Monday Bacon: Prizes

 

prizes

2nd Place Prize. Absolutely stunning and something I’ll always treasure.

If you’ve known me for more than 10 minutes, you know I love prizes. I love giving them, I love getting them. I’ve written about them before. Small or large, it doesn’t matter. Just the idea that someone was thinking of you and took a spare moment or two to show you. Kind of like mailing a handwritten letter, I still do that. I like getting handwritten letters too but it does seem to be an old fashioned form of communication. One happy thing about the interwebz is that most of our bills now are delivered online so at least the only mail I receive aren’t just bills. It’s junkmail. But not bills so I’ll take it.

Anyways. Prizes.

Whenever Matt comes home from faraway lands, he usually brings some prizes. It could be a sticker for our equipment boxes; some booze that we know is a must to tide us by for the long winter ahead (or at least until he goes back to Finland again which is December soooooo, we get to drink up that Minttu. GiddyUp) He doesn’t always bring back prizes, I mean, there are only so many fresh Dates you can eat from Dubai (which are fucking delicious by the way) but his month on the road to some of our favorite destinations brought in quite a haul…

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Prizes from Russia and Finalnd. More KLM houses, Karl Frazer chocolates (my favorite); and the coolest little pack of shot glasses for my equipment box nestled in a leather pouch from Russia. Minttu regular and Minttu Black plus one star Jaloviina. Winter hats for the kids, first class travel packs (we have a gazillion but you never know when you need a weird pair of socks, an eye mask, and a toothbrush) and a bottle of Vitamin C which isn’t really a prize.

I’ve put off writing about the prizes in Scotland mainly because this is the last topic I have to write about the trip and I’m still mushy enough about it all to not want to completely let it go. But the prizes were completely off the hook and overwhelming. First off, months ago, Karyn Dallimore sent a quick note out asking for my Jacket size. My what? That’s a little random but I hadn’t met Karyn yet and since this was my first World Championships, I hadn’t experienced her not-so-little custom. What did she need my jacket size for??? Uhhhhh, THIS!

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My new MWC pullover, an amazing prize from Karyn Dallimore. Yes, there’s chalk all over it. What else would I wear when I’m out throwing??

But hey ya know what? That was only the tip of the iceburg. SRSLY.

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The funny thing is there is already a lot missing from this picture. Assume that when you put a small bottle of Scotch in each swag bag it won’t last long enough to be in the prize picture…true story. The Minion gummies were hilarious. The first bag was from my Flat mate Melanie who handed them to me and said, ‘I know you’re probably not going to eat these but I saw them and thought of you.’ Soooo awesome!!!! I got the second bag the next day on the field from Champ Mona who said, ‘I know you’re not going to eat these but we saw them and knew you had to have them.’ So adorable.  The Canadia eh? flag is another favorite and I’ve been fighting off my daughter for that and the Maple Leaf headphones. The maple suckers are long gone and what you can’t see is a small charm with a wee one holding a caber. Two pins, one from my favorite Indiana fellow Master’s thrower Dawn Higgins and a MWC pin. Both are staying off the kilt until I get in some pin keepers back locksto make them stay put. I lost my Women’s Heavy Athletics pin on the field at some point in Scotland and was kind of LeSad about that. I didn’t even notice until I was talking with Judge Steph Stewart (who I didn’t even KNOW was in Scotland until late into Sunday night at the Tastle Cavern) and she suggested I get those to avoid losing pins in the future. Thanks again Steph! (I’m actually pretty proud I even remember that conversation;)

The pink bag held a few treats and an awesome key chain in it was a prize for each of us in our group from German thrower Meike whose daughter actually put these together for each of us! How freeking adorable is that! What treasure! A cowboy sized belt buckle; various YES prizes from the locals; a Caber car decal; medals and very cool Games shirts which are of course all cut up now but one will go in the gym…or at least parts of it.

The kilt patches are a treasure and though I put in a valiant effort to sew them on, on my own, I threw in the towel and brought them to our seamstress for help. But here’s an idea of what mine will look like…

prizespatches

…PLUS a Clevenger Sheafs patch! Matt’s is similar minus the Arnold and Pilot patches.

Even after all that I KNOW I’m still missing some prizes. OH! Nessie! It’s not like we can leave Inverness without a little memento of Neessie,

prizesnessie

We actually had stopped at the Whisky shop on our way out of the city but it wasn’t open yet and we chose not to wait the 10 minutes or so until it did to bring home Whisky prizes. (The fact that I was having a hard time with a massive Whisky hangover may have contributed to that;) So we stopped in a shop next door and looked for a shot glass to bring home for a friend who collects them and didn’t have one from Scotland. We found this solid shot glass with cute little Nessie on it for her and continued on to the airport. Well, in between the store and the airport, we decided to keep the glass and get her another one. And I’m glad we did (don’t worry, the one we found Jasmine was pretty cool.)

Even with that I STILL know I’m missing prizes. It’s like a prize extravaganza!! But with all that said, nothing beats the most important prizes of all…

prizespeople

…new friends. Sharing this all with them.

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I’m just going to get all the use I can out of this picture;)

Crazy flights with awesome International Games Throwers and their wives.

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Memories that will hopefully stay with us all for a very, very long time.

And always, post throwing snuggles…

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HEY! Talk about prizes, see that awesome ballcap Matt is wearing. Well, his skin doesn’t really like the sun but he forgot his hat at home and we didn’t find one during quick browsing at Tesco so Grant Oliver, Mona’s awesome guy, handed Matt this hat and said,  ‘take it, I have an extra.’ Not only is it an awesome cap, but just so selfless and thoughtful (that’s Grant. An amazing man.)

Prizes. We haz them…and then some. And I am so thankful for each and every one.

Blessed are they who have the gift of making friends, for it is one of God’s best gifts.

Thomas Hughes 

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Smörgåstårta aka AAF

smorsgabord

The smörgåstårta is a Scandahoovian dish, part sammich/part cake. Made with layers of cream and meat/cheese/fruit.

There’s a reason I stay off strength forums and stay away from watching training videos, usually because they are filled with so much nut swinging/misinformation/ignorance/shitty form grandstanding that it burns my eyes. Matt is much better at sifting through them quickly and giving me a heads up on the latest moronic statement or video. I’ve been a good girl most of the Highland Games season and just stay focused on my clients and my training/throwing. But as summer turns to fall and the weather changes, things are starting to slow down with the Games (only two left) and I’ve noticed on the worldwide some AAF (annoying as fuck) little habits of the silly strength population.

So here, in no particular order…

Squat: There are a few different ways to raw squat with a barbell. High bar; low bar; front squat; overhead squat. We don’t “goblet squat” here. If there’s a reason you can’t put a bar on your back or your delts or overhead, I’d address it then. Air squats are fine, they’re fun. I enjoy the pump of a good air squat volume day (ya, I said volume day with air squat.) But if you have a “coach” who will ONLY high bar or ONLY low bar, move on. Being stubborn to an overused/underproven ideal doesn’t make you a good coach, it makes you a bad democrat. (Heeeheee, got that one in too.) If I read one more squat video comment where someone says, ‘ya butt they’d lift moar if they used high bar/low bar’ I’ll quit the internet. True story. It’s old. It’s tired. It’s boring. There are many reasons why one or the other may be best for an individual, we figure that out as we go along. If something is chronically hurting because your coach refuses to adjust squat style to the point that you feel the need to quit, quit. They’re bad news to begin with. We can’t just say, ‘you’re not doing it good enough’ or ‘you need to stick with it to see improvement.’ Can’t. Don’t put up with that. It’s bad advice and clearly your coach DOESN’T KNOW HOW to fix you. Move along. Which brings me to another common sight that seems to be completely common (but not normal, there’s a difference):

Injuries:  I am amazed at how many times I see the same people over and over again re-setting due to injuries. No, they’re not professional athletes who put their bodies through such rigorous madness for a paycheck, they’re just dude’s and dudette’s in the gym. Seriously, if you can look back and identify 5 training injuries in the last two years or so without actually stepping up to a platform or a field or an arena of some sort what the fuck are you doing? Why is being constantly injured acceptable to you? Going beastmode on the YouTube really doesn’t have any payoff, at least to smart people. I hear WAYyyyy to often of people who have been injured by a deadlift session who decide then that they can’t deadlift. Uhhhhh, people in their 80’s deadlift, so can you. Could it be, ohhhhhIdunno, that your programming or your technique needs work? Yes, yes it could be. Could it be more fun to bitch and moan about injuries? I dunno, I hate not feeling 100%. Hate. It. So to stick to a form (see Squat above) or programming that is clearly not serving you well blows my mind. Yet there will be those who will and will love talking on the interwebz about current injuries. If ever there was an appropriate time for a face palm, this is it.

Food: Uh oh, bring on the religious zealotry of food. If you have a coach who tells you to cut out a macronutrient, run away. HEY! Ya know why body builders are so good at dieting (besides being completely Exorcist style possessed about it)? Because the good ones have figured out their perfect equation for FAT; PROTEIN; and CARBOHYDRATES. All three, working together maximizing lots (too much IMO) of training; cardio; and drugs. Yes, drugs. No, not all BB’s take drugs, but if they say they don’t they’re lying. But not really (mostly though.) Finding that balance that burns fat along with a shit ton of training and steriods have amazing results. If you don’t want to do all the training, then results will be less than a BB. If you don’t want to do the drugs, then don’t wonder why you’re not looking like those that do. If you don’t want to figure out the diet, then don’t wonder about anything. One of the biggest disservices I did to my body as I wandered into my 40’s is try to cut out Carbs constantly. It made me fatter, and fatter, and right now fattest. (Eating even 80 grams of Carbs in one day still freaks me out and that’s not very much, that’s how brainwashed I’ve been.) If you have a male coach in their 30’s who take additional testosterone (but doesn’t tell you) and tells you that if you cut out Carbs you’ll be more lean than you ever were in your 20’s and 30’s run away. It tells you that they don’t know how to deal with the hormonal profile of a pre-menopausal or outright menopausal woman. Think of stoking an older wood burning stove in Northern Minnesota all winter with old curtains. Uhhhh, sure it may burn a bit, but not optimally and you’ll probably fuck up your stove to the point of having to throw it out. Don’t do that. Your body needs wood in the form of fat, protein, AND carbs. If someone else wants to delete a Macro, let ’em. Just don’t play along ESPECIALLY if you’re a woman moving into 40’sLand. Just don’t.

smorsgabord1

Use Your Words: The surge of gyms using barbells in the last 10 years is a good thing. I learned how to use Barbells more efficiently and effectively as a result of hitting a CrossFit Barbell cert and I’m thankful for it. What I DIDN’T do; however; is believe I’m something I’m not. Showing up in the gym for a few years didn’t make me elite; or advanced; or a subject matter expert; or even a Coach. You can’t throw these words around just because you show up. I really have no idea why it’s not good enough for people to be dedicated to go to the gym week after week, month after month, year after year. You are taking care of your body (hopefully); you are enjoying the camaraderie of others and maybe even meet a mate out of the deal. Why isn’t that good enough? Why do you have to be told you’re an advanced anything to keep coming back? Do you know how many people who call themselves Elite have no idea what an Elite Total is? SRSLY. WTF! It reminds me of a very lovely person in my life who can never just say “My child is smart.” Or “I love my child.” They always have to say “I love my child UNCONDITIONALLY” or “My child is BRILLIANT.” Jesus, is your child so farking insecure that they can’t just be good? Good is good. It’s not bad. It’s the adult version of a participation medal. If you feel the need to have sunshine blown up your arse each training session don’t come here. It won’t happen. You’ll be given a good job, or nice work, or atta boy. We celebrate good work, but we don’t feel the need to make up our own meaning to words that already exist to over inflate your low self esteem. Be happy with good, it may lead you down a path of better or if you’re lucky, best.

General v. Specific: JHMFCOAPS, for the last time. Strength training gives us general strength. Sport Specific practice gives us specific skills. I’m not going to squat any differently because one way has the “best carryover to an open stone.” I squat because it makes me strong enough to apply more force to a stone and make it fly. I practice the stone throw because even though I’m strong, it’s not flying and I need to hammer in the technique to make it do so. I do that in the field, not the gym. I can run drills in the gym, but then I can’t say I’m squatting. See how that works? I snatch and clean and jerk A) cuz it’s fun for me and 2. because it helps me stay explosive which will help in various Highland Games events. I don’t do a WOB Snatch. It doesn’t exist. I want to be strong. I want to be explosive. I want to throw far. In order to do that I need to strength train; train the Snatch & Clean and Jerk; and PRACTICE THE THROWS!!! Ya, I totally just yelled that. If I hear, “well you should squat this way because it has the most carry over to ‘X” I’m going to barf. SRSLY, I’m dry heaving over here just thinking about it.

Here’s an honorable mention, Patience: I get tired of people who want greatness right now. Really, really tired. And ya know what? Sometimes I’m guilty of it. Last year I wanted to get my Light Weight for Distance throw to where I consistently threw 50’+. I’d have to look but I think my PR for last year was 49’11.5″. Bummer. The second half of this season, I consistently (minus World’s, that thing wasn’t flying for anyone) throw 60’+. I want 70′. I want it now. But since I only have two games left, I’m thinking it’s not going to happen this year. So, more practice and more time in the box. I need to be patient and remember where I started almost two years ago. We need to put in our time, pay our dues. Some may find success sooner than others, that’s life dude. Be patient; work hard; stick with it; stay positive, enjoy it all.

Before all else, enjoy it all.

Vegetarians, and their Hezbollah-like splinter faction, the Vegans…are the enemy of everything good and decent in the human spirit.

Anthony Bourdain

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Monday Bacon: Confidence

blankies

Sports teaches us many things. How to be a team player, even when there are idiots on your team who drive you crazy. How to succeed and not be a dick. How to lose and not be a dick. How to fulfill a commitment, even when it’s hard. I’ve always believed one of the best things a parent could do to build character was make their children walk into a batter’s box.

No, not one with a little T on it, a real one. Where an honest to goodness peer is perched up high on the pitching mound and it’s just you and he or she. One of you will succeed, one of you will fail. Guaranteed. There is none of this “agree to disagree/everyone’s a winner” bullshit when a pitcher and a batter are involved. Either you get a hit, you win (yes, you may not reach the base, but the first battle was won) or you don’t, they win. Every time.

When the Oz man played baseball in Texas, we were exposed to the most intense league of sports parents on the planet. This was 4th grade baseball and it was not uncommon to hear the parents yelling at their kids after a game that they probably just lost out on scholarships with “that kind of play.” W!T!Ffffffffffffff! When one parent started yelling at Oscar in the batters box, I quickly (and loudly) spoke up. No, no. That’s not how we roll. Don’t coach my kid, he HAS coaches and you’re not it. Do you know this man was actually OFFENDED that I told him to STFU? His response? “Well if you’d get in there and coach him some, he’d do better.” ORLY? Me: I’m not doing this with you here. He has coaches, you’re not it. Do not ever yell at my son again. He didn’t and although one of the coaches actually thanked me later, I didn’t make many friends with the other parents. I was heartbroken about it.

But not really.

Oz had a rough season that year, truth be told, he does not (or didn’t back then) have the competitive drive hot enough for Texas baseball. This was something he did for fun. But by god every game, he’d have the confidence to step into that batter’s box and I was proud of him for it.

Oz has always marched to the beat of his own drum. He’s never been a jeans guy, always BDU’s. One day he came home from school quite salty because some kids were teasing him about wearing BDU’s (and no, I didn’t want to beat the teasing kids up. Good lord people, kids tease. Yes, there are rare instances where it goes way too far, but mostly it’s just part of growing up. Teach your kid to deal with it and move on) and Oz didn’t like it. My reply? ‘You choose to wear BDU’s. If you want to fit in better and wear what everyone else is just tell me and we’ll go shopping. If not, then you’re going to have to own it and move on.”

And he did. Dude has confidence. Now being in 8th grade, 6’2 and 210 he’s showing even more confidence. Proud Ma over here.

In general, I do not enjoy being around people who lack confidence. We can spot them a mile away. They’ll do anything or say anything to cut other people down or mess with them. It may be subtle or outright shit talk but it screams of low confidence and no thank you. A person who is not comfortable with themselves is dangerous, in my mind. They will pretend to be your friend, or maybe even WANT to be your friend but not know how to go about it without selling you out at some point.

Know it all’s, a sure sign of low self confidence because, actually…if you DID know it all, you wouldn’t have to shout it from the rooftops. People who are comfortable in their own skin are a joy to be around. Now, do we all have things we’d like to change/improve/fix about ourselves? Probably. That’s a good thing. Keeping high standards on ourselves means we’re not content with anything holding us back from being the greatest “us” we can be.

I will run away as fast as I can from someone who lacks confidence. That constant need to be filled from the outside from others. The constant need to talk as if they’re better than others. Uck. That energy is so draining and just sad. No thank you.

Own your good, own your shit. If you don’t know how, get help. If you don’t want to cuz you like being the prom queen at your pity party, just stay away from me. You won’t like me anyway, I’m harsh and all cussy and bossy. But I’ll own it. And if you want to lay your crap out when I’m around or come at my hubby, don’t be surprised when I don’t play well with you. I won’t care.

True story.

It’s a dead-end street if you sit around waiting for someone else to tell you  you’re okay.

Delirious

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Friday Jams: Fooked

fooked

He means, “give a fook,”

Out of my very limited European travels, Scotland is by far my favorite. Yes, we were throwing stuff with good friends; taking advantage of the Malt O the Month at the Cavern; hanging with some of the coolest folks on the planet, and in general having a blast. But there were many highlights that were unique just to Inverness and I don’t want to let them go unnoticed…

The Castle. The current structure was built in 1836; however; there have been Castle’s on this site since 1057. Yup. We were spoiled rotten by having the Castle right up the hill from the front door of our flat (by the way, if you’re ever traveling anywhere? Have Stephanie Lathrop figure out your housing, she’s the foshizzle.) On Saturday evening, the fog that rolled in wrapped around the Castle and gave it a very cool, spooky feel:

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Talk about cool scenery, the back side of our flat was home to the Glen Mohr hotel with a beautiful river Ness view. On Thursday evening, while we were walking back from the grocery store (which, by the way, we rode a Taxi to because we didn’t know where it was. Turns out it was down a block, across the river, and walk another 1/2 block. Our cab total was almost three pounds. A wee bit embarrassing. We walked back. Obviously.)

Anyways. It was a beautiful, warm pre-fall evening; we had breakfast and snacks for a few days and felt as if we were finally settling in when I turned around and saw this,

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Oh man, we’re in Scotland. This is amazing.

Our walks to the field each day was something I treasured. The first day was all four of us gals, Melanie; Staci; Steph and I went together and after that it was just Stephanie and I. Anticipation; excitement; nerves; make sure Jules doesn’t get hit by a car cuz I don’t know which way to look even though Stephanie has told me many times.  The usual. The Inverness foot bridge; sometimes Fishermen in the water; sometimes just ducks. On day 2, we ran into a older man on the side of the river who struck up conversation (OH! before I forget, on day 1 we almost stepped on a pair of men’s underwear with a ginormous shit sitting a top them. I’m sorry I didn’t get a picture for you.)

Anyways. The old man by the river. He told us he was a Gillie. We said, ‘a whut?’ A Gillie, ya know, he watches the fisherman and helps them in case they catch a 30# Salmon or in case they get caught in the river and get in trouble. Another meaning for Gillie is ‘servent’ so we were constantly on the lookout the rest of the weekend for our own Gillie. Matt and Bret did great in their new roles. Heeehee.

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Me and the Gillie on the way to the park on Saturday morning.

Pretty cool eh? He had one man up river and one man slightly down river. On our way back to the flat, via the hotel pub stop on the way, there were more fishermen in the river:

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Our Gillie wasn’t seen but we knew there was one around somewhere. OH! On this day during the walk home I ran down to the river’s edge and skipped a rock for Nessie. That was fun.

Our walk back to the flat (post beer tent) each afternoon included a stop mid-way at a hotel bar. I’ve already mentioned the funeral party we crashed on day one. Day two was a bit more quiet but we met Hans, the East Berlin German who went on to win the Championship in his class.

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Hans, even with limited English, is friendly; knowledgeable, and has a gym in East Berlin where (hopefully) we’ll go train in December when we go to Berlin for holiday/work (me holiday, Matt work.) Hans’ wife is Polish and we talked about all the delicious Polish food that Matt grew up with and Hans says, “Yes, you come train and we go eat Polish food.” Uhhhh, Okay!!!

OH! Talk about big, foreign guys. So there were a couple of throwers that even Matt had to look up to. One was a Dutchie, a happy Dutchie, of course. During lunch on Saturday, Matt was standing up when Wulbert (a.k.a. Big Dutchie) walked into the food tent, beelined over to Matt and a staredown ensued…

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But he’s a happy Dutchie, so not really…

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Which, by the way, brings us to our Friday Jams. I heard this song on our local college radio station and fell in love with it. I had no idea what they were saying, but it was fun. It’s on my playlist and we jammed to it during the WOB in Scotland.

I knew the band was Dutch but still wondered what they were singing aboot. Until Wulbert. See, we wrapped up Scotland with the festive flight of a lifetime…

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We had a World Champion, four more ginormous throwers, two wives (Wulbert’s wife is an amazing artist. She drew a picture of him holding the Caber and they had a kilt pin made out of it. Amazing. Hans’ wife is the cute blond with the big smile, a very nice woman.)

Anyways. Wulbert was standing up in the aisle stretching when I called him over and had him listen to my Amsterdam Klezmer Band song to make sure it WAS a Dutch song. First off, yes, Op Je Hoede means Beware which makes me love the song even more. By the way, this kind of music isn’t his favorite. Heh.

During our festive flight with big men walking all around the plane, Hans turned around and started talking to me. I don’t remember how exactly we got on the subject but we ended up talking about my WOB. He said that he was watching me and saw what I was doing wrong. I say, TELL ME!

Turns out it was a timing thing. I got in the middle of the aisle, Hans holding my hand down until the right time to actually jump and release and I had a total AhHaaaa moment:

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Amazing. Absolutely amazing.

The best part of Inverness and the weekend and the throwing and the friends and festivities though? Saying ‘That’s fooked’ about 4,000 times a day. True story. It’s a good thing I don’t have to go to confession cuz that alone would be around a million hail Mary’s. The Scottish accent is absolutely fabulous. There were a couple of times a judge would say something to me and I was all, “HUH?”

OH! A couple of honorable mentions: When we were done shopping on Thursday and heading to the Cavern for lunch, we stopped at a red light before crossing (I really have no idea where you’re supposed to look. Cars were coming from every angle it seemed.) I looked at the first car at the light and it was Terri and LarryVentress. Oh heyyyyyy! Also, running into our Wisconsin and Minnesota and Illinois friends constantly around town and the field was an absolute treat. Comforting really. Stepping on the field the first day or two brought on new nerves, but there would be Rhett Bobzien, one of my favorite local throwers just doing his thing and I was able to settle down and say, okay Jules. A trig is a trig. Just throw. ANY time I would pass flat mate Melanie Mellinger and our other mate Staci brought smiles and hugs. Seeing Dawn Higgins all around town and the field along with Sue and Ruth. Finally meeting Karyn Dallimore and watching her in action (I wish I had half the energy she does.) Running into Merl Lawless on airplanes and pubs and it seemed everywhere (except when I was actually looking for him to meet up on Sunday with Hoss.)

The whole thing was a fookin’ blast and am so thankful for it. Thankful enough that when I missed by last WOB on Sunday and was done for the weekend, enveloped in my hubby’s arms, I got incredibly teary. This was probably one of the most thrilling events of my life; throwing in Scotland.

Fookin’ grand.

I admit I’m being paid well, but it’s no more than I deserve. After all, I’ve been screwed more times than a hooker.

Sean Connery

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