About Me

My photo
If you have an interest in wasting time by reading about, running; weight loss; my job; my complaints; food; excessive eating; my family; my friends; TV; the show, "How I Met Your Mother;" my exes; my cat, then you've come to the right place.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Loose Ends

It was probably only a matter of time.  It's probably that I get restless, or bored, or anxious, or hungry that I decide to move as often as I do.  I've lived on Kent Island (round 2) for 1 year, 8 months, and 1 week, and the car's getting loaded up Saturday.  I mean, it's not to say that the past 1 year, 8 months, and 1 week have been altogether distressing.  But packing and moving really suck, and if it wasn't for the impending, exigent, urgent change that I feel I so badly need, I'd make the best of Island living, renew my EZ Pass, and call it a day.  But alas, it's change that I need, and moving to the other end of the state is a pretty solid way of getting it.

Like, okay, so come Monday morning when I start my new job in my new city in my new (I wish) clothes, things in my day would go a just a little differently than they do now.  Well first, I wouldn't be waking up 40 minutes before my alarm when the two dogs start barking--one of them downstairs and the other outside my door.  I wouldn't hear them bark for 5 seconds, rest for 3, and then start again, thus effectively making it impossible to fall back asleep in the lull before the cacophony resumed.  No, that wouldn't happen.  Doubtless, I don't think I would be about to walk out the door for work before realizing the very-stuffed toy on the floor is a very real squirrel that was dragged in by one of the five cats (really only 2 in the running, leaving out the nice one, the new one, and the fat one).  I'd save a couple minutes right there when I wouldn't have to sweep the squirrel into the dustpan and walk him (her?) across the street to the neighbor's yard, just out of the kitties' reach.  But I think I'd be okay with that. 

Once I'm at the new office for work, having arrived in a timely manner after not needing to check online to make sure the bridge off the Island isn't closed, backed up, or otherwise conveniently inaccessible, my day might go a little differently then, too.  Like, I'm thinking that there wouldn't be the need to check if I need to put on the massive frozen yogurt mascot costume for a birthday party that day.  And, you know, while sitting at my new desk with my nifty new headset and clickety new keyboard, I don't think it's likely that I'd need to ask every customer if they have a "Smileage" card, and tell them that they can earn "Smiles" with every purchase, and then feel ridiculous for being 26 and telling strangers that the more fro yo they buy the more Smiles they can earn. 

Presumably, my sweet office set-up most likely would not post labels for different frozen yogurt flavors along the wall; I take that to mean I won't secretly be judging every customer that says how good "that sherbert" is, while pointing to the Pomegranate Raspberry Sorbet.  I think I would enjoy not constantly wondering how the general population can add both an "h" and "r" to one tiny little word.  And best of all, while calmly speaking into my headset and clicking on my keyboard, I kinda have the feeling that wondering where that smell is coming from, finding a clogged toilet in the men's room, unclogging the toilet, and wondering who in the world decided to come into a cute, colorful, little fro yo shop to take a massive shit just wouldn't happen...in the middle of the day, no less.

Ah, yes, change sounds lovely.  Maybe I'll get the car loaded up Friday.

I suppose I'd be remiss if I was to forget that it was this exact change that brought me back to Kent Island 1 year, 8 months, and 1 week ago.  Back then, I would have had my own list of what things in my life would change when I left Cumberland, substituting the words, "squirrel," "Smiles," "sherbert," and, "toilet" for something else, most likely.  I recall that it was only after I moved out of Cumberland that I remembered just how many things I enjoyed about being there, and how many exceptional things in my life wouldn't have happened had I not been in that exact place during that exact time. 

Well, I think I can do the same for Kent Island.

If I had never moved to Kent Island, I probably wouldn't have finally hung out with Jack.  I knew Jack for years when I lived in Western Maryland; but when living close is a convenience, it's pretty easy to figure you'll get together, "some other time."  And Jack and I never once got together...then.  Once I moved hours away from convenience, Jack was one of the only people that made the lengthy drive just to see, well, me.  And that was pretty damn cool.  If I had never moved, Jack would never have had a reason to hang out with me in Annapolis.  He wouldn't have bought us dinners at a price I would have thought to be hefty for a group of ten.  We wouldn't have spent hours sampling fine oils and vinegars, and I wouldn't have known that that could be a fun thing to do on a Saturday night.  Jack wouldn't have bought me my (still) favorite workout outfit from lulu lemon to wear to Bikram yoga the next day.  And I never would have tried Bikram yoga!  

Moving back to Kent Island put me so much closer to my family and old friends, and I know that the sheer proximity to everyone meant that we'd get to hang out so much more.  This meant girls' night concerts in Atlantic City with my sister and mom, complete with the ridiculous spread of posed photos in the hotel room pre-concert.  This meant seeing (and some participating in) Thunder from Down Under at Ram's Head with my stepmom, and with the tickets that my dad bought us.  This also meant finally hanging out with my two best friends from high school at Six Flags over the summer.  Had I still lived in Western Maryland, I'm pretty sure the long drive out of Cumberland may have compelled me to take a raincheck, and then I never would have been relieved to find out my old best friends were still, well, the best.  

I took my job in Annapolis basically because it was the only place that actually got back to me.  I was there for almost seven months before I finally had a coworker that was older than me.  Reba, who I thought was sixteen for the first few hours after we met, turned out to be one of my closest friends to this day.  She was this petite, cute, and awesomely tattooed girl, and in the short eight months she was in Annapolis with me, she made work and life that much easier and funnier.  She was there to witness me drinking my first green beer on St. Patty's Day, and was the one documenting how well I could handle getting a tattoo...which turned out to be a memory forever etched in me.

I'm pretty certain that if I had stayed out in Western Maryland, I wouldn't have been motivated to train for, and run, my fifth half marathon with my sister, who was running her first, this past March.  It was this half marathon that motivated me to keep training, and then to run my personal best half marathon time two months later.  It's kinda funny, actually; it was during the training for the March half that I decided to make a little trip to Fleet Feet...where I bought some running shoes. 

And then, I wrote a blog.

The blog came about pretty randomly.  I knew I loved writing, but I thought I knew nothing about writing.  And I never knew what to write about.  Nobody finds it interesting to read about my problems, or why my life sucks, or how many squirrels I swept up last week.  But as it turned out, that trip to Fleet Feet, where I went to get my Newtons and become the best runner in the whole wide world, gave me a story.  A point.  It kinda...didn't suck.

My first blog, "I got the shoes," paved the way for all the ones that followed, which attempted to find the humor in an awkward story, and also make frequent offense to my exes.  There was the group-run-that-almost-wasn't at Fleet Feet; the shoe-buying, Menchie-suit, birthday surprise for my sister; the shout-out to my trainer Sean, who did his best to make me not-fat; and the one about the effing ex that moved, never told me, but ended with me eating crabs. 
These were all my attempt to share with others, connect with others, and hopefully show others that I'm not perfect, but maybe life is better that way. 

***

I guess when it comes down to it, I am pretty sad about leaving Kent Island--the place that was home to so many meaningful events over the last 1 year, 8 months, and 1 week.  Maybe my move back to Cumberland isn't just about changing the little annoyances that I dealt with on a daily basis.  I know a lot of things in my daily life are going to change come Saturday, and I'm sure that will get annoying after a while, anyway. I have a feeling, however, that the things that really matter will still stay the same no matter what: my family, my friends, and the things I have to offer others in the world.  My writing, for one.  My writing that started as a result of all the random, funny, awkward, boring things that only would have happened with my decision to change, and move, to Kent Island.  I know that my writing is one of the best things that will stay the same with my move to Western Maryland.

That, and I still have exes in Cumberland.      




Pre-concert pic

Thunder from Down Under

Six Flags with high school BFFs

Reba and me

Half marathon with sister

Charlie and Lily

Sherlock, the first of five kitties





Thursday, July 12, 2012

Where was I?

I decided to break back into blogging after my three-month hiatus by sharing the story of Tuesday night.  My coworkers have told me it’s their favorite story of mine thus far.  Consider yourself in for a treat.

Tuesday night really surprised me.  If only for the fact that I left home at 8pm to go for a 30-minute walk, only to be dropped off two hours later with a bag full of a dozen crabs…it surprised me.  But it wasn’t just about that.  In truth, on Tuesday night, I found out in the most unexpected way possible—people can really surprise me. 

Let me explain.

I do a lot of walking around my neighborhood.  I always go the same way, but I like it that way.  I can turn up my music and tune into my thoughts (which usually revolve around food, work, working out, what food to have after I workout, and reasons why I don’t want to workout). 

After fifteen minutes into this typical walk, I forget about the cupcakes I’m thinking about, and realize I’m about to pass by Chuck’s street.  Although this time I don’t pass by; I turn onto it.  And let me clarify—Chuck is my ex-boyfriend.

Chuck was my first boyfriend.  A whopping twelve years ago.  I was fourteen and he was fifteen.  I was an incoming freshman and he was a veteran sophomore…an older man.  So obviously, when Chuck told our mutual friend Mike that he wanted to date me, I told Mike to tell Chuck that I said yes.

It was the classic love story we’re all familiar with.  I was the naïve good girl with the straight As; he was the rogue rocker, perpetually in a band.  I was in the marching band; he was on the football team.  I played chess; he wore a lot of black. But somehow, it worked for as long as a high school couple could.  Those were the most exciting 5 months of my young life. 

Over the years, Chuck and I would keep in touch and drift apart.  This is nothing unusual for anyone, but the amazing thing with Chuck and me was that no matter how much time may have passed, we could pick right up like no time had passed at all.  Chuck and I had a connection that I had with hardly anyone I’ve ever known; so much so that I would consider him my close friend, even when years would fly by without one conversation between us. 

Chuck could count on me to accept him just as he was; to ask about his life and genuinely care; to remember his family and tell him I missed them; to tell dirty jokes and always laugh at his.  And I could count on Chuck to treat me like a princess; to open my car door and tell me I’m pretty.  And I could always count on him to be in love with me.

The last time I saw Chuck was about a year ago now, shortly after I moved back to Kent Island and found out he was still on it.  We went out to dinner and spent all evening talking about the past and shaking our heads at the future.  He never failed to tell me how I’ve always been his one true love, and although I never took him up on his offer to date him again, I truly cherished having him in my life.  I knew that in his eyes, I could do no wrong.  And I was looking forward to staying reconnected for good.     

Like I said, that was a year ago, and we haven’t talked since.

I found out through the familiar practice of Facebook stalking that he got engaged, got a kid, and got married, all shortly after that dinner with me—and without a single word said to me.  To say I was hurt would be…well, that would be correct.   

So, I turned onto Chuck’s street.  As I walked by his house that he shared with his parents and sister (and for all I knew, his wife and kid), I could see that they were having dinner through the window.  I could see that they were home.

He lived on a dead-end street, so by the time I turned around at the end of it, the idea of stopping by, unannounced, was giving me butterflies in my stomach.  Should I?  Would it be weird?  Would his wife hate me?  Would he hate me?  What would I say? Would I bring up the past?  Would I hold the baby?  Would I be baby, and not even knock? 

I felt nervous and excited as I went up to the door.  What’s the worst that could happen?  I could think of all too much. 

I knocked on the door.  I waited all but a second before I heard a voice call, Come in!  SHIT!  They have no idea it’s me and they’re telling me to come in!  They’re expecting somebody else and I’m about to ruin their whole night!  For all I know they’re having a dinner celebrating Chuck’s new marriage, and now I, the ex-girlfriend, has come by to ruin the photos and make the baby cry.  Shit!

With those lovely thoughts in mind, what else could I do?  I opened the door.  And there they were.  Sitting at the kitchen table.  My jaw dropped and I couldn’t believe what I was looking at…because there were three strangers looking back.


It’s just as well that Chuck didn’t tell me he moved.  Four months ago.  He didn’t tell me he moved four months ago.  As it turns out, the guy I was stammering apologies to when I realized Chuck and his family had moved recognized me.  He was my brother’s best friend when I was in elementary school, and remembered my face from all that time ago.  When he said he remembered my family’s giant trampoline in the backyard, too, I knew he was for real.

So of course, after finding out that the other two people at the kitchen table were his fiancée and neighbor, all of whom also went to high school with me and said they recognized me (I sure as hell could not say the same), when they invited me in for crabs and beer, I sat right down. 

The three of them got a kick out of my story of Chuck and how I ended up at their kitchen table instead that evening.  A 2004 yearbook was even whipped out and numerous horrifyingly young classmates stared back at us from its pages. 

We talked about the past and shook our heads at the future, and it turned out to be one of the coolest evenings I’ve had in a while.  To say I was pleasantly surprised at how this evening turned out actually would be an understatement.

I never did get to resolve things with Chuck.  Perhaps it’s just as well.  Maybe our friendship should stay remembered as it was, before life got in the way and complicated it with marriage and kids and all that other grown-up stuff.  Maybe I’ll tell myself that he’s still in a band and tosses a football every now and then.  Maybe I don’t want any more surprises.

Like I said at the beginning of this blog, Tuesday night showed me that people really can surprise me.  And by that, I’m referring to myself. 

Because it had been a really long time since I’d eaten a crab.

    

       






  


 



























































































Saturday, April 7, 2012

You wanna keep it?

I did something really cool today.  Really really cool.  It’s not often that I get to say that, either.  I work, I run, I eat constantly…and in-between all that, there’s usually just more eating.   

So this really really cool thing that I did today…well, it’s even BETTER since cool things in general are a rare occurrence for me.  I’ve been so excited to do this and it finally happened!    

But.  I just now remembered something that kind of ruins it—I don’t deserve this.  Shit.

I mean, I work, I run, I eat constantly; I watch tv, stalk on Facebook, and hardly read; I pet my cat, write to-do lists, and sleep fitfully.  In this long, rambling list of blandness and mediocrity, I simply have a hard time feeling that I remotely deserve to treat myself to the really really cool thing I already did!  Shit.  In my twisted mind that constantly craves self-improvement (yet engages in consistent and effective self-sabotage), I actually feel that I need to earn the really really cool thing I did.  I mean, I can’t just go treating myself to very awesome things and then stay the exact same Rhonda that does nothing other than work, run, and eat.  Right?  Right?  Right.

So the question now becomes…how will I earn the really cool thing I did?  What will I do?  Actually, the answer to this is pretty easy; I will train for a PR at the Deckers Creek half marathon on June 2nd.  Okay, okay¸ I’m kind of already doing this anyway, BUT, I’m going to really train.  I’m going to do everything right.  And now I’m going to kick-ass on June 2nd.

Actually, it should be pretty simple. 

Obviously, the first thing I need to do is, well, run.  This shouldn’t be a problem!  I ran a half marathon two weeks ago!  My goal is just to run this next one faster.  I will run 3-4 days a week, long run on Saturday, cross/death-training with Sean 3 times a week, and lots of walking in-between.  DONE. 

Of course, it makes sense that one would run faster with less weight to carry around.  Yes, so, lose weight.  I will also need to lose weight.  To PR at Decker’s Creek and thus earn my really cool thing, I must lose weight.  This will take far more than just working out and running, though; I will have to stop eating so damn much. 

I know it comes as a surprise to most people, but my weakness is cupcakes.  Combine easy access to cupcakes (if you consider a 30-minute drive “easy,” because I will only eat a certain kind) with overtime money and boredom, and you have me stuffing my face with a half dozen of these bad boys on a regular basis.  Well that’s that…cupcakes are DONE.  Instead of eating when I’m happy, sad, bored, angry, silly, sore, or just plain tired…well, I guess I just won’t eat.      

Speaking of tired, I should really work on that, too.  I can’t be expected to run, workout, AND eat slightly less food when I’m craving a day-long nap every day.  Most nights, I get home late from work, and then eat, and then play on Facebook, and then watch tv, and then think about eating again while watching tv, until I fall into a fitful night’s rest at a ridiculously late hour.  But since I’ve already solved the eating problem by not eating, I think the rest of my nightly routine could use some tweaking

So this means no Facebook and no tv.  Yeah, less tv.  I can get on Facebook, if I must, while on break at work.  In reality, it really doesn’t take hours to read about who recently got pregnant, got engaged, or got pissed off at the world and wanted everyone to know about it.  And then maybe I could just split the difference with tv and a book.  Yes, reading is relaxing and perfect before bedtime.  I already have the book anyway; it’s book #4 in a series of 7 that I’m attempting to read for the second time.  And there’s really not too much dread factor with it, either…there’s love, a crush-worthy male lead character, history, violence, humor, and many gratuitous sex scenes.  DONE.

Okay, realistically, if I plan on sleeping better to have more energy to run and eat less, to help me lose weight and run faster, in order to run a PR at Deckers Creek, which would make me feel like I earned that really really cool thing I did, I’m definitely going to have to stay motivated.  I’m still eight weeks out!  So many things could go awry in eight weeks and I just can’t have that happen!

So what will keep me motivated?  Sean weighing me in every week certainly doesn’t hurt.  Spending time with my awesome co-worker and her guy keeps me sane and laughing.  Visiting my sister, nephew, and brother-in-law is always the best cure for self-doubt, and results in lots of exchanges of hilarious self-deprecation.  And then there’s always going for a walk in the sunshine, traveling out-of-town for a breather, and re-reading my book’s sex scenes to keep me grounded and positive.  So I will do those things, and often.  DONE.

Quite honestly, that’s it…I have to stay positive.  Anytime in the past that I’ve had a goal in mind and gotten side-tracked, it’s because I stopped staying positive and dwelled on everything else that was going on or that I didn’t have.  A few examples: 

My leg hurts and I can’t run…guess I’ll cry and eat McDonald’s and not do sit-ups or push-ups.

All of my friends are in relationships…guess I’ll never be loved.  Pass the entire carrot cake and hide the scale.

I have absolutely no idea where my life is going…so instead, I just won’t do a damn thing.


So that’s just it—I will stay positive.  I won’t think about my ex that never wanted to spend time with me; I won’t think that I’m not good enough or strong enough to accomplish my goals; I won’t succumb to my self-doubt and insecurities that make me feel silly for even trying to improve myself. 

I mean, I’m going to have to.  Remember, I have to stay positive in order to keep myself motivated so that I can sleep better, which will make me well-rested so I can run more and eat less, in order to lose weight and run faster, and therefore run a PR at Deckers Creek, which would finally make me feel like I earned that really really cool thing I did today. 

So here goes:

I accept myself just as I am.

I am good enough to achieve anything I want.

I am worth the effort and have a lot to offer anyone
(and if anyone doesn’t want me, screw’em).

And living each day the best I can is reason enough to reward myself…

WHETHER I RUN A FREAKING PR OR NOT!!


Well.   Now I finally feel okay with having gotten that tattoo.  





   












  

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Gotta give props

I’ve had better weeks.

Now, I made a promise with myself that when I started blogging, I wouldn’t be one of those angst-ridden, angry-with-the-world, wanting-to-detail-every-problem-with-my-life kind of writer.  I already know that I’m not that important.  Or interesting.

For now, I’ll simply gloss over the more unsavory events of this past week…

I ran into one of my high school best friends at Dollar General.  He was balding and grown into his height.  He was also engaged and it was awkward.  Shit.

I skipped my long run on Saturday.  I did not make it up on Sunday.

I did not skip any meals.  I added a whole month’s worth of desserts.

AND, I skipped the St. Patty’s Day Fun Run tonight at Fleet Feet.


Glossing over concluded, I’ll share the positive things that happened.

I finished Season 6 of “How I Met Your Mother.”

I did not get cupcake frosting on my sheets.

I picked up an extra shift of work.  Between the money earned, and the money spent on cupcakes, I broke even.

I saw Sean Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

So for the past 4.5 months, I’ve been seeing a guy named Sean.  I feel so lucky to have met him; he’s slightly older, smart, funny, and in amazing shape.  And the best part is that we get to see each other often.  Of course, our relationship really wouldn’t work out otherwise.  You see, Sean’s my personal trainer. 

I never thought I’d be the kind of person who would feel the need to hire a personal trainer.  Shoot, I ran a marathon!  Alas, I found out the hard way that once you stop running, you stop burning calories.  And, once you keep eating, you stop being thin.  Truth is, I was in a slump and needed a change, besides an increase in pant size.

I stumbled upon Sean late one night after I got off of work.  I did a Yellow Pages search for “gyms” in the Annapolis area and saw a listing for Fitness Together.  An inquiry into this told me that Fitness Together is a private personal training establishment.  For me, this meant that I would pay someone to kick my ass, without anyone else there to watch, and without me having to exert any effort to think up a workout and force myself to do it.  Sold.

As it turns out, working out with Sean has been the best thing I think I’ve ever done.  I meet with him every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning.  It’s his job to constantly find ways for me to say, “That’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”  And I’ve taken it to be my job to constantly impress him with the amount of sweat that pours off of me (literally, puddles).  Last time I weighed in, I was down 13.1 pounds and finally out of the 160s.  Doesn’t mean it’s been easy, though.  In fact, earlier tonight I was sobbing to him over the phone about how I’ve been eating horribly and skipping my runs (good thing I pay him to listen).

But tonight, a tummy full of sugar has made me ready to “start over.”  Now that I’m a little over halfway to my weight loss goal, I’m ready to ditch the excuses, ditch the laziness, and ditch those goddamn cupcakes.  As Sean says to me before every torture-inducing workout session, I’m ready to, “do this thing.”

So, speaking of doing things, during my last fitness assessment, I was looking at all the client testimonials hanging up on the office wall.  There was a big empty spot and I told Sean I was going to put mine there.  And I still have every intention of doing that, once I reach my “official” weight loss goal  But in the spirit of starting over, I thought it’d be fun to write a testimonial to Sean and to all that I’ve accomplished up to this point.

Testimonial Question 1:
What do you like most about training at Fitness Together?
Fitness Together gave me exactly what I asked for.  The very first day I went in, I told those nice, sweet, adorable, polite guys that I wanted the hardest workouts possible unleashed upon me.  I wanted to be made to do things that I could never be coerced to inflict upon myself.  And, despite my glares of hatred and occasional threats to his physical well-being, Sean has never given me anything less.  In fact, that’s what I love about training at Fitness Together.

Testimonial Question 2:
Please provide us with a brief description of the results of your personal training program.
The short answer to this can be summed up in two words: Clapping push-ups.

But to elaborate, I actually started working out with Sean while I was rehabbing an injury I got while running.  The workouts Sean gave me were so ungodly intense and unbearable that before I knew it, six weeks had gone by and I was running again…and it was easy.  Sean made running feel easy.  Who is this guy??

It was only a matter of time before I was jumping rope like a (semi) pro and doing box jumps with four freaking boxes.  After every workout I would be so giddy with excitement that I’d go into work and demonstrate what I did on top of the counters and behind the yogurt machines.  I never did manage broad jumps down the sidewalk.

I’ve gone from doing 20-minute walks on my days “off,” to running 5 miles before work, and longer on the weekends.  I have more energy, more happiness, and a slightly smaller ass.  My results.  Have been.  Awesome.

Can we include a picture along with your testimonial?
Eat your freaking heart out.  

Before



After

 




Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Does this Menchie suit make me look fat?

It was great to be back.

Walking into that shoe-filled haven of stability and cushioning, I felt giddy with possibilities.  Only not for myself.  For my sister.  Today was her 29th birthday.

I had been waiting for this all day!  After having such a fun time buying and wearing, running and singing and dancing and jumping in my Newton running shoes, I was bringing my older-by-three-years-but-still-looks-younger-than-me sister to the Fleet Feet Annapolis.  She was going to buy her own new, magical, life-changing running shoes.

She was excited, and I was, too.  I had prepared her as best I could...
You will be forced to undress.  
Someone will be touching your bare-naked feet. 
You may want to find your toenail clippers.
If you wear socks, check for holes...they will be seen.
Chances are, there will be an audience.

As we made our way out of the car and across the parking lot, I remembered to tell my sister that she would also have to run some laps in each of the shoes that she tried on.  As she burrowed into her button-down peacoat jacket, adjusted her Happy Birthday tiara on her freshly straightened hair, and dusted off her brand new jeans, I thought it was kind of funny I didn’t mention that physical exertion would be involved until now.

We made quite a group.  Crammed into the store there was me, my sister, my brother-in-law Frank, and my nephew Isaiah (who is the cutest five year old in the whole world.  If you don’t believe me, ask him and he’ll tell you).  At the time we arrived, there was one other customer.  She made a hasty exit.

We were greeted by the same nice fellow that helped me with my shoe journey.  I believe his name was Paul.  Oh good!  It’s going exactly as I had hoped!  And as for my sister, her experience started off just as I had predicted.  She completely disrobed, leaving her socks and ankle-high heel boot things (I don’t know what they are.  All my shoes have laces) off to the side.  Later on she would tell me that her feet were sweating so bad from the boot things that she just knew Paul had noticed.  Didn’t you see him wipe his hands on his jeans???

I stood stoically by her side, tactfully turning my head at the more incriminating parts of the foot-measuring process.  It was a little hard to focus, anyway, between the flashes from the camera Frank was using to snap a few pictures of my sister’s poor, naked foot on the measuring plate.  I could tell the little thing just wanted to curl up and hide.

But before we knew it, Paul went behind the magical curtain and came out with boxes upon boxes upon boxes of bright, bold, fresh, little running shoes!  Oh, what a colorful and exciting assemblage of running possibilities lay before our very eyes!

One by one, my sister tried on each pair, braving the cold to test them for a few laps around the parking lot.  I watched as the innocent round eyes of her novice runner past turned into the quest of a seasoned runner searching for the perfect shoe.  Luckily, Frank’s efforts of jumping, bending, twisting, and possibly squatting inside the store to try to snap a few pics of my sister running past the window caught most of this on film.

Finally, she had narrowed it down to two pairs.  And, once Frank twisted her arm to get the more expensive pair that she really wanted but didn’t want to admit she wanted, my sister bought the shoes.  Her very own NEWTONS!

Wow, I could have jumped up and cheered!  What a glorious way to celebrate your 29th birthday.  My sister had the bright, little, bold, little shoes, and now all her bright, little, bold, little running dreams could come true.  I am so proud of her.

Cor,

You should know that you are an amazing person.  You should never feel that you haven’t “done enough,” or that you haven’t accomplished anything.  I mean, everyone does feel that way sometimes.  Like, last week, when I ate half a dozen cupcakes (actually, scratch “half”), I felt that way, too.  But, the most important things in life, the things that actually matter, you’ve already done.  You are the most giving, sweetest, funniest, most fun person to be around.  You make everyone around you happy and everyone’s life is better for having known you.  That’s an accomplishment.

And, just in case you ever start to feel down for being 29, I want you to remember this day, your 29th birthday.  Remember coming into my work?  Man, I was so happy to see you guys!  Remember going into the party room and seeing your gift, and balloons, and chalkboard message?  Remember opening your 13.1 magnet and Runner Mom headband?  Remember hula-hooping with your guys (and, I’m assuming, doing wayyy better…I saw the pics)?  Those are the memories I want you to always have with you.

And, most importantly, I want you to remember me.  Remember when I came into the party room and surprised you and Frank and Isaiah?  Remember how I dressed up as Menchie?  Yes, that’s right, please remember that.  I, at 26 years old, dressed up as a giant frozen yogurt.  I had on giant foam feet, enormous felt gloves, and a colossal swirl of yogurt on my head.  As hysterical as I thought it was to surprise you guys by dressing up as my work’s mascot, I want you to remember that this is my JOB.  It is my job to dance and jump and bounce and hug and high-five as an eight-foot tall frozen dairy treat.  I elicit a combination of fear, anger, happiness, and tears in children of all ages.  I have been  punched, groped, and declared a fake.  The tears may fall on the inside, but the smile never leaves the fro yo swirl on the outside.

So remember, Cor, this will be an epic and exciting year for you.  Now, on your 29th birthday, you have your new, magical Newtons. All the possibilities in the whole world lay before you, and your little sister can’t say the same.

Love you, Cor,
Rhonda

    



Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Rhonda runs again

The next step on my quest to become the best runner in the whole wide world was here.  I had the shoes.  I also had the date.  The time.  The location.  And the night off from work.  I also had one or two excuses.

First of all, I am very independent.  Being able to just go out and run several miles, by myself, has almost kind of been a source of pride for me.  I didn’t need to work my schedule around a certain date, time, or location.  So, why bother doing the Tuesday night group run at Fleet Feet?  It’s late, I’m tired, and it’ll take gas to drive there.  Besides, I am a strong, secure, independent woman, completely content and at ease with my own thoughts to keep me company mile after mile.  I can run by myself; shop by myself; do laundry by myself; watch “How I Met Your Mother” by myself; overeat by myself; pet my cat by myself.  AND, I can refrain from making comparisons between being independent and just being single…by myself.

Besides, I don’t even look like a runner.  Yup, that’s it, I’m not going.  I don’t look like a runner.  In the mystical, magical, streamlined, short shorts world of runners, I am just not it. 

I saw this night going down in one of two ways:  I would arrive for the group run at Fleet Feet and be surrounded by the Cute Runners.  These are the girls that are short (really, “petite,” because that sounds cuter), with the high, bouncy ponytails with zero hair frizz.  They have the cutest little feet with the cutest little, bright little running shoes, two of which could easily fit into one of my canoe-sized sneakers.  They are usually found to be sickeningly sweet and despairingly fast; they can be heard having giggly conversation without the slightest bit of breathlessness or bead of sweat  while running 5-minute miles on their short little legs…also cute.

OR, I would arrive for the group run at Fleet Feet and be surrounded by the Rick Runners.  These are the middle-aged guys in the slick running jackets and complementing shorts (wait, it’s February.  Those shorts would probably be replaced with horrifyingly thin running tights).  When grouped together, these guys blend into one mass of skinny-legged, frosted haired, sunglass-wearing-even-though-it’s-dark-outside assemblage of the fastest runners on the planet.  A gold chain necklace may even be spotted.  These guys are smooth, quick, and light on conversation.  They are there for one thing only, and that’s to finish running and compare who has lost the most toenails since the week before.   

So that’s that.   I’m too tall to be cute; too wide to be fast.  Best case scenario, I would be left behind to run the cold, dark, lonely streets of Annapolis by myself, no longer able to hear the giggles from the Cute Runners over my own panting and tears.  Worst case scenario, my cup would runneth over with self-deprecating material for my blog.  Nope, this wasn’t going to happen. 

Or so I thought.

As I pulled into the parking lot at Fleet Feet this evening, it dawned on me that I was literally just here, three days before.  That Saturday, I had excitedly opened the door to the bright, shoe-filled haven of stability and cushioning.  I had taken off my clothes and stood there in all my self-conscious glory, completely naked.  Without both shoes and socks.  I had been there for one reason, and that was to buy my Newtons and become the best runner in the whole wide world.  

As much as I didn’t want to believe it, those Newtons had a magical power over me.  I saw them sitting there on my car seat.  So bright, so good.  So fresh and new.  They needed this run as I much as I did.  Sure, I could let myself down, but I sure as heck could not let my shoes down. 

I sat in my car for several minutes, not sure whether to stay or go.  I could pretend I was never there; start the ignition, turn around, and go home.  I could stop for cupcakes and bask in the security of knowing I stood no chance of encountering a Cute or Rick Runner in the safe confines of my bedroom.  Thereby giving up my goal of becoming the best runner in the whole wide world.  Or, I could suck it up and go run with them anyway.

So I ran.


       

Saturday, February 18, 2012

I got the shoes

I went to bed last night planning to wake up Saturday morning at 6:30am, run 7 miles, go to the Zooma Women's Half Marathon kick-off at Charm City Run at 9:30am, go grocery shopping, and, after having been awesomely productive and super healthy on my day off of work, happily relax with my, "How I Met Your Mother" dvds.

I did wake up at 6:30am for approximately one and half seconds (or long enough to turn off my alarm and not reset it).  I did not run 7 miles, or go to Charm City Run, or go grocery shopping.  I was not remotely productive or mildly healthy.  Instead, I felt incredibly tired, worn out, somewhat sore (ironically, from a legendary workout the day before), with a horrible ache in my left foot.  I mean, I couldn't put ANY weight on it when I had to go downstairs twice to get Kit Kits and Butterfingers.

I was feeling fat, lonely, and unmotivated.  In my head I knew that my ex had already finished his weekly long run of about 100 miles with his best friends in the whole wide world several hours ago; meanwhile, I was flipping my pillow over to the drool-free side.  Since I have Saturdays off of work, I had no need to even get dressed or brush my hair.  Or brush my teeth.  In other words, it was, "one of those days." 

So it's what happened next that still amazes me to this very moment.

I blame it on cupcakes.  The best cupcakes in the whole wide world.  I really wanted a lot of them and I had every intention of driving the fifteen minutes to Queenstown to buy them.  And despite my downhill start to the day, I still felt the need to earn such a glorious and delicious treat.  But how?

I decided I would make a drive to downtown Annapolis and visit Fleet Feet, a specialty running shop.  What better way to get motivated to run and workout (tomorrow, of course) then to buy a new pair of running shoes?!  I really wanted to get a pair of Newtons, and therefore become the best runner in the whole wide world.  I just knew that once I had on a pair of "real" running shoes, I would be feeling lean, fit, and simply awesome.  Unstoppable.  Motivated.  Not at all thinking about my ex, who also has a pair of Newtons.  Not one bit.  AND, this task was just productive enough to earn those cupcakes.

It was actually a very beautiful day outside, and I found Fleet Feet pretty easily.  The drive put me in a pretty good mood, and not getting lost made me feel even better.  Before I left I even changed out of the shirt I wore the night before (only because I found a large stain on it), brushed my hair, AND brushed my teeth.  The rest of my appearance was subject to comment.

Anyway, I went into the shop and was immediately greeted by a tall, thin, very blonde employee.  He was a nice guy.  I told him I wanted Newtons, and fell in love with the fact that he was wearing those very shoes.  He asked me if I had ever bought running shoes before.  I told him about the marathon I ran in 2010 and name-dropped Dr. Mark and Two Rivers Treads (Yes, I was there!).  Due to having an unexpectedly pleasant conversation with another human being of the opposite sex, I was wishing I had taken the time before I left home to inspect for food in my teeth, spray on some Bath & Body Works, and lose 10 pounds.  But I guess I just had to go with it.

The next thing that happened was a first for me.  Little did I know that specialty running shops like to measure your feet.  Without shoes on.  And without socks on.  I won't elaborate too much on this, only that the feeling of sheer panic of being asked to take off my socks for a cute-but-still-a-stranger person to touch my bare-naked feet makes me want to get a weekly pedicure, just in case.  At one point he commented that I didn't have any bunions.  I took that as a compliment.

But that stuff isn't important because the rest was quick and magical.  I got the shoes.  And oh the possibilities!  My excited little mind envisioned myself running along the Eastport Bridge, gliding easily down the streets of Annapolis, my bright little Newtons little beacons calling out, "She's a real runner!"  Yes!  I would be confident enough to find running partners who would look at my Newtons and know I was one of them!  I wouldn't think about my ex in his Newtons, with his best-friend-running-buddies-that-always-got-first-priority, because I'd be too busy with my running buddies in my Newtons!

And I would never get injured!  My perfect form would look simply effortless to the cars driving by!  And it would feel effortless!  I would PR in the half marathon in these shoes, possibly train for another marathon!  I would be thin and lithe and be one of those people that are told, "You look like a runner."  I would buy cute running clothes and donate the big, billowy, form-hiding, cotton tee-shirts of my non-Newton past!  I wouldn't eat Kit Kats and Butterfingers for breakfast and I would always be productive!  I would wake up before the alarm goes off because I'd know my Newtons would be waiting!  And I would never again have, "one of those days!"  My new shoes would not allow that!         

Just the thought of possibly owning these shoes got me out of the house this morning, and now they'll get me everywhere else I want to go!  These shoes are mine, and I simply do not want to think that my new little Newtons are capable of anything less. 

I got the shoes!

And then I got the cupcakes.