Mrs. RandBall trains for the Twin Cities Marathon.

I've Recently Learned I Can Run 15 Miles... The Hard Way

2010-08-17T20:30:00.003-05:00

Meet my new compression shorts found at www.movingcomfort.com. They come highly recommended.

We ran two half marathons two Saturdays in a row. This was not only the furthest I had run upon first completion, but the longest I had run in a one week span.

We were registered for the second half marathon in advance, but the first one was a spur of the moment ordeal. We were in Grand Forks visiting Michael's family, trying to plan out our morning 12 mile run. We mapped out a good route, and checked the city website for any conflicts that might arise due to the area festival going on: Catfish Days. Turns out the festivities involved a 5K and half marathon. So, we woke up early, and registered on site.

We managed the first half marathon in Grand Forks through the late morning heat, coming in at just over two and a half hours. The second half marathon was the Urban Wildland Half Marathon in Richfield, MN. We beat our previous time (due to confidence, a shaded course, and optimal weather conditions) by about 8 minutes, about two hours and twenty five minutes.

Now, we were sore after each of these long runs, but I had never experienced the ankle pain I've been experiencing since the second half marathon.

A week later, our training schedule dictated a fifteen mile run. I was nervous about pushing myself with painful ankles. Two days prior, I opted to exercise on the elliptical at the gym instead of doing the scheduled eight mile run. I stopped at the drug store, purchased some athletic tape, and taped up my ankles. I went to the gym prepared to run eight miles, and do an hour workout on the elliptical. Instead, I surprised myself and ran the entire time. The first five miles were the worst, but as I loosened up, the pain went away. In fact, I couldn't feel much of anything. I think it was the adrenaline. Midway through, I used some Gu, and when it came to the last mile, I was completely out of steam and walked the rest of the way. Afterwards, I felt proud of myself for the accomplishment.

Today was my first run since the fifteen miler. I decided to try running with ankle braces (the ace bandage variety). The pain was pretty intense for the first couple of miles, but at about mile three, I was pretty comfortable. By the end, I found my stride, and felt comfortable running. I'm not entirely sure the ankle braces helped. In fact, my feet looked pretty blue when I took them off, and if I'm not mistaken I believe our feet need circulation while we exercise. Hmmm.

Instinct tells me I should rest my ankles--that I pushed myself so hard over the past few weeks and that my ankles need a break. However, I'm able to push through the pain and run pain-free once I break through the 3-5 mile point. I'm not quite sure what to do, but I know that no matter what, on October 3rd I'm running 26.2 miles.

Running in the Rain

2010-06-07T17:15:00.003-05:00

Now, I discovered something over the weekend. There is a very select subgroup of people within the running community who actually run outside regardless of the weather. I like to think that I am an honorary member of this subgroup... well at least for one day. On Saturday, I was slated to run 7 miles. When the rain let up a bit, I drove down to Lake Harriet, ready to run around both Lake Harriet and Lake Calhoun alone. Although the rain seemed to be stopping, it did just the opposite. At first I pleaded with the rain to stop, but when it persisted I cursed the skies and powered forward. There's a feeling that washes over you when you decide to do the unpopular thing. A feeling like you've purposefully taken the more difficult path, and are proud of it. I ran until my indignant pride fueled each step, and each step quickened my pace until I began running faster than I ever would've run in the sunshine.

And, as I said, the people are different. Not that those who run in the rain are different than those who run in the sunshine... but they've changed. One young man high-fived me as we passed in opposite directions. A young woman smiled at me, as we pushed through a treeless pass at Lake Calhoun. Another young man complimented my running attire, "very good outfit." (Well, he wasn't a runner and I'm not entirely sure what he was doing at the lake, but how could I leave out such a perfect quote?)

As I rounded the final curve around Lake Harriet and toward my car, I was filled with a strong sense of relief. All I wanted was a warm bath, and that is exactly what I did upon returning home.

Running in the rain. It's no picnic, but it comes highly recommended, if only for the sense of satisfaction once it's over.

Tips for running in the rain:

- Wear a hat. I think I wiped the rain from my eyes and forehead about 5,000 times.

- Definitely wear a long sleeved layer. I was thankful for my soaked, but warm outer layer.

- Launder your clothes like a normal person. I rinse my running tights in the shower, and hang them to dry. Since it's difficult to fully rinse the soap from the fabric, my pants began to lather with the friction. Ummm, embarrassing!

Photo from: http://davefontaine.com/blog/

Official Training Begins Monday!

2010-05-29T21:52:00.002-05:00

It's been about six weeks since RandBall and I signed up for the Twin Cities Marathon. Let's focus on the positives first: my muffin-top is decreasing, I'm fitting into one clothing size smaller, and we both have a great tan! My number one accomplishment thus far is the development of defined calf muscles (as evidenced by the photo at the right.) It's been 13 years since I've been on a soccer team. Ever since I stopped playing soccer, my calf muscles slowly disintegrated into a foamy, pliable mass. My legs didn't get bigger, per se, just mushier. I'm most proud of my new calves, and I plan to show them off with my new (one size smaller!!) capri pants.

Now, the downside: it's getting hotter outside, and as the temperature increases, and the humidity gets higher, the harder it is to breathe out there! We're doing our best to train outdoors, but once (so far) I opted to go to the gym to run on the treadmill. Also, we took a trip to Arizona for a friend's wedding. In an attempt to avoid getting behind with our pre-training, we hit the trails near our hotel. Not only is it tough to train on the road, but it's also a reminder that even when we're on vacation, we're not on vacation vacation. What I mean is, when on vacation, most of our dining rules do not apply. For instance, RandBall and I try to limit our french fry intake to only one serving each week, and generally like to eat healthy, balanced meals. We also do our best to limit our alcohol intake to weekends and special events. On vacation, all those rules go out the window--or at least they did. Now I notice how the indulgences slow me down on the next morning's run. I'm starting to think that our indulgences here an there will have to be measured and limited in the eighteen weeks of our official training program. Realize, I'm writing this post during Memorial weekend, the unofficial start of summer, where people celebrate by eating large amounts of barbecued food accompanied by several beers. I'm not making any promises, but I can say we'll do our best.

Important upcoming dates:
- Dew Drop 5K, Saint Paul, MN, June 20th
- Urban Wildland Half-Marathon, Richfield, MN, August 7th
- Bear Water Run, 20 Mile Race, September 11th

Training for the Maratahon Training Program

2010-04-27T23:14:00.005-05:00

It all started innocently. I have been wondering for a while whether I could ever become a strong enough runner to actually complete a marathon. I grew up with asthma, wheezing and panting in gym class, barely running a 12 minute mile. Since discovering that my asthma symptoms are due to my allergies to every plant and animal under the sun, and not "exercise induced," I have become much more athletic. Never a runner per se, I'm willing to give it a try.

I approached RandBall with a statement, "If I ever run a marathon, I should probably do one before we decide to have kids." His prompt response was, "This is the perfect time to do a marathon." Hmmm... no pressure, I hope.

So, in lieu of procreating, we will be focusing the next several months on pounding the pavements of South Minneapolis: around Lake Harriet and Lake Calhoun, along Minnehaha Creek, and maybe the occasional jaunt to Saint Paul. (Gasp! Across the river??)

First thing's first- the gear. I bought these fabulous compression running tights, pictured above. I was nervous that my "junk in the trunk" might cause undulating ripples, and despite the old adage 'spandex is a privilege not a right," I have bravely gone where no modest Swedish Lutheran has gone before: into the hotpants, and out the door.

For those truly interested in the wonder of these compression tights- they offer support for the joints, especially the knees, and help prevent injury. They're sized like nylons or tights--you go by height, not traditional clothing size. In my trepidation, I ordered a large, but a medium would have been the more appropriate length.

Last week we logged 30 miles! Six five-mile jogs around Lake Harriet.

This week, we plan to run the regular Lake Harriet run, and work in the circuit between Lake Harriet and Lake Calhoun, approximately 7 miles at least once.

Stay tuned for more updates on the training progress.

My guest post to RandBall

2009-08-08T13:08:00.003-05:00

First of all, I’d like to thank Stu, who nominated me as “COW” this week … and to think I wasn’t even trying! As my disclaimer, I need to reveal the full extent to which I know nothing about sports. In fact, for the first several years RandBall and I were dating when he would listen to baseball games on the radio, I would listen along, but had no idea what was happening. Everything about his favorite sport seemed to elude me. A can of corn? A one-two-three inning? He flied out? What the heck?! But when I would accompany RandBall to any of a variety of sporting events, my questions and comments became his entertainment. After a while, some of those comments ended up on the blog. I like to fancy myself something of an outsider, pointing out the folly … revealing the bizarre … and examining the logic (or lack thereof) of the all-American game.

I’ve ranked the varying positions of baseball players in order (best to worst) below. I question whether some of the positions were accurately relayed by RandBall, but alas, you’ll see my comments below.

#1 Closing Pitcher
The number one most important job on the baseball diamond is the closer. It only makes sense that they’d save the best for last, ensuring that a lead in the eighth inning will lead to a win after the ninth. Eddie Guardado was my favorite, and I’m trying to warm up to Joe Nathan, but I’ve been told you can never trust a guy with two first names.

#2 Utility Player
Hooray! I knew baseball could use a sweeper! This is exactly what I would propose for the field. As an artist of varying mediums, and someone who appreciates the Renaissance era, I love the idea of a baseball player with many skills. There should be more jack-of-all-trades guys out there giving everything they’ve got. Kudos to whomever thought up this position!!

#3 Starting Pitcher
Clearly, someone needs to start the game off pitching, and a starting pitcher make a lot of sense. This one ranks high in the logic category, which I can’t say for some of the positions later on the list.

#4 (Tie) First Baseman, Second Baseman, Third Baseman
Again, these positions rank high for reasons of logic. Who would catch and throw and/or watch the base-runners whiz by if there were no basemen?

#5 Shortstop
If they needed another base, why didn’t they just make it a baseball pentagon? Is this guy supposed to be the “sweeper” between second and third base? Perhaps he’s the backup when the second baseman gets a nosebleed … Mr. Shortstop gets his moment in the sun, catches the can-a-corn and tags the runner out. *Sigh* Poor shortstop, always dreaming of being second-baseman.

#6 Middle-Relief Pitcher
Hmmm, this seems like a made up type of pitcher. If I were to guess, I’d say that it means the starting pitcher is too tired, but that it’s too early to bring in the Closer. Either that or the team is losing too badly, and the manager doesn’t want to tire out the Closer. Sounds like you’d only need a “Middle-Relief” pitcher if the starting pitcher isn’t up to par. Is that how this works?

#7 Left-handed Specialist Pitcher
Now, I am all about equal opportunity, and those poor left-handers do not have all the perks in American society as right-handers. Take scissors, for example. Our country is entirely biased towards right-handedness. If I understand the concept behind the “Left-handed Specialist” pitcher, they themselves would almost assuredly be left-handed, and are intending to pitch against left-handed batters. If the bias did not exist towards right-handedness, we would naturally have more equal numbers of right and left-handed batters AND pitchers. I find it silly that the sport of baseball has conjured up special types of pitchers just to deal with the rarity of left-handedness. Is baseball the only arena where left-handedness is seen as a virtue and not some sinister abnormality? (Did you know that the technical term for left-handedness is “sinistral?”)

#8 (Tie) Left Fielder, Center Fielder, Right Fielder
I see the utility in needing to cover ground along the fence … however, I feel a “sweeper” (or rover, or utility player…) would more effectively use the manpower. How many games have you seen where the outfielders are standing in place, burning the same number of calories as the spectators themselves?! Here’s to fewer men in the outfield, and more sweepers!

#9 (Tie) Pinch Hitter, Pinch Runner, Designated Hitter
Like I always say, if you’re not good at baseball, then you shouldn’t be in the Major Leagues. Why would there be a necessity for a Pinch Hitter, Pinch Runner or Designated Hitter if all the players knew how to do their jobs? This is like hiring a pinch phone answerer for a secretary when the line two starts ringing, but the poor secretary is already busy with someone on line one. These are the moments when any good secretary begins to multi-task. Put the caller on line one on hold, and pick up line two. Or in ball talk, pick up the bat (put on the shoes, or book your flight ticket back to the minors) and do your job.

#10 Defensive Specialist
What? Is this some sort of tactical war zone position? I’m lost.

#11 Set-up Man
Obviously, you must be mistaken. We are talking about baseball, not con artistry.

For the Birds

2008-05-12T15:30:00.002-05:00

This picture was taken from my living room window on the second floor this winter. Apparently birds like eating pizza too!

Photo by Mrs. Randball.

Space-Age Materials for Some, Not All!

2008-05-12T15:00:00.000-05:00

This hockey season, Randball told me a story about how one professional hockey player asked for his stick back from a fan who had caught the flung stick in the stands. The reason? It was worth $400. Now, we all know that major league baseball players are restricted to the use of wooden (and NON corked) baseball bats. I had assumed that the restriction of space-age materials were universal when it came to professional sports. At right, I've posted a picture of the Nike Bauer Supreme One 90 Chrome LE Sr. Hockey Stick, on sale for $179.99.

What happened to the days of fair sportsmanship, where standardized equipment ensured that any extraordinary result was assumed to be the result of skill or good fortune?

While I enjoy the quality and speed of ABEC-4 bearings for my personal Rollerblade use (and hopefully soon, ABEC-5!), I would never venture to say that my speed on such high quality bearings would be measurable against someone who has sub-par bearings. Creating the highest quality sporting equipment is no sin. However, if professional teams allow team members to select their equipment based on how much money they have to spare, or how much their excessive salaries will allow, it's simply unfair. How much does a fancy hockey stick make up for in terms of time and energy? Can a player achieve much more precision in passing and shooting with a space-age stick that it could be considered a good career move? Should we really be encouraging players to shift their focus to equipment advancements like a neighbor kid eying the spoiled kid's toys? It's about the game... and in the first place, it should be fair.

Photo courtesy of www.hockeymonkey.com

Will the Reigning Champion Please Step Forward?

2008-05-12T14:45:00.000-05:00

Hello, and yes- I am still alive.

I was doing a bit of cleaning the other day when I realized that Randball has been hanging on to his Fantasy Football trophy for several months despite being dethroned by one of his federation teammates.

Yes, the image at right is the ghastly award given to the winner of the FFFFF (read: Funk Funk Fantasy Football Federation.) There used to be only one piece of plywood attached to this symbolic flip-flop sandal. Since this trophy has been through the hands of its many winners for too many years to mention, a second piece was added. Good thing.

Now, I happen to know that Randball has been dethroned, and the reasons are not as obvious as you might think. Randball did not tell me that he lost. Oh, no! He is the treasurer of his fine federation, and has a dedicated bank account for it. Over the years, he has tried to convince me of the value and fun of being a part of his federation, and over time, he has turned to emphasizing the monetary value. "But when I win, think of all the money we'll have!" Naturally, had he won this year, I would've heard much celebration! And had he won, I would have a new outfit to show for it!

Alas, I must ask this question, for the sake of my dining room decor, and the bragging rights of the reigning champion... Will the winner of the FFFFF 2008 season please step forward? You've got a flip-flop to display in YOUR home now!

New Year, New Schtick

2008-01-04T11:04:00.000-06:00

Happy New Year!

Well, the new year has brought with it many changes. I'm leaving my job. My best friend has lost her mother to brain cancer. I've got an internship starting next week. All of this takes some adjusting.

Each year, we tend to make new year's resolutions. I haven't had a chance to think about resolutions, but I'd like to share a story from last year:

I had been working full time, attending school part-time and helping to lead the ASL Club on campus. My days were fast-paced and hectic, and I worried that I would become burned out. My new year's resolution was to slow down. It backfired. As I slowed down, I became unmotivated and lethargic. I'd come home and the end of the day and crawl into bed. Slowing down made me realize just how hard I had been working myself- and I was exhausted. Perhaps the best thing to do would've been to analyze my situation and re-prioritize. Instead, I dove head-first into planning our wedding, and told myself that as long as I was able to keep up with my work in the office and the classroom, I would be okay.

Well, a year later I realize that I pushed myself too hard. Life's too short to spend the time needlessly suffering when a few little adjustments could make life a lot easier. Leaving my job may be the best decision I've made in a long time. However, it does not come without a downside. In our culture, our work is a part of our identity. It saddens me to leave the work I have grown to value, and the colleagues I have come to trust and respect.

I'm glad that I've got the support and mentors I need to move forward, though. And soon I will begin a new career in a field I have hand selected- a luxury I have yet to experience.

To new beginnings!

Image courtesy of: www.123newyear.com

Face Off

2007-12-14T10:18:00.001-06:00

Apparently RandBall has publicly discussed his disapproval of the comeback of Zubaz. I, on the other hand, welcome them. Did you not forsee the circle of life that Zubaz would inevitably follow? Take, for instance, the soft comfortable fabric of your pajama pants, then add the stylish animal print of your most bitchin' "going out" outfit, and you've got Zubaz. What's NOT to love about that?

I remember back in the early nineties when Zubaz were originally popular, they were adorned by mostly muscle bound men, weight lifting in the gym, or heading to the beach (after weight lifting in the gym) or lounging on the couch watching the game (after weight lifting in the gym.) Then they came out with a fashionable female counterpart to the bold "male" fabric patterns. Mine were pink cheetah print.

This time around the Mpls/St.Paul magazine projected that women would be more interested than men in the product. Imagine the female college student's perspective: After a 20-hour day of back to back classes and full-time work, she slips on her favorite Zubaz and heads to the couch. She watches her favorite program while she scarfs down Chinese takeout, her only full meal of the day. Off to bed. She wakes up, rolls out of bed, and takes the dog out (in the aforementioned Zubaz- see how all-purpose they are?) She fills her book bag with the day's homework, and loads her laptop into it's carrying case, and it's off to the coffee shop to study for finals (still clad in her fashionable Zubaz.)

Zubaz could easily become a female student's uniform. They're as comfortable as flannel p.j.s without the stigma. They're gym pants with flare, and are 100% all-purpose. Perhaps their new slogan should allude to conjuring up the power of the animals whose prints they display: Like a stalking cheetah, she has devoured her Chinese takeout and tackled her final project in one deadly swoop! Maybe we'll pitch that idea...

Giving Thanks

2007-11-29T16:50:00.000-06:00

Yes, Thanksgiving was once again hosted at our home, and another turkey was sacrificed to the gods of tradition. *Sigh*

My parents came to visit and the four of us (the RandBalls and the Olsons) sat around, visited with each other, and--most of all-- ate.

Thanksgiving is such an important holiday in this day and age. We so often forget to express our gratitude. We take things for granted. We expect that life will happen the way we plan. It's difficult to come to grips with the fact that everything in our lives is mutable, and nothing is to be taken for granted.

I know it's rather morbid, but I often think about what I would do without RandBall, or what would happen if I got into a terrible accident and couldn't notify him myself. I think of all types of scenarios, partly in order to prepare myself, and to a degree, I feel my subconscious is constantly reminding me not to take my blessings for granted. My mother is the same way. When I leave for a trip by plane, my mother always sends me off with the same phrase, "Don't get dead." In her mind, voicing this ensures that nothing bad will happen because the likelihood that you would predict something so terrible is so minuscule, that she feels in some superstitious way, she's preventing the very fate she hints at. From my perspective, this could become a psychosomatic fulfillment of prophesies- and my superstitious tendencies compel me to knock on wood. So, I often don't voice my thoughts. I do so here only to illustrate the point- that we seldom take the time to be grateful.

Why does our society use Thanksgiving Day to focus on food and prosperity? I know how the story goes; that the pilgrims celebrated the harvest and their partnership with the American Indians to bring forth such bounty. However, in a society filled with such abundance, why is the focus on food? Why don't we instinctively look to the others around the table, and take a moment to share our gratitude with one another; for live, for happiness, for the struggles that taught us valuable lessons, and most of all, for each other?

So I suppose I'll lead by example:

This Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for my new husband, my lovable pug, my home and work and education. I'm thankful for my family, for my parents, and for my relationships with family and friends. I'm thankful for the learning and growth that these relationships have brought me, even though many of them were complicated by family dynamics, situational drama, and emotional pain. I'm thankful for my growing self-awareness, and for the person I have become. I have been making new friends-- something that evokes a very childlike excitement in me--and I've encountered and fostered relationships with some very strong mentors and role models. This is a time leading up to a great career transition in my life, and for all of those who helped me through it, I am eternally grateful.

Photo courtesy of istockphoto.com

Opposites Attract (My apologies if this gets the song of the same title stuck in your head...)

2007-11-16T10:38:00.000-06:00

So, Mr. RandBall and I have varying interests. The first time I met his father, he asked me a simple question, "So, you're a sports fan?" and I had a simple answer, "No, not really." Aghast, Michael's father looked from son to future daughter-in-law, not knowing what to say. RandBall jumped in, "It's kind-of nice, actually. I can come home and talk about something other than sports."

My favorite story from RandBall's business travel was when he went to the East Coast to cover a tournament. (In my version of the story, the teams and the sport in question are too minor to mention. :) During his off-time, RandBall went to the local art museum, to take in come culture. Upon returning to his hotel, and finding his colleagues gathered in the hotel bar, watching a game on TV over some brews, they asked, "Where've you been?" "The art museum," he plainly responded. The other men were surprised (and probably poked fun at him.)

Well, I'm proud of RandBall. Culture; whether it be art, music, theatre, or culture with respect to community; fraternizing with other cultural groups, tasting the cuisine of other cultures, or simply reflecting on the cultural differences of any place you visit in comparison to home... this is what makes travel worthwhile. Yes, sometimes RandBall travels for work-related purposes, but I'm happy to know that he will take the time, if possible, to get to know the cities he's visiting.

Now, there's also the aspect of the Deaf Community, a cultural group I've become involved with in my studies to become a Sign Language interpreter. Now, RandBall has attended a few Deaf Community events with me, and each time, he struggles to understand those around him, and often will use my services as an interpreter, to express himself. After the first outing of this kind, I was surprised at RandBall's willingness to be surrounded by people whose language he didn't understand. Diplomatically, he responded, "Well, when you come out to one of my work events, everyone talks about sports, and you don't know what they're talking about. This is pretty much the same thing- so I can tough it out for you." *Sigh!* I'm not sure where I found this gem of a man, but I'm thankful for him.

The Seurat painting pictured above is from the Art Institute of Chicago. RandBall and I contemplated this exact painting years ago (We were just like in the picture, but blonder.)

Where would we be if RandBall had no interest in the arts and culture? Well, it would've been a tough battle... and I don't know whether we'd be married now. Luckily, there was no ultimatum that I be baptized as a sports fan prior to our union. Though I continue waver between believing that sports are a capitalist venture, and believing that "It doesn't matter whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game," RandBall tends to enjoy my naive comments about the industry. Many a time, RandBall has responded to one of my quips with, "I'm going to include that in my blog," or "I can't wait to tell Taco you said that!!" And, to tell you the truth- I've found this is my role... to comment on the industry as an outsider, that the "insiders" can contemplate why something is the way it is. Is that not what art does? Good art challenges it's listeners, viewers, readers, etc. No, I suppose you can't take the art out of an artist. So, maybe it follows that you can't take the sport out of a fan. So, I might as well be creative with my sports fanatic husband... as long as he takes me to a museum or the theatre every now and then... or humors me by coming to another Deaf Community event. Now that's teamwork!

Photo courtesy of www.gallagher.com

I had hope, dammit!

2007-11-13T10:31:00.000-06:00

RandBall commenter, and closest friend, Rocket, came to visit last week. We had dinner at his favorite restaurant, and talked Purple Jesus. It's pretty well understood that I'm not a sports fan. However, I admitted to getting choked up at Santana's shut out game last season, and Rocket exclaimed, "See, that's why we become sports fans." We get glimpses of pure physical genius- we get to watch players who are in the zone- who are playing their best game ever... a game that will never be matched.

It's so dramatic- I swear sports fans are the most romantic of us all. They are believers- they are superstitious, they root for a team against all odds. And finally one day their team wins.

After this visit, I started to have faith in the Vikings. Though they suffer terrible losses, and there are times where it's a true embarrassment to be a fan, there is still a point in "rooting for the loser" as I ranted against in my last post. I started to sympathize with the fans. I started to understand their plight- and began to validate it.

And then the Vikings blew it against the Packers. To top it off, Adrian Peterson was injured- the team's one asset. Is this a team that begs it's viewers to root for them against all odds? Are they even able to consider the fans, when they can barely scrape together a defense?

*Sigh* Who am I to complain? I don't have season tickets- and I didn't watch the majority of the Vikings vs. Packers game. The players make millions of dollars, and we fans are the lowly proletariat. Maybe we expect too much of the athletes which our society have put on a pedestal. Perhaps, like leap year, we must wait patiently for those glimpses of genius. Leave the Vikings hat in the closet, and step away from the television. Maybe in seven years we'll have the team you're ready to root for.

Picture courtesy of www.istockphoto.com

Rooting for the Loser

2007-11-01T16:25:00.000-05:00

This past Sunday, I was witness to another infamous Viking's "game." RandBall thought I was successfully doing my duty as Viking's team good luck charm as we drove to a local quipster's home, listening to the first quarter on the radio. However, the luck changed for the worst as we settled onto the couch for the rest of the game. Luckily, I had a one week old infant to coddle (local quipster's spawn), and was not too engaged in the game. However, for the two young men, it was a disaster. They resorted to eating their pepperoni pizza and badmouthing the very team they are fans of.

Which brings me to the topic of this post. Dictionary.com defines a fan (in this context) as: "an enthusiastic devotee, follower, or admirer of a sport, pastime, celebrity, etc." When that enthusiasm wanes, can we really say we're still fans? What is happening psychologically when we hang on to a devotion that gives us nothing in return? What makes a sports fan continue their devotion towards a particular team despite their consistent losses? What happens when we're caught wearing our Viking gear out in public after a terrible loss? Do we stand strong, and turn our noses up at the fair-weather-fans? Or do we hang our heads in shame- the shame that shouldn't be ours to bear- that should only be experienced by the team themselves?

After the game, I explained to a friend, "I thought I was the Viking's good luck charm, but I didn't work this time." Their response, "No good luck charm works for the Vikings." There you have it, folks. There ain't no gain in conjuring up another superstition to help the Vikings along- they just aren't a team that will use it.

Photo courtesy of: www.ximnet.com

Good Luck Charm

2007-10-23T12:08:00.000-05:00

I was at a conference Wednesday through Sunday. I returned home, laid in the bathtub, and contemplated a nap. RandBall arrived home at precisely this moment, gave me a quick peck, and ran to the TV. Oh. Game time.

I entered the living room and slumped onto the loveseat, and thought to myself, "Welcome home, Julie." Too tired to move, I stayed until halftime, when I decided to go to bed. We were winning (gasp!) and I was pretty sure the fate of the game was sealed.

Only later did RandBall share with me that the Vikings blew it, and lost badly. He then blamed it on me, because I left the room. His reasoning? I must be a good luck charm if a) the only full game I watched (the Sunday before) the Vikings won, and b) I was there for the first half- when the Vikings were in the lead. I've heard RandBall talk about good luck charms before. When it comes to sports, he's very superstitious. I've heard about games he's watched where he was convinced if he turned on the light, the team would lose. I'm not sure if he ever had lucky underwear that he wouldn't wash for fear his team would lose... but I wouldn't put it past him!

What if I really were the determining factor in the fate of the Vikings? Would I watch every game in hopes that they'd win? Hell no! I'd toy with the team... make them think they've finally got things together- then I'd go to the mall, and wait for their demise! I'd stop into the room as the team is behind by several touchdowns, watch as they are just about to kick their tying field goal, and on a whim, take off to get a pedicure. Mwah ha ha ha ha ha!

Picture courtesy of www.istockphoto.com

Blog Action Day (just one day late)

2007-10-16T11:22:00.001-05:00

So, yesterday was Blog Action Day- a day where bloggers united to present topics related to saving the environment. Now, I'd like to share that RandBall and I recycle. Every couple of weeks, we've got about 4 or 5 grocery bags full of recyclables. This is a very important component for taking responsibility for your carbon footprint. This is the easiest, most accessible way to make a difference. Think about it; someone who you already pay to take away your garbage is willing to come to your house and take away your recyclables, that they may be used again to make future aluminum cans and newspapers. You don't even have to go anywhere. RandBall and I live in a condo, which is a four-plex. All the other owners are single women. None of the other owners recycle. They feel that since they live alone, their recyclable waste is too insignificant. This is not true. I'm appalled when I visit my family up north (for those non-Minnesotans reading, that means Northern Minnesota) and I'm informed that they cannot, for example, recycle cardboard in their area- or based upon where they live, recycling is not available. Those of us who live in a decent sized city have the most options when it comes to recycling. You can even recycle the cardboard core of your toilet paper roll. Please look into your recycling options in your area, and do the responsible thing- recycle!

Picture courtesy of: www.istockphoto.com

Saturday Morning Occurrence

2007-10-16T10:55:00.001-05:00

Okay, this has nothing to do with sports, but I had an eerie thing happen to me on Saturday morning. I went to bed at a decent hour on Friday night, and woke around the time RandBall typically awakes (rare, because he needs less sleep than I.) I suggested we go out for breakfast, since the breakfast rush is usually closer to noon in our neighborhood. So we went to a local breakfast nook, and had a lovely meal. Just as we were finishing up our meal, I noticed a little blonde girl near the front door, who seemed to be looking at me. I motioned to RandBall, because she looked a lot like me when I was little. Then I realized she had blonde pigtails and glasses on, and so did I! It was a bit eerie. Then when RandBall looked back towards the girl, we noticed there was not one blonde girl, but two! They looked exactly alike, and both were intensely staring at me. I tried staring back, no change. I laughed. Still staring.

RandBall leaned in towards me and whispered in jest, "Maybe we're the only ones who can see them!" It was seriously a moment it seemed only we were aware of.

Just when the staring was becoming ridiculous, I looked behind me at the wall- wondering if there was a particularly alluring paint-by-number above my head. Alluring, but not a painting, was the HDTV mounted on the wall above my head airing cartoons.

"Oh, I get it!" I said to myself, "They're hypnotized by Saturday morning cartoons!"

Picture courtesy of: http://world.visualwebtools.com

Running at the Speed of Life

2007-10-15T13:06:00.000-05:00

Most of you know that RandBall is moving up the ranks at the Strib. You may not see his "Rotation" page any longer, but you do get to see his handsome mug in the paper every so often, and he's got a great team of writers working for him. So, he's doing a bit more "behind the scenes" work, and let me tell you... he's working his ass off. He comes home late, he works 10-12 hour Mondays. He works Friday nights. The first few weeks, I was worried about him- wondering when he was planning on getting some R and R.

I on the other hand am working full time and going to school part time (getting my second BA in ASL/English Interpreting.) Our schedules are crazy, and when we arrive home at the end of the day, you might find us vegging in front of the TV watching past seasons of Curb Your Enthusiasm or The Office... or you may happen upon us at a local establishment, sipping a cold one, winding down after another cyclone of a day.

I think it's our generation- a group of young adults trying to inch their way up- trying to earn a living, trying to build their careers, and showcase their integrity. It's not easy- and when you pick up and change career paths, you find yourself wedged between eager 19 year-olds chomping at the bit to compete in the field.

We are not the vitalized, puppy-dog eyed, go-getters of the workplace. We know our shit- we have loads of life experience, and we know what we want. We've got focus.

And how do we maintain focus? One simple answer: espresso. I came up with this genius idea when moping about how the hell I'm going to get through till May with the addition of an internship on my plate. That's it! Espresso, and loads of it- possibly multiple times a day.

The barista at Caribou Coffee knows my pug's name (what use are human names, anyway?) Starbucks, Dunn brothers, you come in at a close second and third. We love you, and all you have done for our careers. Thank you. Thank you a million times.

Don't you have homework?

2007-10-15T11:36:00.000-05:00

Yes, we often have something "better to do" or something more important to do than what we end up doing. Often we choose the easier thing, or the more enjoyable thing, or the short term pleasure over the thing that would, in the long run, help us out. Saturday, we had a gathering, and Sunday, we were sluggish. What can I say? I had homework, yes, I had errands to run, yes. There is always laundry to do, and eyebrows to groom, and nails to file and polish. Yes- even personal hygiene took a back seat to football this Sunday.

I'm am unabashedly an avid self-help book reader. I feel we are all "hopelessly flawed," (This is a quote from my favorite movie, Little Women) and everyone can benefit from a little self-help now and then. One book I have recently purchased is entitled, "The Joy Diet." Though it has nothing to do with food, this "diet" encourages folks to include a list of elements to their daily life in order to increase their enjoyment of their everyday life. One such menu item is "treats," defined as "anything that makes you smile." Well, I have found myself indulging in various treats this weekend. One such treat was seeing, "Jerry Springer, the Opera." I had the pleasure of attending when there were two ASL interpreters working. I have added an entire repertoire of ASL swear words to my ASL vocabulary (if you didn't know, I'm going to school to become an ASL/English interpreter... graduating in May! Horray!) I'm pretty sure I was the victim of a perma-smile throughout the entire performance.

Even if football doesn't make me smile, per se... I spent the afternoon with my husband, curled up on the couch with a sleepy pug, the above-mentioned husband serving me breakfast and coffee during the commercial breaks. Then, when glorifying (this time not the quarterback) Adrian Peterson after the game, I actually knew what he was talking about! I admit, I'm the type of person who does the Simpson's "ha ha" when I see a kicker miss a field goal, or a golfer just barely miss a three foot putt. But during Sunday's game, I was riveted as the kicker prepared to kick a career record field goal. Here's the kick.......... it's good!! I, like a true fan, grinned with satisfaction. Yes, it's good.

Picture courtesy of www.jupiterimages.com

I have indulged in the Soma

2007-10-09T11:47:00.000-05:00

So last night was an anomaly. The 'Ball and I went to a local establishment for a late dinner and beverage, and *gasp* watched the game. I've learned that coaches call timeouts right after a kicker has kicked a field goal- thus making it null. I've learned that T.O. makes mistakes. And sometimes when a QB has a bad game, the rest of the team rallies for a win. Maybe it was the beer- or maybe it was the amazing service we enjoyed by our fabulous server. Or... maybe sometimes all you need on a Monday night is a good... old... gulp... game of football.

Picture courtesy of www.candylandcrafts.com

Peace and Quiet

2007-10-04T10:38:00.000-05:00

I've noticed that during the week, between Monday night football and the pre-game show on Sunday morning, there's a peaceful hush in the household. Before football season, this was just the norm, but now that Sunday morning through Monday (well after twilight) are filled with the energy of football games, I've taken notice. Our evenings are often engaging, but mellow. We are a couple who go to dinner at 9:00 p.m. and rarely turn in before midnight. Not only do we practice this lifestyle, but we're becoming known for it! A friend of mine recently said, "we could always go out at 9:00 p.m. on a weeknight- you guys are always up for it." Often our evenings consist of watching DVDs until one of us (the snoring one... no not the pug... well her too) falls asleep on the couch in the middle of a Curb Your Enthusiasm episode. I'm beginning to become wise to the industry of football. Have they targeted us? The demographic of Americans who are busy and worn out during the week, and need a hobby? Isn't Sunday a day full of dread for the upcoming work week for the typical 9-to-5-er? Isn't Monday so depressing that everyone needs a beer and a flickering TV screen in front of them? Wait- have I happened upon a drug? The American's soma? Has our need for relaxation and rejuvenation been replaced by hypnosis? I used to think the message went a little something like this, "Dream big, kids- because you could make a million dollars for your athletic prowess too!" Now, I'm beginning to think that the message is more like, "Drink it up, America- we've got an industry to entertain you- and you've got a sucky life."

*SIGH* I have a friend who really believes in conspiracy theories... and I don't intend to create my own, but I do wonder about the appeal of football. Why has the industry blown up to the point that athletes are our best paid "workers?" Why do we culturally appreciate athleticism and physical skill over artistic creativity and social justice? Why is American pop culture common knowledge, and history, social science, politics are not? I wonder how participation in the industries that exist to entertain affects our culture... after all, many adults are not "smarter than a fifth grader." Sad, but true.

Picture courtesy of www.jupiterimages.com

The Constant Buzz

2007-09-19T10:05:00.000-05:00

Oh, dear sweet football, this is my ode to you. I wake in the morning to the pre-game show wafting through the house. The excited muffled speech of beefy, testosterone brimming men humming, growing louder as I approach the living room. The sight of my beloved, RandBall, sprawled out on the couch, alert beyond what one might deem appropriate for leisurely television watching.

This is the reality of our household during football season. It's been three years since I've had to have this experience in my home... we just purchased a TV. I should've known that the timing was planned. I should've known that it was back to watching EVERY game that basic cable would allow... even college football.

I humored him. Though I know nothing about football, and have never been able to concentrate long enough to learn the rules, I sat and watched with him. Though, I had no idea that this was a day-long event. One game after another. I thought we would have dinner at one point, but another game began, and RandBall was equally attentive to it. Finally, at a certain point I asked, "Are you really interested in this game?" I was relieved when he replied, "No, let's go eat." Immediately, I noted to myself: Make sure to ask if he's interested in the game before griping about having to wait for the game to end in order to eat/grocery shop/run errands/etc.

Occasionally, during a game I assumed RandBall had no vested interest in, I'll witness him cheering and screaming at the TV. "Is that guy on your fantasy football team?" I ask. "Yah," he says. Surprised? No.

Finally, it's all coming back to me. Football, sweet football. You're back in my life.

Thought of the day: "What's the big deal about football?"

2007-09-10T13:23:00.000-05:00

Randball and I went to Longfellows for lunch yesterday and our waiter, in a bout of witty bantor, asked us for a "thought of the day." Mine was, "What's the big deal about football?" I was delighted by his gasp, as he seemed equally baffled as I. "I know! I came into work today and everyone was wearing purple, and gawking at the TV screens. Then I figured it out, it's football season!"

*sigh* Yes, it's football season. Now that we've purchased a (insert Freudian slip here)-sized TV, I've got hours of alone time, while the man and dog enjoy bonding time on the couch.

I've just never understood the appeal of a game that is contantly on-again-off-again. Ten seconds of action, two minutes of dispute, ten seconds of action, two minutes of glorifying the quarterback.

As I told Randball one night when he admitted to playing (number removed for the protection of our beloved) hours on end of online Scrabble, I said, "You could be earning a graduate degree in the time you spend online!" I could apply this principle to the hours in front of the tube watching football.

Well, at least he's not alone.

"Are you ready for some FOOTBALL?!!"

Our "flower girl," Petunia.

2007-08-23T22:29:00.000-05:00

Petunia Sue, actor, writer, and tap dancer extraordinaire, stops for a brief photo op outside her mother and father's wedding. Yes, she was born out of wedlock. Poor bastard.

I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Randball!

2007-08-23T17:31:00.000-05:00

On the afternoon of June 30th, this young woman was accosted by this young man outside of Azia Restaurant in Minneapolis, and forced to pose as his bride for a picture. OH! Just kidding- she was paid.

Mrs. Randball Steps on Stage

2007-08-23T17:17:00.001-05:00

Hello, everyone- my husband's avid readers over at RandBall, friends, colleagues, the world. I've decided to create a counterpart to my husband's blog. Yes, he writes about sports, but he writes about a lot more. He's a complete goofball. (Yes, one of the many reasons I'm Mrs. Randball today.) I, in fact, am a fellow goofball, and this is my stage.

Thank you for reading- and for your patience as I get this blog up and running.
Yours,
Mrs. Randball