I Tried To Wash the Rest of the Blood Out of My Hair

Dear avid readers and sporadic guests alike,

How exactly does one go about sustaining a minor head injury while running? If this is a question you have often wondered, let me help you out here. The following story illustrates my own personal experience with the matter.

I was going for an average run yesterday, and I decided to take my run to the gritty streets of Everett and Mill Creek, instead of the placid curves of the interurban trail. (I prefer street running, to be honest.) The only downfall is the occasional stoplight; when I hit one that does not signal me forward with the little White Man Walking sign, I pound the button energetically and jog in circles until the light changes for me.

Upon this significant day in my life, I was a mere quarter mile from home, with eleven and three-quarter miles under my belt. The sun was just coming out, and I was thirsty, sweaty, dirty, and a bit tired. The light was not changing. I had pounded the button numerous times, and to keep my heart rate up and my legs moving, I did my usual Let's Jog Around the Light Pole dance (this is not a pole dance).

Unfortunately, this is where I made my tactical blunder. If you drive past a stoplight pole, glance at it and notice that, on the back side of the pole, there is an electrical box - usually about seven feet up the pole.

This one was at head height.

I leave the reader to draw their own conclusions. It didn't hurt too bad, and did not seem to affect me necessarily, but the passengers of the cars at the stoplight were getting a good chuckle. It was not until the next morning (and after a long hot shower right after the run) when I reached up to comb my hair back with my hand that I realized there was blood beneath my hair. In the YMCA showers later, I tried to gently soak it - but I confess I was hesitant to scrub too hard because I thought I might open the jagged, spurting wound back up.

If the dear reader ever ventures to run on the street and decides to jog around the light pole, they should follow one of several courses: (a) Give the pole a wide berth. (b) Crouch down low as they jog. (c) DO NOT JOG AROUND LIGHT POLES.

With affection and bandages for all,


Mrs H
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Those Who Don't Have Enough Time are Often Procrastinators

To my dear and prudent readers, who themselves have probably never dreamed of procrastinating on anything,

It is not actually an issue of not having the time of day to do something; rather it is the issue of dawdling so much along the way, that prevents me from accomplishing my intended tasks.

This odd disease of which I speak is, of course, procrastination...

When a distasteful task is set before me, it is as though a celestial coin-toss takes place and there are 50/50 odds of me either rolling up my metaphorical sleeves and digging in with gritty determination, or else pathetically concoting a thousand excuses and rationalizations to delay the beginning of the task.

Case in point #1: Scrubbing the back bathroom. For some mysterious reason, I dislike doing this. I am fine with scrubbing the front bathroom, but literally for two months (or was it two and a half months?) I put off scrubbing the back bathroom. I usually clean the house starting from the front (living room, kitchen, foyer), and work my way back through the hallway, office, guest bathroom, and then the bedroom, and by the time I reach the back bathroom I have rationalized to myself that I need to start homework or go to the grocery store, or sift flour or surf facebook.com, or do some activity other than the heinous one at hand.

Editor's note: I eventually ended up scrubbing the bathroom, but this was only when I decided to start cleaning the house from the back, and work my way forward. One could say I had determined to face my fears in a manner that would make it more difficult for me to escape them.

Case in point #2: Just a mere two weeks ago, I had a short run I needed to accomplish (3 miles). This can be done in about half an hour and truly is not that painful! However, I drove to the appointed spot where I intended to begin, and sat in my car listening to the radio and organizing my purse for half an hour, dawdling, lollygagging, boondoggling, frittering time away ... whatever moniker is affixed to my activity, it all came down to the same thing: procrastination.

Editor's note: I did eventually go on the run, and enjoyed it immensely, and felt good once I finished. Why didn't I just start earlier and save myself the mental anguish of anticipation?

It is far nicer to just skip past all of the pre-activity anxiety and just engage immediately in the task; oftentimes it is not that bad once I begin, and sometimes (such as with running) it is enjoyable and even fun once I begin.

Logically, I know this to be true;

but, dear reader, in my closing remarks I have no sage aphorisms for you and no moral truths to divulge because I feel myself unfit to guide on a path which I have not yet traveled without considerable error. I have no compass with which you can guide yourself unequivocally away from the dark forest of procrastination (although I could suggest you find a coin and toss it to determine whether or not you should dally before an activity). In the world of literature, I understand that all are imperfect and the half-blind are supposed to lead the blind, and that often the "secret" truth is just a trite saying ("Find yourself!") that carries little weight and no meaning past the intitial rush of adrenaline. However, I have no trite sayings, but I could appropriately quote a familiar marketer who is known for their motivational slogans and equipment.

Just do it, people.

With a spirit of encouragement,


Mrs H
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