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Author: admin | Category: Armband Tattoos | 06.05.2016

But the darnedest thing of all is that I haven't actually seen my tattoo since Shannon, my tattoo artist, finished me up and said, "You're good to go, darlin'". So out of fear of a tall, heavily tattooed gentleman breaking into my house and yelling at me for peeking, I've satisfied my urge to "look" by admiring the picture I took of my tat with my iPod Touch at the parlor.
But I have to be honest guys, I will not be able to run for about a week and the idea of not being able to run filled me with so much anxiety that I could not fall asleep last night. I had an outside run scheduled after work last night since global warming is providing us with the most delightful winter ever, but when we found out the tattoo shop closed at 8, I skipped my run so I could make sure we could permanently mark my body before we met our friends for dinner. But, like a woman truly devoted to her craft, I did a Pilates DVD late last night to make sure I got in at least some form of physical activity. I actually went to the tattoo parlor over the weekend, my little Hermes wings idea in hand and was prepared to leave with a new piece of body art.
Within a span of 5 minutes, conversation went from the evils of flu shots to how awesome Ron Paul is and somewhere in between all of that I got tattooed.
But listening to their political debate (in a tattoo parlor that had a neon sign in the window in the shape of a sperm that said "Cum in") kept me relaxed and not so focused on any discomfort I was feeling.
I was very pleased with the finished product and I can't wait to admire it later tonight (P.S. While I was sitting in a black leather chair waiting to get started and shivering like a chihuahua, I suddenly had the most vivid memory of when I was 17 years old, driving my old 96' white Plymouth Neon in the summertime with the windows rolled down.
Maybe my mind was flooded with that memory because being 17 years-old in my car, the car I bought with my own part-time job money, were some of the most care-free days of my entire life. Maybe my tattoo symbolizes a tiny rebellion, or a brief foray back to the same crossroads of my youth where I had the power to make my life anything I wanted it to be.
Leave it me to make mountains out of molehills and make my dinky tattoo such an earth-shatteringly big deal.
I was already down for the count two weeks ago when I was on my death bed with a raging cold, so my running was just recently forced to the back burner while my body "healed" and "rested" and did other stupid things that were a huge waste of time.


I promised myself I'd get a good run in on the treadmill later that night; I would simply wrap the dickens out of my newly inked foot. I can't have socks rubbing on the tattoo or wear constricting shoes that suffocate the wound while it heals. When he was working directly over a nerve it was a lot more uncomfortable than I thought it would be, but did it ever hurt?
Shannon said that when I left the shop the first time, his assistant said I would never come back.
I don't know why I began thinking about that time in my life or why it was such a strong recollection, but I couldn't get it out of my head the entire time I was getting my tattoo. At 17 years of age, the whole world is literally laid out for you, beckoning you to take any route you please.
I'm considerably more bada$$ already!) I will be allowed to remove the bandage tonight after Salsa class so I can clean it (read: have CLAYTON be the one to wash off the plasma and bloody goo the instructions said are inevitably seeping from the tattoo) and start letting it air out. According to Shannon, in all of his infinite tattooing wisdom, the skin located on that particular place of the ankle is naturally very wrinkly and creases with movement.
In the world of commemorative running tattoos, Hermes wings were incredibly cliche and I certainly did not want to be that unoriginal. I determined how big I wanted it and where it would sit on my foot, and then I went out searching for one more detail I could add that would truly make it my own.
More so then pain, I had a million concerns about hepatitis and other icky, needle-y diseases.
Rather, Clayton and Shannon got into a lengthy discussion about how flu shots might actually be a government conspiracy and their widespread, encouraged use was wildly reminiscent of the book 1984. Clay stood back behind the front counter (no hovering!) and talked to Shannon about the Republican Primary and Shannon mentioned how Ron Paul was going to "get America back to the Constitution" and I was all like, "Hi, life-changing event happening right here to me. Shannon had to stop a few times and say, "I can't draw a straight ink line if you're shivering all over the place." After assuring him I was a big girl and just had some anxiety, I was able to absorb myself in any and all things Ron Paul and finally stop shaking like a Polaroid picture.


Responsibility and obligation haven't laid on the breaks, broken your spirit or impaired your dreams. Finally after much research I happened onto the Bay Six website and there was "my" runner girl! I wanted something petite and something that not only represented my passion for running and how it changed my life, but a tattoo that symbolized me and what I stood for outside of the sport.
When I originally went to the parlor over the weekend, I could hardly speak I was so wrought with nervousness and doubt. It hasn't even been 24 hours since I got the tattoo and I'm already royally spazzing out about not getting my "runner's fix".
It would become warped and faded and quite frankly, he didn't want word getting out that he did a tattoo that turned out so awful.
Clayton all but hates me because I won't shut up about it and his softeners for making me feel better are getting shall we say, significantly less soft.
I almost had a conniption fit this morning when I logged onto Facebook and saw one of my friends had posted a status update about how excited she was to run on her lunch break. I told Shannon I wasn't sure if I could even get a tattoo on my right foot because I have some scar tissue that goes all the way up to my toes, but he said it was going to be just fine.
I almost left a comment and said, "RUB IT IN WHY DON'T YOU!?", but I can't afford to lose any more friends, so I held my tongue.
This whole tattoo experience gave me an unshakably deep desire to make her proud of me.



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