Cooler than You: Stupid Things I Say and Do

It's been a while it seems.  February, when I was in the throes of a broken foot and a doubly ruptured plantar fascia.  In all this time, I've thought about writing, longed to, and yet . . . I wrote for other places, I wrote for books, I wrote in my mind. I stopped time, in many ways. 2019 has been brutal to me. It's been an unending barrage of punches to the face and gut. As I type this now, I shiver a little wondering what will happen next. Will the universe serve me another blow? What insult and injury awaits me this week? I hold my breath. In the fires of memory, I spent a large portion of August in Colorado. Per usual, I found myself footing myself up and down mountainsides, and most pointedly, I made it 3/4 of the way down an expert level hike in Black Canyon. I didn't make it all the way as lupus and asthma said hello, more than once, and my sister from another mother and father--Jen--and I agreed that wrecking myself to make it up and down was not an...

After a week where some jackal decided to call me a five, without my asking, I give you this.  Not long ago I set out to conquer the pole.   Okay, well not really conquer but to shimmy and shake my ass in the name of exercise and self-preservation.   I mean, as a child we had to put the dishes away and sweep the floor as chores but little did we know that somewhere over the proverbial bridge of adulthood chores would become more cumbersome than that.   Now . . . now we shimmy and shake our bodies on spin bikes, running routes, various forms of yoga, and for the really adventurous as moments of cardio while shopping.   Working out is the new chore of life, as it keeps the body in motion, joints working, and as I’m told by a MD I pay good money to see that it will lengthen my life.   I side eye him wondering how he really knows this.   Yet, I drag myself to gyms, spin classes, on road courses, and other modes of physical hell more fre...