First, Dr. Redneck provided me with a huge laugh as he prepared himself for our upcoming 20 mile bike.

And then, while on our ride, it was the Wicked Witch of the West herself who added to the amusement.

This past Saturday marked the Maiden Voyage of my new bicycle. Armed with "real" padded bicycle pants (as opposed to Dr. Redneck's idea of stuffing a pillow in my regular pants), I took to the Harlem Rail Trial for my first 20 mile ride.

Accompanied by my training partner, Laura; my self-appointed cycling coach, Ed and Laura's good-natured husband Alan, we set out on our adventure. Laura, who is quickly following in her husband's footsteps and developing a fascination for electronic devices, had her Garmin GPS watch, which would track our mileage.

As we unloaded our bikes at the rail trail and were getting ready for our big adventure, I made an interesting observation: I, the shortest person of the group by about a foot, had one of the largest bicycles. As we would say in the Crawford household, "I had the bike that ate Canterberry Court (our street)." In layman's terms, that's another way of saying "my bike was HUGE."

Another interesting tidbit to note was that when the bike was "fitted" to me, it was configured so that my feet do not touch the ground at all if I am sitting on the seat. As it was explained to me, I am supposed to apply the brakes and then gracefully slide off the seat when I come to a stop. My feet will meet the ground at some point. It all sounded good in theory when the "bike guy" explained this to me.

Once at the rail trail, we all geared up --"Should I wear a hat?" "Should I wear gloves? "Are long pants better than the capri length riding pants?" And, when Ed had securely attached his rubber bands to the bottom of his jeans, it was time to start our expedition.

When our bike posse made it one way to the end of the rail trial, we discovered that we ran out of trail. Instead of stopping to eat lunch (which, in retrospect, would have been a much better idea), Ed, Laura and I turned around and started heading back.

At this point in our journey, Laura and I were riding side-by-side and my coach was behind me (analyzing my riding form, no doubt). As Laura and I chatted about god-knows-what, we came upon a patch of ice/snow. Laura went to the left of the patch and I went to the right. Or, as Ed says, "You headed straight for the ice patch - purposely."

At that moment in time, it was a moot point as to which direction I planned to head: left, right or center. It made no difference at all because seemingly, my bike was on autopilot and on a course of its own. A crash course.

As my front tire started to swerve left, right and every which way in between, I fought to maintain control. But, the only real control I had at that point was to cover my eyes and try to protect them from the bushes that would soon be my landing pad. And then, I auto-ejected from my bike. Or, a more accurate description may be that my bike auto-ejected from me.

When I made landfall in the snow bank, I did what I usually do after a fall: I started to laugh. And cry. And then, some combination of the two. But, when I felt the intense pain in my left leg, panic set in and four vivid thoughts went through my head:

1. Your running days are over; you'll never get that medal for the 70+ age group.
2. Your biking days are over before they even began.
3. You will be returning to work on Monday morning in a full body cast - or better yet- you won't have to go to work on Monday.
4. "OH MY GOD - MY NEW BIKE IS RUINED".

Five days post auto-ejection, I have yet to be able to run without pain, have not tried biking and did return to work, though not in a full body cast.

And as for my bike, it survived its Maiden Voyage with a few nics and scratches, but is no worse for wear. My legs, however, are another story.

Clearly, any fantasies I may have had of ever being a "leg model" are gone. They, too, went South with the Wicked Witch of the West....lol

Humor of the Day: You Might Be Dr. Redneck If...

you attach a plastic, purple cup from your alma mater (Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute) to your bike with duct tape. And then, to complete the image, you insert a bottle of water into the plastic, purple cup.

As if that isn't bad enough, you then use rubber bands to secure the bottom of your jeans so they don't flap in the wind and get caught in the bicycle chain. Although the actual photo is pending, you get the general idea:

Thanks to Dr. Crawford for supplying this HUGE laugh of the day on Saturday. Perhaps a trip to Dick's Sporting Goods is in order so Ed can buy a real water bottle and real biking pants??? ...lol

Humor of the Day: Witch One Is It?

Tonight, I suffered my worst fear: I realized that I am the victim of mistaken identity.

I am not Mary Poppins. I am actually the Wicked Witch of the West (on more levels than one).

All this time, I thought that Mary Poppins was the woman who sat with perfect posture when she rode her bike. But, while looking for a photo to go with this blog piece, I realized that I was mistaken.

For many years, I have been ranting and raving about my bicycle and how much I detest it. So, I finally took the plunge and bought a new Trek bike in preparation for my 40 mile Bike NY tour.

When I came home from buying the bike, I excitedly showed Lauren an online picture of the bike. She replied "Oh My God, Mom ...you are going to look like Mary Poppins."

After looking at the photo, I feared that Lauren may be correct. Evidently, the new design in womens bikes is to remove "the bar" that most women hate anyway. And, the low-style, racing handle bars that were popular years ago, have been replaced with "sit-up-straight" handle bars.
With this new design, you can't help but ride with perfect posture.

Tonight, I went for my final bike "fitting" where each and every feature of the bike was fine-tuned to satisfy my "finickiness". I put my prized possession in the car and as we got closer to home, I texted Lauren that "Mary Poppins" estimated time of arrival was 10 minutes." Lauren met me outside, examined my new bike and proclaimed that I was not Mary Poppins afterall. But, my feeling of relief was short-lived.

Instead, I bore a striking resemblance to the Wicked Witch of the West.

And now, thanks to Lauren, I find myself grappling with an identity crisis.

"Witch one is it, Lauren?" ... lol

Humor of the Day: Fence Post

Who would think that a very short conversation about a fence could make me laugh and become my Humor of the Day post?

The other day, Ed and I were driving past our local rail trail and he said that he noticed they are putting up a fence on the "newer" portion of the trail.

He said it was the kind of fence that his parents had at their house. Yet, he could not think of the name for that type of fence.

I asked if it was a picket fence? "No." Was it a "privacy" fence? "No." A chain-link fence? "No." A wrought iron fence? "No."

As far as I knew, I had exhausted my knowledge of fences.

But Ed remained baffled; he could not think of the name for the that type of fence. So, I badgered with him a few more questions and then he added a critical detail "it was the same type of fence that surrounded his backyard when he was growing up."

"Ohhhh.....an electric fence!" I exclaimed.

As funny as I found that image, evidently, the million dollar answer was "split rail fence." Definitely more practical than an electric fence, but clearly less amusing....lol