Waaaaaaaaaaay back on April 19th, a group of super-awesome people converged on Edmonds to declare their allegiance to motorized sports. I had always been under the impression that it was my lack of endurance that prevented me from excelling at group sports; however, riding around in bumper cars that whiz around at 3-4 mph (faster than it sounds, really, on a court that isn’t huge, particularly since the cars lack brakes), I learned an important lesson: It is my lack of coordination that truly contributes to my overall suckitude. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Here is a description of the game, as ripped directly from the Whirlyball website: “Whirlyball is best described as a combination of Basketball, Hockey and Jai-Alai played while riding an electrically powered machine, similar to a bumpercar, called a WhirlyBug. Although the WhirlyBug resembles a bumpercar, it is a far superior machine. Quicker, stronger and far more maneuverable, the WhirlyBug powers you and your team down court in a five on five game. The objective is for each team to effectively pass the whiffle ball between team members and successfully toss the ball through the hole in the backboard of the opposing team. In one hand the player has a Jai-Alai style plastic scoop and in the other hand a steering crank. The ball being tossed around is a softball sized whiffle ball. At each end of the court there are vertically hung backboards with a 15 inch hole in the center. Behind the hole is a netted swing gate equipped with a buzzer or light to notify the referee when a score is made. “
I proved my sports mettle by near immediately dropping my scoop onto the court and, being midget-sized, could not pick it up with my wee-man arms. Then, I ran my whirlybug into a corner and struggled to get out, blocked a member of my own team, and ran over the ball. I became the ‘please don’t pass it to me’ girl. I think I would’ve been more aggressive about trying to play and less self-conscious had I known people out on the court; travelbothroads had injured herself playing football and didn’t want to aggravate the injury, la_roja and evillin sat out, and aelius27 and ravenmimura rotated out as I rotated in. After my humiliating performance, I decided to sit the rest of the games out, but ended up really enjoying watching everyone else. People ended up getting really into the game; you could tell someone was particularly invested when they began pumping their hips when they smacked their car into someone else to give it extra ‘ooomph’. Now that football season is almost over, we’ve decided that a return to Whirlyball is in order this summer, only this time, in post-apocalyptic costumes. We’re calling it WHIRLYBALL: BEYOND THUNDERDOME. Who is in?
Humans don’t have Squeedlyspooches!
v1c1ous has been training to hike up Rainier this year (higher than Anne and I went), and has thusly been taking hiking expeditions on the weekends. On Saturday, he decided to go up a trail on Rattlesnake Ridge, and I invited myself along, because that is what I do.
When Sean arrived, he asked if everyone had eaten breakfast so no one would get dizzy and pass out–because no one wanted to use their beautiful Saturday explaining over and over to the police why their once-vibrant friend was now a corpse impaled on a broken tree trunk about halfway down the mountain. I didn’t LIE and say I had eaten…but I also avoided answering the question. It’s not that I have a deathwish, but rather, since my surgery, it’s always a gamble as to how my body will react to my first meal of the day, and thus I tend to put it off as long as possible. It’s like playing an awful game of roulette, where 30% of the time I’ll win the big prize and get to feel like a normal human being, and the rest of the time varies wildly between cold sweats, nausea, shaking, and praying to the porcelain god. Of course, the longer I put it off, the worse my odds become, but I wanted to have fun with my friends without having to worry about being in the middle of a hike and all of a sudden having a desperate need to hug a toilet.
As usual, I traveled light. Some may call it ‘unprepared’. I call it Traveling With A Mind For Survivalist Adventure And Relying On Group Resources, also known as Flailing Girl Mooching From Others. This time I didn’t even bother to bring a camera, as the proprietary battery in my lighter camera wasn’t charged (DAMN YOU, NIKON!), and my DSLR weighs approximately as much as a small child.
I’m not going to lie to you. I could certainly be in better shape, there is no doubt about that. But at no point beforehand did I have even the slightest niggling thought that “Hey, maybe this will end badly.”
This is typical of the Mellzah experience. I am overconfident, overzealous, and a bad artist. (The below is from a different day of Hiking Fail, because I’m also bad at learning lessons.)
I was gung-ho about this. I was excited to be outside, excited to be with friends, and furthermore had some sort of asinine point to prove about how fatties aren’t bloated gastropods and could exercise out in the sunshine just like anyone else. Thus, I led the charge up the trail. I would like to note that occasionally, I can be wrong. Occasionally, I like to wave a big stick around without the proper ammunition to back it up.
I still maintain that I’m good at walks over distance, and much longer distance than the actual trail; what killed me on Saturday was the elevation. About halfway up, the backs of my legs started burning, and I fell to the back of the group. Shortly after that, I really started lagging. Shortly after that, I was overcome by the feeling that all of my muscles and internal organs were dancing a jitterbug inside my body in order to best express their rebellion against my cause, and their dancing caused me to begin to see spots. It was about this time that I informed the group that they were free to leave me behind to die the undignified death of a fatty who tried to pretend she could exercise, and once they returned from the top, if they could just roll my corpulent mass over the edge to be eaten by the squirrels and cockroaches, that would be swell.
Tristan was kind enough to wait with me whilst I regained control of my limbs, and we hiked the rest of the way to the top together. It was really, really beautiful.
Afterward, we all went back to the Fortress of Nerditude for a bbq, I managed to repel nearly everyone with a fruit salad, and I believe only one actual vegetable was present at the table, which by most counts constitutes a success. Even their raccoon came out from underneath the porch to visit for a while.
After dinner, I needed to scoot out pretty quickly so as to get home and shower before I was supposed to go see Dead Snow with mrsamedi. On the way home, my body let me know that thanks to my First Meal Of The Day, it had different plans, and that I was to spend the rest of my Saturday lying on the couch in a cold sweat with the room spinning around me.
I can’t wait until I can get a robot body. Seriously, guys. This is the last motherfucking zombie nazi movie this sack of meat, organs, and crap is going to make me miss.
Out of my way, I’m a motorist!
We have roving gangs of kids on scooters in my apartment complex. Actually, I think a scooter pops out of every mom’s womb between kid and afterbirth in the city of Kent. One of these kids left his prized possession/birthright out last night, and I decided I couldn’t resist the temptation to take it for a spin.
Anyone who happened to look out their window around 10:30 last night would’ve seen me careening around corners and jumping off of speed bumps. Frankly, I don’t care if people think I’m acting like I’m 7 instead of 27, that was ridiculously fun and if it’s still out there when I get home, I’m doing it again.
Now that the weather is cooperating, I plan to actually learn how to use my Heelies so that I may terrorize actual adults in grocery stores as I go whizzing down the aisles.