Monday, November 21, 2011


I've stopped crying over the fact that I won't be doing the only thing really I wanted to do or bringing home the only souvenir I really wanted from this whole J's Bucket List/Big 5-0 US Dream Trip. These things happen. No-one stole my birthday. I'm still sad. It's ok to be sad when a Big Dream dies. Not to mention having to wear flat shoes All The Time oh the trauma.
When I'd run out of sparkling shiraz and dark chocolate with rum and raisin (it's go hard or go home here at the LBTEPA Emotional Wallowing Centre), I sat on the couch icing my poor sore foot ow ow ow and asked myself a question.
I'm an athlete. It says so in my sidebar.
What Would an Athlete Do?
An athlete wouldn't sit on the couch bleating about her rapidly expanding rear end, that's for sure. There are far more important things to bleat about, like my poor sore foot ow ow ow, boring rehab exercises and my ugly flat shoes oh the trauma. An athlete would HTFU and BE AN ATHLETE.
So I got the F#$% up off the couch, and got the F#$% onto my bike and into the pool.

More anon, my ducklings

5 much-appreciated comments:

Lisa said...


Mary Sunshine said...

You ARE an athlete and a tough, smart one at THAT! I'm proud of you and your always amazing perspectives.

Anonymous said...

I'm contemplating yoga to fix my core, so I feel your pain on the swimming and flat shoes.

Fix foot first, then plan the next glorious big dream. Of course, there's always the risk you'll drag me along.

(Remember how I looked at the end of Melbourne. You don't need to do that to yourself. Heck, I don't need to do that to myself.)


Wes said...

damn sraight. LOL!!!

jeanne said...

You rode your bike into the pool? You are hardcore!!