Who is this person?!?

Who is this person?!?

My gym membership is limited and only allows me to go in on Sundays, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and I woke up today – a non-gym day – and I WANT to work out.

WHAT!?! This is so NOT like me.

When I was a kid, my parents had to force me to go outside and play, and my version of "playing outside" was to sit on the porch reading a book while my brother rode his bike or threw his football around.

All through grade school, junior high and high school, Phys Ed class was my LEAST favorite point of the week. When we did fitness tests, I knew I had to complete my mile run/walk in at least 15 minutes, and I would cross the finish line at 14:59. My philosophy: Least amount of physical effort required. It's just PE and exercise is LAME-SAUCE. Plus, I don't think PE went toward or against your GPA…

Now, as an adult, I still have a recurring dream that I'm back in high school, have essentially skipped Phys Ed for an entire semester and am in jeopardy of not graduating because I'm failing Phys Ed. (I also have a similar dream where Phys Ed is replaced with Advanced Math…childhood trauma really sticks with a person).

But to be honest, this failing Phys Ed dream isn't too far off from reality. I was a Freshman and had missed the two weeks of school (hospital stay due to Mono) and was still recovering, so I had to sit out of Phys Ed class for a solid month.

The policy was if you missed a class you had to write a report on a sport of your choosing. Now, a normal person would use the time they were sitting out of PE class to write said reports, but I put it off. You technically had until the end of the semester to turn in all your reports so I used my downtime on the gymnasium bleachers to work on homework that had stricter deadlines.

Fast forward to a few weeks left in the semester. I was shopping at the local Pamida with my mom (a former high school teacher who was still very acquainted with the high school staff), when the Phys Ed teacher walked up and shared that I was getting a D in Phys Ed and needed to turn in my SIX OUTSTANDING REPORTS or else.

Pretty sure my mom chewed my butt the entire 15 mile car ride home while I complained about it not being fair because I couldn't help that I had Mono. But fair or not, I spent the rest of my weekend writing Phys Ed reports, and I passed Phys Ed with a more respectable B.

However, that NEAR fail didn't change my ideas on the whole PE front. While the teachers rambled on about fitness, blah, blah, lifetime of activity, blah, blah, healthy, blah … I was thinking: Phys Ed is dumb … I hate getting sweaty in the middle of the school day … Public showers suck … If lifetime fitness is so important, why are all my Phys Ed teachers a little heavy? … Shoot. I can't remember my locker combination. What if I have to wear my smelly, nasty PE clothes ALL DAY LONG?!?

However, in the last 5 years, I've gone from my lightest adult weight to my heaviest adult weight, and maybe an occasional game of capture the flag or prison ball WOULD'VE made all the difference in the world.

So here's to you Mr. Swivel, Swivel, Jump (J. High PE teacher who taught us the Macarena) … sorry I judged you when you when you wore your tight, red polyester shorts. Your confidence (or complete lack of fashion sense) made them look good.

Third grade put downs and other life lessons

I grew up in a home where there was a lot of laughter — usually at my mother or my expense, and usually after a zinger delivered by my too-smart-for-his-own-good older brother.

This upbringing helped me develop some life skills that are pretty important:

1)      Know how to be the butt of a joke with grace — I often am the one making myself the staring character.

2)      ALWAYS carry a comeback close at hand.

Now, in the moment, I didn't always love being the punch line. And I threw out my fair share of, "Well…you're a meanie head," comebacks. If you ask my hubby, he'll tell you that my defense in most compromising situations is STILL to throw out some old school name calling that ends in "head" or "face" — meanie head, jerk face, dork face, butt face, stupid head, etc.

Don't you feel insulted just from reading this list?

Now, I don't condone name calling. But, these are some gems so feel free to use them at your discretion. At minimum, they're AWESOME argument diffusers. Who can take a grown up seriously when they're busting out third grade put downs?

I feel like I need to add to my list of "life skills"...

3)      Add "head" or "face" to all name calling. It really ups the ante OR completely destroys your street cred...but life is a gamble so I really think the risk it worthwhile.

So, I guess the moral of the story is to appreciate the things in life that annoy you in the present (like a stupid head older brother) because they'll make you better in the future...and don't forget the lessons you learned in childhood. You never know when a third grade put down will come in handy.

That one time in Mitchell, SD

You know ANY blog with a title of "That one time in Mitchell, SD" HAS to be good. I promise not to disappoint.

The Corn Palace
See how it changes? Magnificent. Truly Magnificent.

When my older brother and I were in grade school, my mom worked as a high school Spanish teacher and had her summers off. So most summers we'd take a rousing family vacation…that was until the parentals decided we needed to go to South Dakota and hit all the "hot spots" – Mount Rushmore, Wall Drug, some rock I was told was "Crazy Horse" but I couldn't find a resemblance, and **drum roll** the Corn Palace.

Hot spots? If used in the same sentence as South Dakota, not likely. Rousing? Not a chance.

At first, I tried to be optimistic.

Me: "So, this Corn Palace, it's made entirely of corn?!?
Mom: "Kind of. It's a building that's decorated with corn."
Me: "Um, okay. Well, does it at least look like a fairy tale castle? Will I get to see a princess?!?"
Mom: "Well, not exactly like a princess castle. But, it's really neat. They change the outside design regularly, so if we go now and go back next summer, it would look different." 

Needless to say, expectations for the Corn Palace were pretty low…yet still too high. It was worse than we imagined. SO MUCH CORN. The hour or so tour mom forced upon us was brutal and followed up by at least an hour in the gift shop that was filled with…you guessed it – CORN. Corn T-shirts, paperweights, magnets, key chains. You name it, and you could find a CORNY version of it (I've been waiting for my chance to work in this pun…success)!!!

When it was FINALLY time to leave, we headed to or trusty blue van. Dad turned the key…dad turned the key again…and again…and again.

Crap. We were stuck at the Corn Palace. WORST DAY EVER!!!

So we got out of the van into the rather toasty summer air while dad, certified mechanic extraordinaire, did some diagnostics. Low and behold, the van's starter was kaput…right there in front of the Corn Palace. We weren't going ANYWHERE without a new part…and I was terrified.

No worries for the parentals though. Mom strapped on the fanny pack (no, they weren't cool then either) and off we went, on foot, to the Mitchell, SD, NAPA auto parts store to purchase a new starter for our van. Then, in front of the "majestic" Corn Palace, my dad scooted underneath the van (no small feat for a man of his stature) and began operating on our trusty blue chariot.

It felt like we were waiting for days, but mom had a fanny pack (function over fashion) and "shops" to explore, so she was good. My brother and I on the other hand were pretty sure we were never going home…I picked out a room in the Corn Palace to call my own, started memorizing the Mitchell zip code, and named the Native American statue that was sitting on a bench across the street. If we never got home, at least I'd have one friend in this lame town – even if he wasn't much of a conversationalist.

And then, by what I can only assume was a divine act of God, the big blue van started up, and off we went.

I've NEVER been so happy – sorry hubs our wedding is a close second to the day our family van rolled away from the Corn Palace. And as we left Mitchell, SD, I made a promise to myself, "I don't care if this thing looks like a REAL palace next summer, I'm not coming back. Ever."

Sorry, Mitchell, SD, zip code 57301, but I'm pretty sure that's a promise I'll keep. However, if anyone does venture that way, be sure to tell my buddy Clark Big Bear hello from me. For half a day, we were really tight. My only regret is that I couldn't save Clark, but on your way out of Mitchell, there's NO turning back. Sorry, Clark.