So I was laying in my girlfriend’s bed, slumbering away the few hours I actually had to sleep before another long work day, when my phone rang. Cue in the celestial sounds of me sitting straight up in bed cursing, earning an amused look from said girlfriend who was reading in bed, and scrambling to answer my phone. Now I know what you are thinking, having passed ESP in college and all, “why would you answer your phone if you only had a few, short hours to sleep?” Well my friends, I answered my phone because anyone calling me at that hour should know that I would be asleep, henceforth and therefore and any other word that has forth or fore in it, it must have been important. Granted I was silently cursing whomever would dare to wake me because that can be a dangerous act to do…Seriously, I treasure sleep like a desert creature treasures water…it’s so few and far between….le sigh.

Anyway, as I sleepily answered the phone, I heard the voice of Santa. Now, again, I know what you are thinking, “Santa? Really?” I am serious…it was Santa. Well, it was a man who looks so incredibly like Santa that that was how he was introduced to me as…in the middle of a heat wave in July at an Irish Fest…who has now become my adopted Iowa Dad…anyway……

Let that imagery soak in your mind for a moment….enjoy it….

Anyway, Santa is the one who recruited me in the wild world of Highland Games. For those who do not know anything about the Highland Games, it is an ancient and proud Scottish and Irish sport that requires the competitors to don kilts and toss around heavy stones, hay, the occasional keg, and a tree trunk. Well…the official names for each event are the Heavy Weight for Distance, Light Weight for Distance, Weight Over Bar, Open Stone, Braemer Throw, Caber, Light Hammer, Heavy Hammer, and the Sheaf throw.

For me it is really just an excuse to continue throwing heavy objects. It has been a passion of mine for the last ooooh 10-12 years? Give or a take a few injuries. I was a shot putter in college…anyway I digress.

Santa called me to tell me that I had been invited to a Highland Games Championship in Florida. Now, under normal circumstances, I would have been beyond excited and probably would have done some jumping, maybe a little jig, but my sleep addled mind was all, “Yup, yea, yup, awesome, totally excited, goodnight.” All monotone, all deadpan, and I was back in my warm comfy cocoon (the penguins hog the covers in my girl’s frigid house),

Cue 8 hours later when my conversation with Santa slowly trickled back into my sleep deprived mind and I realized that it wasn’t a dream. Oh god…..

So…yours truly will be heading out to Florida to throw with some of the best throwers in the country….

I’m doomed…haven’t worked out in months. >bangs head against desk<

I thought I had more time before my season restarted, and with a sprained ankle from a Kamikaze Cat and pulled upper back muscles from another killer cat, I had let my workouts fall to the wayside. Doesn’t help I was averaging 85 hours a week between my two jobs…but those are excuses.

So now I’m heading back into the gym. This would be day two of getting back into it and my body is calling me names I dare not repeat…they are just horrible and I shall not subject your poor eyes to the horror.no no nonononono……. Tomorrow marks the start of two-a-days, where I get to visit the gym twice a day for the next 3 and a half weeks in order to whip some kind of shape into my lazy ass. Frickin-A

The next few weeks are going to hurt. But hey, Florida, and a championship. Guess I am doing something with my life besides sitting around wondering what I’m going to do next. Adventures, new people, new foes and naysayers to strike fear into!…..

Yea, I’m not buying it either. But it looks to be fun and part of the trip is paid for so really I have no reason not to go. Plus, there will be other amazing throwers to watch and be in awe of, and that in itself is worth the trip. I just hope I don’t die from the cold I will get when I return back from sunny sunny Florida…to frigid Iowa…..

It’s a good thing that karma threw me a bone with my girlfriend (…dang do you kiss your mother with that dirty mind?). If I didn’t move to Iowa I wouldn’t have met her, and let’s be real here…I’m head over heels, so sickening even I need to get dentures from the ridiculous sweetness, in love. I just wish she could go with me…le sigh. But I’m happy to have stuck around in Iowa, because hey, Florida wooooooot.

But this is my life in all of it’s random glory…the New Yorker who moved to Iowa, was homeless, then found a home and then was jobless, then found a job, then 4 then 2, then 1 and back to 2, who met Santa the first week she was in Iowa, throws stones around for fun, falls in love, and takes off to Florida for a weekend.

Randomness is my life, how about you? And don’t think that dirty thought you had a minute ago won’t land you on the naughty list. I have Santa on speed dial.