Thirteen pills a day for ten days. Plus the regular assortment of living the gaspatch five a day pills. Clear liquids for two days. And no fun for RS for what seems like forever.

My colon knows what scares me.

and a few cantaloupes and baseballs and I’m finally starting to feel human again.  Finally.  I still have some minor aches, but at least I’m not in constant pain. I’m up to doing some wine drinking, light gardening and in 3 weeks the running shoes come off the shelf and RS makes an appearance with her new super hero running legs. Keep your fingers crossed.

What did I do three weeks prior during my downtime?  The same thing everyone else trapped in bed and doped up on pain killers does. Shop online for shoes.  These cuties are coming this way soon:

I can’t even begin to tell you how much harder this recovery has been than I expected. If they are removing the problematic organs then why does it still hurt? I don’t know, but it does. Oh well, I’m here, I’m alive and slowly, oh so slowly, I’m getting better. I’ve the whole two steps forward one step back thing going on with my body right now. It’s been two weeks since I was gutted and I’m so very ready to be better. I’m not very good at being still.

Although, recovery has been better because of all of the visitors, flowers, cakes, puddings, cupcakes, wine and wonderful get well wishes from all my favorite people.  Thanks for everything – especially for looking at my tumors and guts.  I love you guys to pieces!

Over five years ago I wrote a post about my uterus and the discovery of my fibroid tumors. I had two small tumors embedded in my uterine wall and one small pedunuculated tumor on the outside of my uterus. The peduculated fibroid grows from a stalk on the outside of the uterus . . . and because it’s just hanging there the tumor takes every opportunity it can to be as kinky as possible – twisting and turning and pinching and causing me all kinds of problems. They were small but still troublesome and the doctor tried this and that and this until we found something that worked and surgery was avoided and other than the occasion gerbil with sharp teeth invading my uterus, life was good again.

A few years ago I slowly started feeling really tired. All. The. Freaking. Time.  I blamed it on fighting gas, getting old and gaining weight. The only logical thing to do, right?

Logical until one day not long ago I found myself in so much pain that I walked into the doctor’s office saying I’m not leaving until you find out what’s wrong with me. So, once again, I was in stirrups, staring at the ceiling and being felt up by instruments. Only this time I find out that Mr. Kinky is the size of a cantaloupe (9.8 cm) and the two embedded tumors are now baseballs and have brought few other rookies to play along.

Then with another “wham, bam thank you ma’am” I found myself in a baby blue hospital gown being rolled down a hallway by unicorns into the dark caves of Candy Mountain where I would have a hysterectomy.  That was Tuesday.

And today, I remember it exactly as it happened. Aren’t drugs wonderful?

I know exactly what you are thinking? RS, you did take a camera into surgery didn’t you? Well, duh! Doesn’t everyone. And the surgeon was kind enough to oblige my need to see the multiple ginormous hunks-o-tumor I was growing.

So let’s get down to business and shun those non-believers.

Are.

You.

Ready?

They say everything is bigger in Texas. I reckon that makes everything in Gasland mega-make-believe-sized.  I’d show you my stitches, but then you might tag me as porn.  During the gutting process they discovered that Mr. Kinky Cantaloupe was more like Siamese grapefruit twins, the baseballs were more like racquetballs (inside the red thing know known as RS’s Former Uterus) and they discovered a surprise litter of pedunulated gerbils. What is life without surprises?

So now it’s Friday and I’m sitting here in Gasland doped up on Vicodin wondering if anything I’m typing is spelled correctly or coherent. I honestly doubt it because the meds give me double-vision. I have a real excuse this time so be nice.

For the next six weeks my running shoes will be on the shelf. Waiting. I hope when I recover fully, I start to feel better. Because right now I feel like poop. Feeling like poop doesn’t make good for anything except more poop.  It seems only fair that if I can grow giant tumors, I should be able to grow some super-hero running legs. I’ll let you know how that is going in six weeks.

Alrighty then, I’m going to drift back to sleep with the soothing white noise sounds of compressors and fracking.

Oh, and in case you are wondering – having your gut ripped open and your innards pulled out – is a lot easier than fighting gas bastards.

*I reckon there needs some clarification – It’s not really a kidney.  Just ask Charlie.

Internet People, do you all remember when half of America stopped reading my blog because I was voicing my opinion so much about politics and health care? Well very soon the other rest of America will stop reading my blog – just as soon as I figure out a way to put “damn, stupid, idiotic, messed up health care system” a little more eloquently. Or maybe that just sums it up right there? I’m so filled with excitement, anticipation and anger that I’m not sure how to say what’s what right now. Odd I know, since I rarely keep my mouth shut, and considering I need to liven things up around here I figure I’ll just let it all blow over the next few days and weeks.

Why? Because today I had a health care physical that lasted eight full hours. Not just any physical, but a complete preventive medical physical that SHOULD be standard practice for everyone, but is not. This was a complete mind, body and spirit physical – hush, I know what your thinking, so let me move on. Anyone who has read my blog for any length of time knows I’m a certified fruit loop and a borderline hypochondriac (okay, full-blown on some days), and the whole spirit was unique, especially since I’m the world’s biggest heathen – vibrantly and proudly heathen – I seriously have issues with organized religion. Seriously, serious folks. But this was more yogic, so we’ll call the spirit part stretching since those are basically the same thing anyhow. Shut. up.

Anyhow, the experience has left me temporarily speechless. It’s going to take a week or so for my complete assessment and results, but this is gonna be fun! Runner Susan is ready to get lusty, busty and wildly controversial again – and it’s about time, because I’ve missed me. I’ve missed me so much.

The Midol has mysteriously disappeared or someone is hiding it from me. Either way proves no good for anyone even remotely near me. That, combined with the two hours I spent shopping for a bathing suit yesterday and I’m about ready rip my arm off and sam hell beat the next person who walks by me and weighs under 120 pounds.

My plan to lose a few pounds was lost this morning. I was planning on running another half marathon – but last night we were covered with very serious thunderstorms. And this morning when I got up at 4 AM to check the weather it was still raining. No, make that pouring. I don’t do rain because I don’t do blisters. So I went back to bed. When I got up at 7:15 it had stopped raining, but I only had 15 minutes to get to the race that was an hour away. Now I’m pissed I wasted $75.00 on the registration.

So if you don’t mind, I’m going to find my way to the kitchen and eat everything that isn’t nailed down – then I’m going to and try and waddle on the treadmill for a bit before it’s time for dinner.

I was up at 1 AM again last night – I got up to pee and I stayed wide-awake. The more I lay there, the more my brain overreacted to every thought.  Is it just me, or do things ever seem to get exaggerated in the middle of the night?

I was all upset and feeling sorry for myself about not getting my Sunday long run done and then I thought about the trail run I have coming up on Wednesday and how I’ll make up for those lost miles. I started to feel a little better, then, for who knows why, I started thinking about snakes – it is the season for them to be thawing and coming out of hibernation. And OH MY GOD, what would I do if I actually had to fend one off while trail running. I don’t even own a snakebite kit. I don’t do well in panic situations. You know, because of the panic.

These thoughts snowballed well into 5 AM and by then my sleepless brain had filled my pool with water moccasins and my yard with copperheads.  By the time I got up to get coffee I had decided that no one was ever leaving the house again. Ever. Because if a yard full of snakes isn’t enough, poisonous spiders certainly are. And if you didn’t know this, EVERYTHING is bigger in Texas. And poisonous! Especially snakes and bugs.

I’m not sure what is going on with my brain, but I’m fairly certain that going through a bottle of NyQuil per week is not a permanent answer to my insomnia. But damn, NyQuil sleep is the best sleep ever. I just wish it didn’t come with a hangover.

I haven’t been giving good blog lately, Internet People. I’m not sure why, I just haven’t felt the love. My suspicion is that you guys are all cheating on me with Facebook, and don’t think I haven’t noticed. If the blog world goes under and crumbles, don’t blame me – there will be no stimulus package for the blog world.

Moving on . . . so, just what have I been up to? Well, on Friday I got my hair cut. And if I remember correctly, general consensus was to NOT get the Katie cut. Well poopy on you – I made the cut and I love it. Abandon me for Facebook again and I’m going totally bald.

Speaking of abandonment, on Saturday I decided to ditch the bike. I tried and tried but after only six minutes and nine seconds my legs could not make the rollers work. I had nothing. I was enormously tired from running and riding on Friday. Being tired means I’m getting stronger, right? Of course it does. (See what I’m reduced to, Internet People? Answering my own questions. Thanks Facebook.)

Michael and I decided to stay home and cook instead of fighting the masses at the restaurants. I also promised the chef I would do my part. I even bought an apron and gloves so the chef would think I was serious about cooking. And indeed I was serious about being the sous chef, until the 4th glass of wine and then I got serious about giggling too much and made the chef mad so he kicked me out of the kitchen. All wasn’t totally lost; I made a fantastic artichoke bruschetta appetizer and strawberry custard dessert before my departure. We had some more wine, ate the red snapper, asparagus, and dessert and then I fell asleep on the couch. Happy Valentine’s Day, Honey!

I stayed on the couch until the alarm went off 4:30 the next morning. Oh my, that was early. Early and blurry. But have no fear, I slipped on the magical Newton’s and headed out into the 35-degree arctic temperature like a trooper. I ran slower than slow, but I finished all six miles. It was also the first time I’d taken the Newtons out for more than 3.5 miles. And I have to tell you – my right foot (aka fool) does not like the Newtons. My left foot is madly, madly in love – but the right was angry and numb by mile 4 and in quite a bit of pain by the end. I’m not sure what I was doing wrong, it feels like the metatarsal support on the right shoe is not fitting in the same spot as the left. Obviously, I still have some work to do on my form. Or maybe my foot is deformed.

It’s a love/hate relationship, this running stuff.

I’ve had my chef, my friend Zoë and the bike shop guru fit me on the bike. All three were unanimous with what needed to be done. Of course, I let the bike shop make the final decision – seemed like good idea when chainsaws are to be involved.

• The seat was too high – we lowered it a few millimeters and it feels perfect now.
• The stem is too short – a new one is on the way.
• The handlebars are too high – once the stem arrives Chef Michael is gonna chainsaw the neck thing down and lower it.
• The color is totally wrong – for proper form the bike needs to be hot pink and black. I’ve got spray paint and I’m not afraid to use it.

I’m blessed with short legs and a long torso – so I give the illusion of having my seat too low, when really, it’s just my deformed body. Go reckon that.

Now, I’m off to get new shoes and see what I can do about this running problem. Anyone ever wear the Newton shoe?

I’m not a naturally disciplined or focused person. I’m easily distracted and frequently lose focus because my mind is all over the place. So I believe in goals, and therefore I must take part in getting them set. Maybe sometime before the year is over.

I’m going to make them simple, so far this is what I’ve got:

• Take care of my daughter, my husband, my marriage, and my family and love them as much as possible. Listen to them and enjoy them every day.
• Make alone time for myself everyday.
• Take care of myself by eating well, balancing my activities and my exercise and managing my stress.
• Say things like ‘cat eyeball’, ‘spanky pants’, ‘big circle gear’ and other Susanized cycling lingo to irritate my husband as much as possible.
• Drink plenty of wine.
• Not do anything stupid. Like run a marathon, for example.

I’ll be working on race goals this week and will post those soon. Suggestions are welcome.

My boobs still hurt from my mammogram last Wednesday . . . I understand mammograms are important, but is pancake flat really necessary?

And the sore boobs only add to the lovely acne I have. I feel like I’m going through a second puberty and I look like a pizza. A pizza no one would want to eat because it hasn’t showered in three days. A pizza who had a plastic fork gut their uterus nearly a year ago and should not have PMS anymore.

This might also explain the magically disappearing bottle of wine and bag of chocolate covered almonds. And cheese ball. And the reappearing 5 or 8 pounds hanging around my gut making it look like I’m about to give birth to a toddler.

It’s really, really awful PMS. And it’s bad to say, but it’s kind of amusing to watch Michael tip toe around the house anticipating something horrible to come out of my mouth because he did something tragic like not turn the Christmas lights on in time or forget to brush the Aussie’s butts before they came in the house so they could wipe their own butts on the very expensive area rug.

I’m going to be optimistic and say it’s not PMS but early menopause. Because that would mean there is an end to this tragic roller coaster of hormonal death.

Are there any benefits to getting old? Because I feel like I should strip down naked and run through the streets warning all the teenagers of the world to take a good look and STOP AGING, because this hideous amount of geriatric insanity is just not worth it.

Okay, I’m done. I’m not qualified to get old. It’s irritating.

But buying shoes helps.

I really didn’t want to race today. Really. Did. Not. Want. To. This monster month of marathon training is adding up to a whole bunch of tired. I know, it’s supposed to be that way and because of it I’m going to run a really fast marathon. Or at least that’s the plan.

Michael and I took Kenza to the local homecoming football game last night; Kenza had a blast, but we didn’t get home until late and I took a Tylenol PM to help me sleep – that was my first mistake. I just could not wake up this morning.

My second mistake was not having my race gear ready the night before. I used up all my race bib safety pins on Kenza’s spirit wear for the game. You give the girl something to cheer for and she goes all out, face-paint, colored hair, cow bell and 40 safety pins worth of spirit-attached attire in all. I admire her spunk, but it left me rummaging around on her bedroom floor at 4:30 in the morning, in the dark, trying to find her clothes from last night to recover at least 2 safety pins.

My third mistake was being constipated. I’m not sure how that is a mistake, but I was and I’m sure on some level it affected my race time. Or is that effected? FYI – spelling and grammar are way over-rated.

Richie and I met in the parking lot and headed over to the start line where I got to meet Kevin from 5ks and Cabernets. I love that blog title, and what a super nice wine-drinking guy he was. Richie said Kevin was really fast, so we move back in the pack a little.

Okay, so despite every step of this race being a struggle, I ran halfway decent. Probably slow for Richie, but respectable for me. I could go into a lot of details about how we had great weather, and how the second half was really hilly, and how I didn’t walk at all except for a few seconds during water breaks, and how Richie saved me from emanate death when I was nearly run over by a car around mile nine. (Note to self: turn volume on ipod down in traffic) And I could tell you that we ran negative splits almost the entire way. But what I mostly want to tell you is that the last mile we ran in 8 minutes and 18 seconds. For real. Seriously.

It was a PR 20k day. 2 hours, 3 minutes and 22 seconds.

My doubtful self asked Richie about 20 times how he thought I’d do in Chicago based on the last two races we’ve run together. He seemed pretty confidant that I’ll do well. After today’s race with the negative splits and 8:18 last mile, I’m thinking it might be possible to run faster than a 5-hour marathon. God, I hope so.

Yeah, I know, it looks like Cherry Berry styled my hair.

I’m running close to 40 miles a week. I’m sprinting. I’m lifting weights. I’m riding . . . and yet I can’t get rid of that effing muffin top! If I had trained like I am now when I was in my 20s I would have been kicking some serious ass.

Now I just have ass.

Between running, leg torture, track torture, cycling and those awful swim workouts – I’ve been getting in nearly 14 hours a week of exercise – which means I’ve been washing my hair more than ever; sometimes even twice a day. (Go personal hygiene!) Mix in the Texas sun, heat, and salt from the pool water and I’ve got myself some seriously bad hair. Mostly frizziness, dryness and all around out-of-control this is not a good look for date-night hair.

But I’ve found a great shampoo and conditioner, Drench by Sebastian, and I love it. Its very light and moisturizing; a rare combination for shampoo and conditioner. It’s also a little pricey – $13.00, but for me, not having over-fluffy hair on date night is worth $13.00. The bad thing is the bottles are pretty small; my bottles only lasted a month.

Just doing my part to share the love, Internet people.

Sometimes I get so worried about over-sleeping when I need to wake up at 4AM that I can’t even sleep and wake up on the hour every hour until the alarm goes off. Last night was no exception, except that I agreed to sleep in the guest room as to not wake Michael and bed full of dogs at 4AM. Scratch that, I don’t mind waking up anyone, except Cherry Berry. Who is always awake. And happy. Cherry Berry is as happy as the happiest clam and loves everyone wildly all the time, 24 hours a day, without exception, even at 4AM. If Cherry were a person, she’d be Elle from Legally Blonde.

Crap, I do this all the time, where was I? Oh, so waking up every hour on the hour . . . when I woke up at 3AM I grabbed the alarm clock (also known as a magic iPhone) to make sure I hadn’t overslept, and I dropped it and somehow it ended up on vibrate, unbeknownst to sleepy me . . . and this was just a really long way to say, I over-slept and didn’t wake -up until 4:55.

I had plans to meet Massoman at 5:15. That gave me 5 minutes to get ready and 15 minutes to drive to meet him. I got there on time, but other than dress myself – I didn’t have time to do anything else, including pee. So the first thing I did when I got to our meeting spot was immediately find a place to pee. And when I got to the pee spot I walked into a huge spider web and started freaking out. If there is one ultimate truth in this universe, it is: if there are webs, there are spiders. And I live life by the philosophy that ALL SPIDERS ARE POISONOUS. As are all snakes. It’s a philosophy that’s never served me wrong. I am living proof.

Anyhow, it took nearly a mile and a half before I was sure that I was imaginary spider free. Finally, when I was closing in on Massoman, I opened my mouth to say “Here I am” and I inhaled a swarm of gnats. And if you think imaginary spiders freak me out, just wait until you see me with REAL LIFE bugs on my body. IN MY BODY. I started heaving. I tried to control it, but there was no stopping it. I started to vomit some lovely green, empty-stomach foamy stuff. Massoman heard gagging and chocking and turned around and asked if I was okay. Of course I was okay. This was just all part and parcel of living in Susan’s World O’ Mental Illness. No big deal.

And really, this is just a long excuse to say, I ran really slow -11:40-minute miles. And only five of those. Tomorrow is Track Torture #1. I hope it goes better than today did.

Why run a half marathon during the hottest part of the year in Texas? Let me replay the scenario for you.

Rich: Hey Susan, you want to run a half with me in a few weeks?
RS: In August, in Texas, are you crazy?
Rich: Please, please, please, I really need someone to pace me and it’ll be a lot of fun, I promise. I’m begging, pleeeaassse, for me.
RS: But Rich, Coach David has 23 miles on my schedule for that day and Coach David is very serious about my training.
Rich: But Susan, didn’t you know that running 13.1 miles at race pace is exactly like running 23 miles at training pace. It’s totally okay, David will be fine with it.
RS: Really? Okay then, if it will make David happy, count me in.*

When I left the house at 5:00 AM this morning it was 78 degrees with 81% humidity. I reckon when the rain left, it took away those blessed few days of cool mornings. I’m not sure what the temperature was at the start of the race but my feet were already soaked.

Through the first half of the race we kept a really steady pace. Rich announced at the halfway point we were at 1:02 – a 9:27 pace. Awesome, if I could keep this up I knew I could PR, or get really close.

Rich and I parted ways for a bit and then things kind of went like this – it got hotter, it got sunnier, I got sweatier, and I got slower. But I never stopped running – except for a few seconds here and there to sip water because I have yet to figure out that swallowing while running phenomenon that the rest of the world can manage. The important thing here to note is that I ran the whole time, NO WALK BREAKS. That’s a big deal for me.

Somewhere around mile 12.5 Rich and I found each other again. We hugged and shared a special moment before we finished the race together hand-in-hand. Okay, we technically weren’t hand-in-hand, but we did high five as we crossed the finish line in 2:15:58 – a 10:22 pace.

Reality strikes, it was slow. I so much wanted to run a 2-hour half, but I felt I ran really strong. It was fun too, despite the heat: 87 degrees and 57% humidity by the time we finished.

*Conversation may not be accurate to all parties due to recent heat exposure.

Has it been 4 or 5 weeks? I’ve lost count but it seems like forever. Well, at least forever without running. Or physical activity. Or shoes for that matter. I haven’t been able to wear shoes and I miss shoes – I’ve been living in flip-flops and as much as I love flip-flops, they can only take you so far. Stupid stress fracture.

Honestly, I’ve discovered I really don’t enjoy any other forms of exercise other than running and lifting weights. I started lifting weights last week and it’s been enjoyable; I have that nice, lingering soreness in my arms, legs and abs. I can’t believe I’ve missed that kind of pain.

I’ve kept busy by working in the yard, training Cherry, organizing the cupboard, teaching Rowdy to swim and cleaning the pool. We’ve never had a pool before and if you can get past all the maintenance and cleaning it requires, it’s so much fun. Rowdy doesn’t think so, though. If it’s not a soft blanket or a nice bottle of wine, Rowdy pretty much hates the world.

So there you have it, Stationary Susan’s boring life. Mock me, I give you permission.

Another doctor appointment, another dollar and more bad news. I have a stress fracture with strict instructions for no running and no weights for six weeks. I asked Dr. Joey what I could do and his response was “A whole lot of nothing!”

I’m going to try and make the best of things.  I think I’ll take some time off, enjoy the weather, eat like a pig and keep working on that Do-It-Yourself Liposuction kit. And, in about six weeks when I’ve sucked the entire energy source out of my body, it should be time to start training for the Chicago Marathon.

I hope I don’t lose too much strength. Or get too fat.

I certainly get my fair share of hate mail and comments, and for the most part I ignore it and ban the commenter. I’ve had to think about posting this for a while, because really, mean people don’t deserve the attention it takes for my fingers to type these words.

My sister and I very much share many of the same political and religious views and her ability to express and defend those views thoughtfully and intelligently are far greater than mine, which is why I am grateful when she frequently steps into my comments and defends them on my blog. Particularly on the recent Obama Speech post. Obama has my vote – but Amy daily and attentively inhales every magnificent word he says and probably knows more about his views than 99% of the American population.

If I post something on my blog I completely respect one’s decision to defend and support their beliefs if they are different than mine. And as much as I may not believe in what they are saying, I most certainly respect and support fe-lady’s and spandex-king’s right to express their views about Obama’s speech just as they respect another’s right to defend it. It’s a little thing I like to call “being a grown up.”

But I draw the line when it comes to being mean. Especially to my family! If your only defense to reading a blog post is to go and make disparaging and hurtful personal attacks, because you can’t defend yourself, then you have no business commenting in the first place.

So if you are the are the Fast Runner Chick loser, with the fake email, that said this wretchedly mean thing this on my sister’s blog:

You and your “Obama thing” are disgusting!

Also, you are way TOO FAT to run! STOP!! IT has done you no good!!!!

I hope this post gives you the attention you are looking for and I hope reading it doesn’t take too much time out of your day to stop kicking puppies or put kittens in the blender.

Now, I’m going to put this out of my head, as we are about to take Kenza to Medieval Times to eat chunks of meat and watch people get whacked with swords. It’s a good thing to do on Easter, Jesus would approve. Then after that, I’m going to sit in the spa naked, read the Bible for Atheists, while I wait for Matt Damon and Jon Stewart to come over.

And then I’ll watch the Obama speech, again.

• I ran eight miles yesterday and for six of those I felt like a rock star
• It was worth it because the night before was date night and I drank two margaritas
• My cankle is back even more cankley than it was after the Austin Marathon
• The top of my foot is swollen and bruised to match the cankle
• My disappearing leg syndrome is back
• The on-again off-again poison ivy rash I have had since last June is back, and apparently, to stay
• My left ear lobe is red and swollen
• I was making the bed last week and messed up my lower back – now I walk like a hunchback
• The trees are budding and my eyes are crusted shut and swollen for a large portion of the day
• I think I need new allergy medicine
• My pee smells funny