Swallow your pride occasionally, it's non-fattening!

If I had my life to live over, I would perhaps have more actual troubles but I'd have fewer imaginary ones. ~Don Herold

Ever have one of those days that goes eternally wrong before you even get in the shower?

Welcome to my life.

7am I get up to take the dog for our usual bike ride.

Things actually run quite smoothly for the first 2 minutes or so.

Then we run into Hannah. Nothing disastrous happens, but I spend the rest of he bike ride feeling guilty that the dog loves us so much and I never let Bandit off to play with her.

So on the way back home, I do.

And of course I loose him.

I realize that this is the point where everybody rolls their eyes and says "Doesn't she ever learn?" and the answer to that is "No, I don't"

So it's 7:40 am and I've already screwed up for the day.

Haven't even brushed my teeth yet.

As I bike back home alone, I imagine what my stronger half is going to say when I tell him I've managed to loose the dog before he's even gotten out of bed for the day.

It turns into one of those imaginary conversations that take on a life of their own in you head.

Imaginary Me " I lost the dog"

Imaginary Him (With imaginary condescending look on his face) "Of course you did, you need to learn you can't trust him off leash"

Imaginary Me (Getting a little imaginarily condescending myself) "Oh yea, well maybe I wouldn't be the only one who ever lost him if it wasn't always my responsibility to take him in the mornings!"

I continue with the imaginary argument as I drive around the abandon railway tracks looking for the dog. Expanding the situation to include the damage to my car, wasted gas, and even the morning fog as things that can be attributed to his penchant for sleeping in.

A little voice of reason does pipe up about this time,"But hey, you like getting up early, that's why you do it"

I shove that voice of reason as far back down into the depths of my mind as I can, so I can continue irrationally seething as I go home dog-less.

As I enter the house I realize he's not even out of bed yet.

My blood boils.

I have managed to get up, bike the dog, loose the dog, waste 20 minutes looking for the mutt that I am now considering giving away or just taking out back and shooting and he ISN'T EVEN OUT OF BED YET??!!!!

I stomp downstairs to do my ten minutes of Jiggle Machine.

Which just inflames the anger as I think about how I COULD have time to do hour and a half work-outs like he does, if I didn't have to spend my entire LIFE trying to tire out the dog.

Maybe there should be a study done, if your temper is already through the roof, the effects of getting the crap shaken out of you for ten minutes not only increases circulation, and muscle mass, but also irrational thoughts.

A pip-squeak voice in the back of my mind manages to mention that I really barely ever make it through my ten minutes without getting bored, why the hell would I ever WANT to lift weights for an hour and a half?

I manage to drown it out with thoughts of "He damn well better not get in that shower before I get back up stairs"

"If he thinks he can just laze around all morning and then get in the shower just at the exact moment I NEED to get in the shower I'll kill him!! I swear I will."

As I was formulating a plan to go into the OTHER shower and turn on all the cold water so he boiled to death for taking a shower just when I needed to, a thought occurred to me.

He's not up yet because he doesn't have to work until 5pm.

Annoying voice of reason mentions not only the fact that he told me this last night, but also how nicely it works out that I get the bathroom all to myself all morning.

I silence it with a good irrational "Well why the hell didn't he tell me that this morning instead of letting me get up and bike the dog!!"

If he just had of reminded me of that at 7am I wouldn't have gotten up at all, therefor I wouldn't have lost the dog and I wouldn't be in such a bad mood and we wouldn't be on our fifth imaginary argument already!!

Look how he's managed to screw up so badly without even lifting his head off the pillow.

Ten minutes later and my brains are just about shaken out of my skull, my muscles have become jelly, yet my bad mood hasn't softened a bit.

As I stomp past him into the unoccupied bathroom, he wakes and says "Good Morning"

"Yea"

That's all I could manage. I realized at this point that I was being absolutely insane, but I still wasn't ready to come back to the realm of normal emotions.

So instead I shut the door to let the bad mood simmer down a little.

When I am finally ready for work, (and ready to face the consequences of my unleashing actions) I come out.

He's still in bed. (To his defense, it really only takes me about 15 minutes to get ready for work).

I'm no longer mad at him for this. I sit on the edge of the bed and confess my sins.

"I lost the dog"

I brace for the argument that comes next, fully prepared to take nearly all the responsibility for being a bad dog owner.

"Well, he'll come back"

That was it.

That was the only response he had for me.

I managed to have an entire nervous breakdown before 8:30am and SH doesn't even bat an eye.

That's why he is my stronger half, and usually also my saner half.

Ten minutes to inner peace...

Happiness can only be found if you can free yourself of all other distractions.
Saul Bellow

This past weekend I took a fitness course.

We were asked to describe a fitness activity and how it effects us holistically.

One woman's answer was about mountain biking.

It was poetic, and thoughtful, and made you just want to jump on a bike and head out to the mountains.

I don't remember the exact wording, but it went a little something like this...

"You jump on your bike, and head out onto the trail. Your heart starts pumping and you legs start burning, and for the first ten minutes your only thought is ~ I just want to go home and sit on the couch~

Then you start to get into a rhythm, your mind falls into a zone of peace and you feel connected to the earth and the wind and the trees.

You feel one with your bike and can continue on for hours. Your soul feels restored."

Again I'm paraphrasing, but that was the general idea of it.

She did such a good job at describing the bike ride, and all the emotions that come with exercise that the instructor referenced her little speech two or three times through-out the weekend.

She also did such a good job at romanticizing the bike ride that I started to wonder why I don't enjoy my morning rides more...

Why don't I wake up an extra half hour early to spend that time, bonding with my dog and the earth and replenishing my spirt and nourishing my soul.

Hell, why don't I wake up an hour early to really get a good long bike in, since apparently after the first gruesome ten minutes you hit a point where you feel like a cycling goddess who can continue forever!

This morning, on my regular bike ride I realized why.

Her experience involves a personal challenge, combined with independence and freedom, mixed with a little adventure and remote woods paths.

Her bike is her ticket away from reality and the stress of the real world for awhile.

My experience involves a 2yr old husky.

My morning ride starts with strapping everything together.

My helmet to my head, my gloves to my hands, my pant legs inside boots so as not to get caught in the chain.

I then strap my dog to my handle bars and say the first of my morning prayers.

As we speed down the first little hill of our driveway my heart is always somewhere in my throat.

I have no thoughts of wishing I were back on the couch eating a bag of chips... I have no time for thoughts at all other than "Please please please stay upright"

This first moment of fear lasts for about 20 seconds, or until I get past the dreaded spot where I fell off the bike a few months ago.

I start to calm down as we round the first corner and head up hill.

Which is promptly where my dog stops pulling like a mad animal and lets me pedal up the hill with my own power.

It is heading down this second hill that I start my second round of prayers for the morning. My Hail Mary's are perfectly in rhythm with the pace of the dog.

It is also where I realize how un-awake, and un-co-ordonated I am as I try to avoid the ever changing potholes.

Should the cute little rabbit that lives halfway down the lane decide to peek out of the bushes and dart it's hoppy little butt across the lane, my morning prayers become interrupted by general Tourettes like hysteria.

Once I have survived the rabbit run, I have about 10 seconds to prepare for Hannah.

Our neighbours dog who is extremely friendly.

She loves people and Bandit.

Unfortunately she has not quite figure out yet that she can't actually get to me without causing a near death experience for all of us involved.

Sometimes she comes from the back of the house, sometimes from under the doorstep.

You never know.

So as I approach the house I do a mad scan of the entire yard searching for a blonde ball of furry potentially fatal energy.

It's like Where's Waldo for thrill seekers.

She's not usually out in the mornings. So these encounters are actually few and far between. I can generally pass by this house without incident.

But I am just like the American border patrol, constantly ready for an unsuspected attack.

Thinking that an attack (even a friendly one) is less than probable, is just the kind of thinking that puts you in the hospital.

Finally we come to the main road. The entire ride has lasted about a minute and a half so far... so you can see why it's so hard to actually get past that anaerobic ten minute stage to where life is bliss and you love exercising.

Choosing carefully at this moment which direction you decide to take is important for the rest of the ride.

To the right lies straight roads with a few hills, that the dog in his excitement, will actually pull you up.

The only draw back is the fifteen dogs that are roaming around their yard untied at such wee hours of the morning, that all happen to live in that direction.

Or you can turn to the left.

Dog-less and flat, it seems like the obvious choice.

Yet full of twists and turns.

The blind corners combined with foggy conditions actually make this direction as periled as being chased into the ditch by two German Shepards.

The decision is usually determined by the wind direction.

Going with the wind will leave you with the false idea that biking is easy, as the dog loves running downwind, and will take you quite far with little to no effort.

Oh, how life likes to slap you in the face when you realize as you turn around to come home that the dog hates running upwind almost as much as he hates running towards home.

You are left with no choice but to drag a 45 pound dog that wants to go in the opposite direction back the 3 kms he just ran so effortlessly.

So if you are awake enough to remember this fact (I probably remember 5 out of 7 days a week, it's hard to think before morning coffee) you head upwind.

I never hit the wondrous "life is bliss" ten minute mark.

That's not to say I don't bike for ten minutes... I'm usually gone for about a half hour at least.

But the connection to the earth portion of the ride gets drowned out by the fear of my head actually connecting with the earth, and I somehow never reach that Zen state.

Perhaps if I didn't have the dog, I could bike on my own and enjoy the bliss that must come with a ride not peppered with near death experiences.

But then, who are we kidding here... If I had no dog I still wouldn't be biking off road trails somewhere with a Buddah-like grin on my face.

I would still be in bed, enjoying that extra half hour of blissful sleep.

Carefull what you wish for...

"Some days you're the dog; some days you're the hydrant."

This past sunday.. I was in a particularly lazy mood.

It had snowed all morning, I was on my fifth episode of Angel for the weekend, and I had defiantly decided that I would not get off the couch until weather conditions improved.

Then I got bored.

I had two choices, get some new songs ready for Bust-a-Move class that evening, or walk the dog.

These are always my two choices... exercise myself, or my dog. I have never been able to have both.

When the dog doesn't get his exercise he pounces around the house like a wanna be Mexican jumping bean and howls until you go insane.

When I don't get my exercise, my ass just grows.... and I don't really see it that much, so I don't really care.

Therefor the dog usually wins out, and instead of doing something constructive or creative with my body, I wind up doing something to tire him out.

I have had to get a little more creative since the biking accident that I'm still not ready to speak of...

So for the past week our "walks" involve me walking him on leash until we are out of the dreaded "chicken zone".

(Our neighbour has a chicken coop, and it is the dog's life mission to get into it, which makes one of my life missions keeping him away from it).

I then remind him I have a tupperware container full of gravy soaked treats in my pocket (the rest of Nova Scotia is terrified of coyotes, I on the other hand enjoy walking around the woods smelling like bait)

And I let him go.

And pray he comes back.

There have been moments, say the morning he decided to make friends with a grey seal.... the seal did not want to make friends back... fortunately everyone got away from that situation with no scars.

(If you don't count my throat and the amount of screaming I did- to no avail- that could have rivaled an Aerosmith concert).

But all in all it's been a successful week.

So I got a little braver.

I got dressed, loaded my I-pod with new possible songs, and made a choice to exercise both the dog, and my self.

Please note, that I live in the middle of no where... other than Sonny and his chicken coop, there is no one but my parents within a 4 or 5 acre distance.

And they've already seen me make and ass of myself a million times.

So that is why I felt comfortable heading to the beach to practice dance routines.

Well I will admit, at first I wasn't so comfortable.

I found a clear spot on a path, and tried to warm up to "Rompe", but couldn't, because I was too busy checking over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching me.

But eventually I got to our wide open beach, and decided to go all in.

Remember it's still mid-winter here, and it was in fact still snowing, but it wasn't windy so it wasn't cold.

I took off some layers and went from looking like this

to this

you can judge yourself if that's any improvement.

The dog by the way was behaving excellently. He was pouncing all over the grass, chasing imaginary mice or birds.

(I pretend they are imaginary, and just pray he never gets one. He's not very focused, so I don't believe he ever will,the ADD does not make Huskies very good predators)

And I was full on into choreography, Beyonce and J-Lo blasting from the I-Pod.

If someone had of happened to spy on that secluded beach they would have seen me, in my bright yellow "don't run me over" hat my Mom bought me. Punching and grapevining and petit battementing like I'm auditioning for some sort of cross between Rocky VII and Black Swan.

As I take a break, and call for the dog he comes barreling towards me from the far and of the beach. And I start to have visions of being able to do this all the time.

How great!! A chance to workout, and a dog that listens (at least to the word "treat") all at once!!

I'm a normal dog owner!!

No more 30 foot ropes that wrap around my niece at the beach and almost scar her ( literally) for life.

No more tying 20 pound weights to his leash to slow him down and tire him out.

No more driving around the neighbourhood with half a steak out the window hoping he'll come home.

(I simply need to keep that half a steak in my right hand pocket)

As he draws nearer, I have visions of having a new songs every week for class and at the same time a dog that is calm and happy .

As those visions clear, I get a clearer vision of my dog.

And the half of an animal carcass hanging out of his mouth.

As I try to convince him that he wants a stupid half a piece of Milkbone, smothered in turkey gravy instead of half a frozen seabird he found out on the marsh I realize.

I'm a normal dog owner.

Whose dog will roll in stinky things, run through swampy mud puddles and bring me back 6 month old carcasses he finds along the way.

Some times the grass seems greener on the other side, usually all you find when you get over there is they use stronger smelling manure to fertilize it with.

Once upon an accident....

Falling down became second nature and it really didn't bother me.
Nancy Kerrigan

So last week I fell off my Bicycle.

One second I was upright, the next I was facing the ground with the dog dragging me across the driveway.

A friend told me I should blog about it.

The only problem with that idea is, the wounds are still a little too fresh.

Not to my pride, that's used to being bruised by dumbass accidents.

But my actual wounds still hurt.. my knee still bleeds if I bend it too much, I can't do anything more strenuous than walking to the bathroom with out a knee brace, and the bruises, although not as bright, are still covering 85% of my lower body.

so needless to say, all I can think to write about the situation is....

I went for a bike ride. I fell. It sucked.

Perhaps with a little time it will get funnier, and I can blog about it. For now it's just a story about how everything in life this week has been slightly more difficult than need be.

On the other hand... I have fallen off things before, and those wounds have healed nicely.. so let me tell you about the time I fell off the horse....

It was a few years ago in in the Dominican Republic. A group of us decided to go horseback riding.

Now let me just clarify, that I don't actually know the first thing about riding a horse, other than it is simply something I feel the urge to do every single vacation.

It's like drinking one of those kamikaze drinks, it's not something you do on your average weekend, or something that is necessarily a good idea, or even something you particularly enjoyed the last time you did it.

Yet still you think you should since you are on vacation. It's time to do something stupid.

This rodeo ranch actually come up and above par for Caribbean horseback riding. The horses are strong and healthy looking, well groomed, most of them seem to be under the age of 75.

And the trail we are taking is a nice ride along a beach.

This goes far beyond a shorter horse back ride that we had taken earlier in the vacation with another tour group.

That "trail" involved the driveway to the ranch, and a back road. We rode on horses that aren't much bigger than your standard size poodle... and I'm pretty sure one of them whispered to me that he was the original "Silver" from the Lone Ranger.

Add to that, the fact that the workers rode mopeds and zipped back and forth up and down the road yelling to the horses to get moving and you get a not so very enjoyable ride.

That what happened when you pay $15 in the DR.

When you pay $65 you get healthy horses and a beautiful beach. You get tour guides who are so good at riding they actually stand up on their saddles to check on everyone. Quite impressive.

Before we head out on the trail we all pose for photo ops on our strong healthy horses, and Rachel mentions that I look lopsided... I checked my bathing suit top and then thought nothing more of it...

(Just kidding, I don't think I actually checked anything... I was on a horse!! Life was Awesome!!!! Who cares if I'm crooked???)

Apparently the horse does.

A half hour into the ride, we have made it the entire way down the beach. Some horses are taking their own sweet time (mine) and some are full tilt running.

It looks really cool..... everyone who is not running, is trying to urge their horse on to run. We all want to be having as much fun as Lee and Carla, who have the horses trying to race each other to be in front.

We can tell it's fun because of their shouts of joy.

Suddenly, just like on the bike, I am one second upright, and then I am sideways.

My horse does not enjoy this, so he rears up and I fall flat on my back.

I'm not really hurt, because we are on sand dunes, but I'm petrified I did something wrong to piss it off.

(The saddle had actually come loose, and scared the horse. No one figured that out at the time, which is why the next series of events unfolded as they did).

One of the trail leaders comes over with a "Please don't sue our ass" look on his face, asking if I'm alright.

I'm fine and I'm just asking if the horse is mad. I really don't want to get back on a horse that hates me.

(While I fully believe if you fall off a horse you should get back on, I do think there is a loophole there somewhere for horses that are having a slight case of PMS.)

So since we are an hours walk back from the ranch, the leader tells me I can have his horse, and he'll take mine.

What a plan.

I stupidly agree. And so instead of falling off a little horse and getting back on it, I fall off a little horse and get back on one that is twice as big.

After heaving myself into the saddle I realize the mistake.

And as I open my mouth to mention that maybe I am a little more afraid on the big horse and I'd rather take the little angry guy... my horses instincts kick in.

He is a horse that is usually only rode by one of those Dominican cowboy leaders that can do things like handstands on the saddle.

He is also used to being in front of the group... you know, leading everyone.

So that's what he decides to do. Go from the back of the group... to the front a half mile ahead of us.

And since I actually have no idea wtf to do on a horse, I can do nothing but hold on for dear life, as we run the entire length of the beach.

People cheer me on as I pass them.

As I pull closer to Lee and Carla, I realize their shouts of joy, are actually screams of terror.

I know this because they sound exactly like mine.

My most valuable lesson learned from this experience, is that I am a fast healer.

The scars I have on my shins from the saddle are pretty much non existent now, three years later.

So that give me hope, that even those I look like a six year old these days, with Band-Aids covering my knees by the time I'm thirty I'll have adult legs again.

That is if I can manage not to fall off anything between now and then.

Class Dismissed

Sometimes you have to fight a battle more than once to win it.

And sometimes you have to be taught a lesson more than once to learn it.

Sometime you have to be beaten over the head with that lesson multiple times. And then when you finally think you've figured it out, life teaches you again, just for good measure.

There are things I've managed to learn the first time around. Well..... for the honest truth, at the moment I can't think of anything.

I can certainly think of some things that took me a few swings at bat to figure out.

"Don't date the guys who treat you like crap"...took a few times to see that one clearly.

"Lock you car doors only if you HAVE the keys"..... took a few more times to get that one through my head. As a bonus to this lesson I also learned "how to break in to a Ford Probe from any angle".

Which also leads me to "no running out of you apartment building without your keys". Again this has a second lesson attached called "be nice to you landlord so she'll let you back in".

Driving in excess of the posted limit, took me more than a few tickets. As well as a few dollars, some lessons are better taught through your wallet.

The lesson I was re- taught again this evening-"don't let the dog off leash and expect him to come back". I've been learning this lesson for a good six months here.

Sometimes, even as I reach my hand down to un-clip the leash a little voice in the back of my head tells me "This seems bad".

Yet I still do it.

Then I feel the exact same string of emotions.

Astonishment, first at the fact that he has run away, then at the fact that I didn't see it coming.

Annoyance, first at the dog for being stupid, then at myself for being the actual stupid one.

Remorse, this one only gets worse as I continue on to Panic and then Dread.

Both of these emotions can be magnified when you add in a good imagination of what could happen and how it will be all my stupid fault.

All of these are followed by Relief, when I finally have him back in my not so capable custody.

This last emotion somehow has that magical ability to wipe out your memory of every other emotion that has preceded it... that is until the next time I manage to call class to order.