Yeah, Baby!

I don't understand how I've lived ALL these years without owning my own bike. Today was full of a bunch of firsts for me, one of those being that I learned how to ride a dirt bike (ROCK ON!!!), and the other being that I got shot in the thigh with an air-soft gun. That wasn't as much fun, but it was still a first.

The kids had fun. The adults had fun. My son's testosterone levels went up 10 nothces--it was all good. Yeah, baby, it was all good.

Now, time to go scrub up in the tub!

The Little Things

I have, after all this time, decided that I like this blog; I think I'll keep it. Several times the mouse has been but one click away from deleting it; all my mindless ramblings, rantings, and logs of life. (That was rather poetic, wasn't it?) Yes, you shall stay, My Little Blog; for now, anyways.

The marathon is this Saturday. I'm trying to keep myself on a tight leash, not let my mind think about it too much lest I become overwhelmed with regret, discouragement and disappointment: I won't be running in it. Stupid knees. Stupid 12th pregnancy. Stupid me. The stupid knees belong to me, hence they are on my body. The stupid pregnancy lost belongs to me, as my body has decided to revolt without my permissions. The stupid me pretty much sums it all up. Stupid me and no marathon.

You just can't give a dog a big, fat, juicy bone then, once he's slobbered all over it, guarded it, and invested gnawing time on it, take it away. That's very much how a goal oriented person is when you give them a big, fat, juicy, goal then take it away. Now I am a dog without a bone. Not that I don't have other bones, it's just that I want the one I can't have; naturally.

Humans are so fickle.

I was thinking about connections; relationships, to be exact. Remember Mr. Rogers and the "Who are the people in your neighborhood" song? Well, unlike most American's, I make it a point to know the people in my neighborhood. There's good ol' David, who's anxiously getting himself a Philippino bride in a matter of days. Oh, how he's enchanted with her, thanks to an "Over 60" chat room and highspeed internet. He's been busy, trying to get his house all cleaned for her. I often wonder, "just what is he feeling?"

I wonder if she's going to take his money and run. That's what his last wife did, and he still hasn't recovered from that. I know David is very excited for her to meet me, as he is (if I'm reading his unspoken words correctly) counting on my kindness to keep her afloat until she finds friends of her own. What is the proper way to sweetly say, "Listen lady, you mess with little ol' David and you're gonna have me to deal with...you hurt him, take his hard earned money, or break his fragile heart, and I'll (flex, snap, pop) be paying you a little visit, ya hear..."? I've been told I'm creative, so perhaps I'll think of a nifty little way to put that nicely.

Then there's Melissa, who's taken up smoking after her divorce, whose roommate (after the X moved out) just witnessed her X-finance shoot himself (suicide) in the head. I'll be collecting her mail, overseeing the mowing of her lawn, and watching over her place while she's away all summer. I've lived next to her for three years now, and yet we're both private enough that we know each other without really knowing each other.

And let's not forget Andy. Andy who spent most of his day off yesterday working on his lawn. Seeing how badly he'd like to be married and start a family, how he has to work to pay for his home, then work to maintain his home, I realize just how much a man needs a good woman. It must be very hard, and very lonely, for a man to work hard all day at work, come home to an empty house, have to cook himself a meal, do his laundry, clean his house, take care of his lawn, pay the bills, grocery shop, find matching socks, and clean underwear. It is not good for man to be alone.

I'm not a feminist, but I do think that women fare better alone than men do. Women have the frame of mind to put something in the crockpot before leaving for work, and to start the laundry as soon as they get home, so they can fold it before bedtime. They multi-task getting their hair, shopping and bill paying done, and they pay the neighbor kid to mow their lawn. Since a man's not doing the laundry, they always have matching socks and clean underwear (of which they own more than just a few pair--without holes, I might add).

...Speaking of underwear for a minute, I do have to say that I have a pet peeve when it comes to men's underwear: whitey tighties. I despise them. Why not blue? Or red? Even purple, if you feel up to it, but why white? I refuse to buy whitey tighties when it comes to purchasing men's underwear. I think I prefer black or charcoal gray the most. And why hang onto underwear that has holes in it? Is this a form of air conditioning? Do you not notice the holes? This, I truley do not understnad. Anyway...

So, as I visit with Andy, I am glad to give him company and a warm meal every now and again. It makes me smile when he calls with a question (What should I use to clean my laminate floors? What plant should I plant by my front door? Where should I put my couch; hang my pictures? Can I use margarine instead of butter?), and ends the conversation with, "Thanks Mom."

Relationships. Isn't that the crux of what life is about?

I dare say it is.

Relationships are as little as waving at a car that goes by, or as big as convincing a man not to set himself on fire; they're as little as kissing a scratched knee or as big as being the Rock for a friend at the end of themselves.

We all come to the end of ourselves at some point, and we all sit atop a mountain peak at some point. Who is there to share these moments with? Who is there when you fall? Who is there when you're at the top? If you are the most blessed of people, then you will find the same crowd around you at both places.

Big things come and go, people come and go, but relationships stay with us, whether good or bad, painful or pleasant. I think, perhaps, that life is not so much about the big events, but the power of the smaller moments. Several small moments make one big event. Life is like a marathon; to run it well, you must not forsake the training.

Yes, life is lived in the little things.

Match Maker Mishap

That is a rather catchy title, is it not? I was, indeed, part of a match maker's mishap earlier this morning. DH seems to find it rather comical, I find it rather embarrassing.

Sometimes it doesn't pay to be nice. Today: case in point. Let me spin for you a tale, akin to the great Aesop's, that you may learn and be wise if you find yourself in a similar circumstance:

I take the kids to school this morning then head to the gym, seeing that I don't have Little Squirt to care for thanks to DH being home. Since it's nearly 8AM, there is, of course, a different crew from the regulars I see at the crack of dawn. I start my torture session (lower body today) and notice that besides moi and a bulky male about my age, there are grey heads on treadmills, the track, and ellipticals. I do so enjoy the grey-headed crowd, as I never have to wait in line for a machine or the dumb bells.

About fifteen minutes into my workout, I find myself on the Inverted Squat Machine, praying that adipose tissue will radically melt off my thighs whilst sweating and pushing 245 pounds with my once-runner's legs. I do a set and stand up to add more weight, recover, and down a swig of my lovely green chlorophyll. During this time I have also noticed that an older woman is talking to the man about my age. He seems slightly...uncomfortable? Yes, he looks like her conversation is making him a bit uncomfortable. I begin to wonder if she's his mother due to the familiar way she is speaking to him. They head towards my machine and I give them a little space as they talk quietly and in a rushed manner.

It is then that the woman turns to me and says, "Oh, would you mind if he just showed me how to use this machine? I don't want to use it. I just want to know how it works." I am a nice person, of course, so I say, "Sure, that's fine." He, on the other hand, is acting a bit odd, and I wonder why he rushes through his less than informative narrative then awkwardly makes a quick exit. I, on the other hand, am nice (remember?) and step in to offer her the answers to her questions. I show her how the seat adjusts, the hows and whys, do a few algebra problems, then tell her, "...here, it'll be easiest if I just show you myself," as I hop back onto the machine and get ready to pump some iron. She says, "Are you going to lift all that weight?" I think to myself, "Why no, not me. I'm just a girl, after all. Why don't you go grab those cute little green five pound weights for me instead, so I don't hurt myself." But I didn't say that, of course, because I'm such a nice person.

So, she gets a demonstration and other women stop by to ask questions (who knew I could be so popular while sweating?): "What muscle group does this work? How do I get the weight off the machine? How much weight should I use? Is all that weight heavy?".

So, she then she tells me how she's had knee surgery and is afraid this certain exercise might hurt her knee, so I show her how to modify the exercise so there is no strain on the knee, only on the quads and hamstrings. I then, being the nice person I am, show her some other machines and exercises she could do, as I tell her that I have some knee damage, too, and know how to do modified forms of the classics as not to stress the knees.

She keeps saying, "Oh, you're so nice to be showing me all this!" And then it happened. The moment before the complete awkward moment when I realized what she was doing....the moment before the moment that I should have seen coming...but no, I just thought I was being nice and helpful, and that she really wanted to hear what I had to say.

She starts, "Why don't I know you? I know everybody around these parts!" I tell her that I usually am a morning gym person and never come to workout this time of day. She says, "Well, I'm so glad you're here so I could meet you. I'm Marty." I almost said, "Well, that's my husband's name, too," but went the formally polite route and held out my weight glove-clad hand while saying, "And I'm Sabrina; it's a pleasure to meet you, Marty."

She then launches in to how she is a now retired high school teacher in our little town, and that she thought she knew just about everyone here. I told her that I graduated elsewhere, came to the area to attend college, and found myself still here; so she couldn't have known me from my high school days. She then tells me, "Well how nice. My son is home from college, that's him right over there. (We both pause to look.) He likes to lift weights, too. He's a body builder--you know--for football. So, are you a single lady?"

Enter awkward moment.

I smile sweetly and say, "No, I'm not."

I see a level of awkwardness cross her face. She pauses a moment, and says, "A married lady?"

I smile sweetly and say, "Yes."

I see her go into "recover mode" as she suddenly loses interest in me and says, "Any little ones?"

I smile sweetly and say, "Yes, four little ones."

I see her face look a little shocked as she says, "Oh my! You look too young to be married and have four children!" She looks me up and down and says, "You look great! 4 kids! Wow!"

I smile sweetly and say, "Well thank you, I'll take that as a compliment."

And suddenly, our conversation was over. I'd just been hit with a Match Maker Mishap. I felt rather foolish. Here I was just being nice, not knowing that all the body language I'd read earlier was the workings of what was now my awkward moment. Thank you very much, Marty the Retired School Teacher.

As one may imagine, the son left shortly after that (he did the both of us a favor), and I spent the rest of the morning cursing myself for once again being too naiive. That's me: the nice woman who walks, no, skips blindly into her own embarrassment.

Had I been naughty, I would have said, "What's wrong Marty-Who-Knows-Everyone? Isn't your son a big enough boy to make his own match? Actually, by the look on his face, I think my neighbor's three year old may have more intelligence, though a little less brawn, than your little tyke. Does he wear a helmet when he plays football or is he just in special ed?"

But no, no, no. I'm too nice for that.

So beware! Beware of old women that fain interest in you whilst their son peeks around the corner to see how things are going. Save yourself! Run! Run away!

OK. Enough for one night. I can only relive this embarrassing moment one last time (for you, of course, my sweet little blog). Time to roll out the dough for the cinnamon rolls that I'll be serving the kids for breakfast tomorrow. (Oh, how happy they'll be! They do so enjoy homemade cinnamon rolls!)

Takin' it Easy

You know the Eagle's song, right? Take it Easy. After all, you don't want the sound of your own wheels to drive you crazy. Lighten up, while you still can, cuz you'll never be here again. So...something something...I'm climbin' in; take it easssssyyyy.

I'm practicing taking it easy. It's going all right, I suppose, except that I don't know what to do if I'm not working. I like to work, get things done, go places and conquer things. Yeah, I'm not really that great at taking it easy. It must take a special person (maybe as in short bus) to take it easy all the time. Just not my gift, I suppose.

But I did take it easy today:

I started my day off with an 11 mile run. It was raining, so I did the first three miles (the warm-up miles as I call them) at the gym on that blasted treadmill. As soon as the rain stopped pelting the ground and lightened up to a sprinkle, I was out the door and on the road. I'd been aching to run 400S, so I hooked a left on Lincoln and headed for my destination. I had to run across the overpass to get to Frontage Road, which would give me the scenic route to 400, but there was one little problem with said overpass: no shoulder space. So, I did what any sane person would do; I ran down the middle. I passed a Sheriff that gave me a double look as I didn't bother to go around the road construction safety cones, but through them (after all, the shortest distance between two points is a straight line). But he couldn't turn around to get me, so I was scott-free (what does that mean anyway?), a real running fool. What's he gonna do anyway, give me a ticket for Reckless Running?

Oh no, my blogging time is being threatened by people who actually want to converse with me. Save meeeeee!

Anyway, I hit Frontage Road and off came the jacket, since I'd kicked the pace up a couple notches to get off the overpass I was burning hot, and with that jacket off, oh, how wonderful it was. I love my racerback running tops, especially when my skin is being kissed with soft raindrops and the faintest warm breeze. It was wonderful. WONDERFUL. I ran by farmers watering their fields, and the breeze brought the most wonderful mist of cool water right to me (no, I didn't open my mouth--I know where that water comes from!). I ran past dairies and had moo-cows (as I call them) actually run up to the fence and along side me. It was wonderful. I ran down country roads with few houses and inhaled the fresh earth, wonderfully scented from the refreshing rain; it was wonderful. I ran past a house that had 8 dogs and wasn't eaten alive, that was wonderful, too. I ran up hills without getting tired; wonderful. I ran with the view of the sun breaking through storm clouds before me, demanding a bit of glory from the darkness surrounding it; wonderful.

Then I got tired.

The sun hid away and the wind picked up. The rain started to spit on me and suddenly I had to zig-zag my miles to get a reprieve from the wind, numbing my face and threatening to carry my hat away in its wicked windy clutches. The jacket went back on and I started to get cold. NOT WONDERFUL. I took the Arlo Lott road and nearly died going up the hill, but once at the top, nearly got eaten by Michelle's flesh-devouring canines. And then I was too tired to run anymore. The hill, the dogs; not wonderful. I knew I'd have to save some stamina for the Walmart road (is it 200S?), as it's a dangerous road to run, but is safer to run than walk.

I seriously thought about turning in at WalMart and calling for a ride home. I knew I was hitting the wall. What I really needed was water. But it wasn't raining enough to actually open wide and say "ahhhhh." I couldn't let my pride be bruised, so I fought the merciless wind and stinging random drops of rain until I hit Lincoln again, and got a bit of a break as I ran the mile back to the gym. I was, by then, acutely aware of how I needed to retire my running shoes, as they felt like thin pieces of cardboard on my feet. I felt this about 3 miles back, or was it 4, but I was REALLY feeling it now; NOT WONDERFUL.

But I do have a new pair of running shoes now. And they even have just a splash of color (pink, of course) on them; wonderful.

I'm tired and my head aches, as today is a fasting day. (I'm taking it easy, remember, and what can be easier than not having to eat for an entire day--it frees you up to do so many other things).

I'm sure there's more to my story, but I'm afraid it's movie time. Oh what did the Red Box bring me tonight?

I could really go for my Junior Mints and my salted cashews right about now. As for Ben and Jerry, they're not allowed to come over for a while thanks to them visiting too much lately and bringing Love Handle with them. I love you guys, but I gotta say goodbye, at least for a while. 2 more days of fasting and we can kiss the Love's goodbye and welcome you back in, but until them, I'm sorry but you'll have to stay away.

And yes, my knees are now aching. They will, I foresee, hurt all the way through Thursday evening so that come Friday, I'll salivate over which roads I want to run the next Saturday morning.

That's me, takin' it easy.