Me vs. the last minute cake.
Proving once again the helpfulness and immediacy of Twitter, a friend tweeted the need for a very last-minute cake. I of course was happy to oblige and delivered a Hello Kitty cake and dozen cupcakes.
This is a no brainer, I kicked that cakes butt. Was there any doubt?
Me vs. the elliptical
This battle was a little tougher and frankly, probably a long time coming. And by 'long time,' I mean two weeks. Because that's how long I've been exercising. After our half-mile run down to the community center, my legs were already a bit wobbly, so when I tried to step on the elliptical, I scraped a huge chunk off my shin, leaving me bloody. Brad would not let me use it as an excuse to stop working out.
Tie. Despite my ability to break one of the bolts off, this thing is still kicking my butt.
Me vs. the caffeinated vodka
This was an interesting battle to say the least. What started as a nice little girls night out at Chili's (during a raging storm that we took no notice of, might I add) turned sinister when we made it down to Deep. Having devoured too much chips and salsa, I asked the bartender for a drink. "Something with alcohol, and caffeine, but not a drink, a shot, yeah, because my tummy is full." I remember requesting.
And he delivered, just like any good bartender would. I don't know the name of the drink, I never thought to ask, but I did spy a bottle, "Pink," it said, and after a quick Google search, sure enough, Pink is a caffeinated vodka. It tasted yummy, but, alas, he plunked them down one after the other, I never thought they were doing anything.
I was wrong.
Very, very wrong.
The vodka. (Come on, did you really ever doubt?)
Me vs. the blonde kickballer from the other team
My friends have a kickball team, and when some of the girls are too
A few innings later, she was up at the plate. I envisioned my opportunity to pay her back! Sure enough, the ball comes sailing toward me, but as I thought she would be a wussier kicker, I had scooted up a bit. Running backward, hands stretched high overhead, I feel the ball brush past my fingertips. And then I trip. And like a tree, crash backward into the dirt, hands still overhead. Meaning, I never caught myself. My butt hit first (luckily, I have a bit of padding to spare), followed by my shoulders, and then my head snapped back, throwing my headband and sunglasses behind me. To say I felt stupid would be an understatement. But mostly I was pissed because blonde chick got on base. Brad is convinced that I could have a concussion. I'm not so sure, I mean, I always break into a spontaneous British accent.
Technically, blonde chick, but we won the game, keeping them out of the playoffs. Tie.
Me vs. nature
Sunday, I wasn't 'feeling up to' our workout (see vodka, above), so we went on a long walk. It was nice, except the sun started beating down on us and the pollen was out, full effect. This morning I work up with that little tickle in the back of my throat. Allergies. They've been pestering me off and on for several weeks, but a bit more passively, like a younger sibling standing a few feet away with a finger toward your face, taunting, 'I'm not touching you.'
Except today, it feels like they've kicked it up a notch, hiding in the curtains waiting until you walk by unsuspectingly and jump out, tackling you around the ankles, knocking you to the ground and giving you a wedgie.
Definitely the pollen, by TKO. I'm down for the count.
So, despite a momentary victory over the Hello Kitty cuteness, I would have to say this weekend definitely kicked my butt. Hopefully Monday will be nicer.