Mario is that you?

While Bianca cleans up from running through the mud, Winter will continue with yet another story of searching for her frog prince…..

One day at work Winter received an email from two new PFGs (Potential Fairy Godmothers), telling her they had a fresh prince prospect; and this one came with a picture and a hot bod! Winter was pleased to hear the PFGs had done some of their homework and were gushing over the prospect’s pic with unanimous seals of approvals.

Winter ripped into the email as soon as it came through, opened the attachment, and was pleasantly surprised to find a shirtless hunk of man meat standing in the ocean smiling back at her. OMG this guy looked like Mario Lopez in his early 30’s (minus the “Slater” mullet and hyper-color muscle tee).

A smile stretched across Winter’s face…Good body – check! Athletic build – check! Cute smile – check! Score! So he had the looks, but did he have game? Although only one of the PFGs had met Mario in a tipsy stupor, she had developed quite the crush on him. But was she just seeing him through beer goggled glasses? No, no…the proof was in the picture….and this picture had a 6 pack with great dimples.

Additionally, one of Mr. Lopez’s friends had advised the PFGs that Mario and Winter had a lot in common with running and enjoying being active.

The PFGs and Winter decided that Mario Lopez definitely deserved a chance- and it was arranged that Winter would meet her potential prince at bar LOM for cocktails.
Upon arrival, Winter ordered a round for herself and the 2 PFGs (who were there as emergency back-ups).

“Winter, I think he’s here, in the corner, OMG, I think that’s him” said the PFG unsure.

“Well what’s the verdict? Does he look like his picture? Are you sure its Mario?” questioned Winter.

“Uhhh…I think so” the other PFG screeched, “It’s him and he’s coming this way!”
Winter felt her stomach drop and her face flush, as she took a deep breath, planted a smile on her face and spun around to meet Mario Lopez….

Well Mario was taller than she anticipated, but he was also 10 years older, 20 pounds lighter, and very straight laced.

As Winter started talking with Mario Lopez, the PFGs look on while they feverishly sucked down their cocktails. This guy was not letting Winter come up for air, and the introductions were more like an interrogation or a military intimidation tactic.

“How fast do you run a mile? What is the furthest you have run? Where do you run? How many times do you work out a week? How often do you drink?... I’m not a drinker. What do you do?

AGGGGGGGGGGH as the questions piled on, he finally took a break, backed off, and headed over to his friend…the PFGs took the opportunity to run over.

“Do you need to be saved? It looks painful.” The PFGs sighed.

“All I can say is, he is NO Mario Lopez, he is more like Mario Lopez’s DAD! I’d rather have the teen-age A.C. Slater than deal with this guy!”

At that moment it was decided that Winter needed an escape route. A hand signal was determined, and another round was ordered. Winter slowly started creeping away from the game of 20 questions and flashed the hand signal that it was time to exit. As a group, the PFGs and Winter approached Mario Lopez, said good bye, and walked out the door without looking back.

Lesson for the day….when obtaining potential prince pictures, ask them to hold a newspaper with today’s date or at least time stamp that sucker. As Winter learned, pictures do lie and judging this book by its cover was no help. Mario Lopez was just another frog in this princess’s story tale.

6-Pack or Tall Boy,

Bianca and Winter

One more round...mudslide please!

Dirty, filthy, hot and sweaty…get your mind out of the gutter...I’m simply describing the annual Camp Pendelton Mud Run that Winter and I run. Unlike other 10Ks, the Mud Run is full of obstacles, mud (duh), fire hoses, streams, slippery hills, and young men in uniform. This year the course was much more enjoyable for me to run, mostly due to the fact that this time I was sober. Let me take you back to the first mud run that we ran…

I had the Friday off before our Saturday 7am run and that doesn’t include the 5:00 AM wake up call, the military doesn’t mess around, so I decided to meet one of my guy friends…we’ll call him Jose…for “lunch”. Jose was picking the place and selected a local bar; this did raise a red flag in my mind, but against my better judgment I went anyways.

There sitting not at the table, but bellied up to the bar, was Jose. He had a devilish grin as he greeted me and as I went to hug him, my hand returned to me with an iced cold Coors lt. (hey, he works for the company…this is not my favorite beer).

“Just what is this?” I asked. “Oh come on Bianca…it’s F*ck’n noon, it’s F*ck’n summer and it’s an F*ck’n Friday…relax” smirked Jose. (I feel I should also note that the most common words in Jose’s vocabulary are “F*ck” and “F*ck’n”) Reluctantly I sighed, “ok but Just this one.”

My teeny tiny bladder never holds up long so I got up to use the ladies room and much to my surprise when I returned, there in plain sight, right in front of my bar stool laid a shiny, new ice cold silver bullet. “Jose you’ve got to be kidding me!” I shrieked. “Bianca…it’s not even F*ck’n one and it’s a light beer. You just ate, now just drink your free beer, f*ck” said Jose. “Ok, fine…but this is it…no more!” I asserted sternly.

Fast forwarded to 4 beers later as I stumble out of the bathroom. “Those beers are really starting to add up,” I thought “I’m telling Jose I’m leaving and what the????”...there on the bar counter was 2 vodka-crans and two shots of something that screamed “I’m-gonna-F-Bianca-up.”

“JOSE! Seriously…I have to run a 10K tomorrow” I yelled as I punched his shoulder. “Bianca, this is it, I f*ck’n promise. Let’s just cheers with these drinks and then you can go” he stated innocently.

Fast-forward to 3 cocktails, 3 shots, and me now seriously shit-canned later. I knew what I had to do…I had to call Winter and have her come pick me up ASAP. “Heeeeyaaa Winter” I slurred. “Oh my god, you’re drunk!” she screeched, “I’m gonna kill Jose! I don’t care how wasted you are, you will be running in this race with me tomorrow! ”

Winter arrived hydrated and sober and didn’t set foot in the bar, pulled up for a quick getaway, and threw my drunken butt in the car but not before she gave Jose her best death stare. At 5 a.m. she woke me up with a bottle of water and a couple of vitamin B12s. “I have a feeling this is too little too late, but it’s the best I can do to help you” Winter sighed. “I feel fine” I noted seriously as I tumbled out of bed still lacking balance… “Ok well maybe I feel fine because I’m still drunk, but it’s all good.”

Winter made me some breakfast, but the smell of the english muffin alone was enough to make me queasy. “This is bad” I thought to myself. As we arrived at the starting line the fuzziness in my head was soon replacing itself with painful throbs and frequent trips to the handy porta potties were a must, was it nerves or the booze still leaving my body? “At least it’s overcast” said Winter cheerfully. The start shot rang, along with my pounding headache, and off into the 6 mile mud course we went.

Suddenly the sun made its grand entrance and all I could think was “F*ck!...F the sun, F Coors lt…and F Jose!” After about 2 miles, I thought maybe I could muster up the strength to finish this thing with a little dignity…but then there was the hill…and not just any hill, but the mother of all hills…the altitude actually changes 3 times during this hill….and the military affectionately calls it “Suicide Hill”, at that moment I knew it was only a matter of time before dignity would be no more than a mere memory.

As Winter and I began our way up, the distance between us kept growing. She turned around to wait, but I waved her on. I swore no matter how slow I had to pace, that I would keep running. And run I did…even with hurling and christening the course over 4 times, pleading with the men in uniform to lift me over the 5 foot wall instead of me having to climb it, and cursing so much I would make a sailor blush…I completed that dang course.

Winter met me at the finish line and couldn’t help but laugh as she saw me cross in all my hung-over glory. The moral of this story is simple…never think you are strong willed enough to have just one drink before a race…but more importantly if you do…never make that drink a Coors lt.

Run or Stumble through It

Bianca and Winter