Are You There, God? It's Me, Gwen.

Dear God,

Why did you give me bad genes?  I thought you treated all of your children equally.  I thought you loved all of your children the same!  But it isn’t true – you have your favorites!  You love Allan more than me!  *Sniff*. 

Allan (my husband) eats bacon, eggs and toast with butter and jam every morning.  He eats fried spam and corned beef hash.  He eats canned chili for lunch – do you know how much saturated fat is in a can of chili?  He makes fried eggs sandwiches for midday or late evening snacks.  He salts everything in sight.  His blood pressure and cholesterol are fine.  He drags trees home every day and chops them up.  He runs the dogs five times a day.   He’s tall and lean and doesn’t gain an ounce!   It just isn’t fair, God.  *Whine*. 

You can’t possibly love me as much as you love him.  You gave me terrible genes.  I can’t eat any of the things he eats.  If I even smell a piece of bacon frying, my butt starts to grow and the buttons on my jeans pop off under pressure.  I don’t eat bacon, I don’t eat eggs, and I definitely don’t eat spam.  *gags*.  I eat oatmeal, healthy cereal, non-fat and low fat everything.  I eat chicken breast.    

When it’s Allan’s turn to cook dinner, he fries pork chops and calls it sauté.  When it’s my turn to make dinner, he asks what kind of chicken breast I’m making.  Like I only make chicken breast or something?!  I don’t only make chicken breast!  I make um, uh, ah ...other things, too.  Yes, you blessed him with wit and a stupid good sense of humor, too. 

You, Dear Father, also have a good sense of humor, albeit a little cruel, I might add.  The joke fell flat.  You know that I love chocolate and candy and dessert in general.  But of course I can’t eat any of it because of my weight and high cholesterol – You went just a little too far.  Just sayin’, Father, a child knows when I’m she is not the favorite. 

Now, you wouldn’t want a child of yours to think that you’re partial, would you?  So here’s what I’m prepared to do; I’m going to give you the chance to make it up to me.  If you take it all back, and bless me with good genes too, I’ll forgive your cruel little joke and never mention it again.

Amen. 

(P.S., Happy Birthday, Allan!  I love you, and I’m very jealous happy that you have good genes!). 

Quit Complaining & Thank A Soldier!

My family is very supportive of my endeavor to get healthy, and even though I joke about my running abilities, they are behind me on that, too. But I complain – a lot!  And make fun of myself - a lot!  Sure, it’s mostly self-deprecating, but still....my family is totally behind me....

                             

When I first started to run, my son in law came to run with me on the two mile fun run with the Pikes Peak Road Runners on the first Saturday of every month.  He even let me beat him once – now that’s the kind of son-in-law everyone wants, but that’s not all. 

First of all, it’s very cold in Colorado Springs in the  wintertime.  Second, getting up at 6:00 a.m. for an 8:00 race is really early to get up on a Saturday morning, just to freeze your buns off (if I thought freezing your buns really worked.... oh, never mind!).  And third, he had lost his right calf and most of the bottom of his right foot to an IED in Iraq, so running was really difficult, not to mention painful, for him.  How can you run without foot pads?  The short answer is - you can’t.  Johnny broke his foot. 

When he got home from Iraq, he’d had many surgeries, and many attempts at saving the foot, and it just wasn’t working.  The foot became more of a hindrance than anything else, so it was decided that he could actually be more mobile, and more active, with a prosthetic foot.  He had it amputated last November, and has since gone through several new legs. 

Johnny never complains and just goes with the flow.  He works, goes to school, and takes good care of his family.  He’s a jack of all trades, and can do lots of things (except fishing – note the fishing lure in his left ear in the picture on the right – enough said about that). 

He makes the most of what he’s got, i.e, he’s going to be a pirate for Halloween, with a wooden peg leg, eye patch and sword.  Maybe even a stuffed parrot on his shoulder.  Oh, and maybe a "Yo Ho Ho and a bottle of rum!"  Any suggestions on the best kind of rum?  What would Captain Jack Sparrow drink?  Or Long John Silver?  "Rum, damn ye!"   It probably doesn't matter to either of them, and I'm getting off track. 

But, my point is this: WHAT THE HELL DO I HAVE TO COMPLAIN ABOUT?  Short answer?  Absolutely Nothing. 

I can’t wait for Johnny to get his ‘running leg’ so we can run together again.  I’m sure he’ll leave me in the dust, but I can live with that. 

P.S.  REMEMBER TO THANK A SOLDIER!

P.S.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JOHNNY!