One Good Man

The summer between seventh and eighth grade I spent a few days with my girlfriend at her grandparents house in Maine. It was on a lake and I remember barely being able to swim because the water was so cold. But it was fun. We played Trivial Pursuit and ate beef stew ,which her grandfather made and to this day I think is the best I have ever tasted. That summer I had a crush. Well, I probably had a crush very summer what girl doesn't? But this summer stands out in particular. He had brown hair, a bit wavy, big smile, strong arms and he was just funny. My girlfriend and I talked about him but she had to break the news to me that he liked someone else. I hated those days. It was rough being thwarted when you were only 13. Of course there were many years ahead of thwarting but somehow those first couple when you are so young stay with you.
Anyway, as it turns out when we got to high school he asked me to the Homecoming dance. We went but for some reason that bit of whatever I had two summers ago didn't seem to be there. we were friends and remained so. When college came we stayed in touch. He sent letters to me in crushed beer cans, I sent letters on dainty stationary. He sent letters I had to turn the paper clockwise in order to read . I sent him cards by Amanda Bradley, embarrassing as that is to admit. We saw each other over school breaks and hung out with a whole group but never got around to dating. It just wasn't part of the plan.
After college we both went our separate ways and lost touch. About 6 years later I was at a Christmas party of a mutual friend and saw another mutual friend I hadn't seen in years. I was home for the holidays but at the time was living in South Carolina. Five months later,in early May, I got a phone call from my mother explaining that reg had called and wanted to reach me. She gave me his number because the reality was my mother wanted me home and here was a possible way to do it. She was sneaky like that. How is it that mothers always know best? She insisted I call him back, even after I explained I hadn't talked to him in years and was 900 miles away. She knew I was coming home in July and that I didn't have a plan. I called him back. A few days later he sent me a birthday card. My birthday is in February. I wrote back, on nice stationary.
Twelve years later we are celebrating our tenth wedding anniversary. It hardly seems possible. Of course it hardly seems possible that I am 40, have three kids and am considered by most to be a full blown adult.
Good thing I am married to someone who knows how to have fun,let go and test the boundaries of tact and decorum just enough to keep me guessing. I have watched him change from Teva wearing bachelor to a man who "travels on business". From someone who is not sure how to hold a newborn to someone who handles three kids with more grace and patience than anyone, myself included., possibly could. I have witnessed his tears of joy at the birth of our children and tears of sorrow when my mother passed away. He can make me laugh so hard my sides cramp or he can make me want to throw something at him. We like to consider him versatile.
A couple weeks ago my girlfriend emailed me to tell me at the end of her children's birthday party she found my husband lying in the Bounce House with our daughter , now 17 months old, jumping around him. She said the smile on his face was priceless. I didn't need a description. I could close my eyes and see it as clearly as I did when I was 13.

Let the Paining Begin...I mean Training...

My legs hurt. My thighs burn and my calves are aching. My lower abdomen is crying out for mercy, probably because there aren't any muscles left to support that area. And I am wondering why I let my husband talk me into this in the first place? Was it a moment of pure insanity? Did he look particularly handsome on that day and I thought "Aw, you're cute...sure I can run 13 miles with you." I am not sure. There are many decisions I have made over the past 40 years that seemed like a good idea at the time. Blunt cut bob, four layers of shirts, Jordache jeans and that guy in South Carolina. This decision, however could prove to be a physical detriment. Hopefully not but don't think I won't be calling on my physical therapist friend for advice and my girlfriends for sympathy at some point.

I'm going to go back and explain again about the hills that surround my life. As I increase my mileage I also have to add more hills to go up. And it is truly amazing that I have more hills to run up but I never seem to be running downhill anywhere. I am considering petitioning to have the town name officially changed to "Hillsville" or "Up,up and away". I am not sure how this will go over with the locals. I am guessing not well. Sympathy surely won't be with a mother of three who only moved into town five years ago. You have to have been born here to attempt any change and then of course if you were born here you don't want anything to change anyway. So I am stuck with the name and stuck with the hills. One of my friends from my previous urban life commented on her first trip to my house, "I was beginning to feel like I was in the "Sound of Music"." And she broke into the song "The Hills are Alive..." At the time I laughed. Last week I informed her she isn't so funny any more. My husband who normally runs at the gym in a controlled climate on one of those gerbil cage treadmills ran a seven mile loop around the neighborhood the other night and all he could spit out when he got back was "Damn hills".

Training would go so much better, I am convinced if I could run on a flat surface. If I wasn't constantly pumping my arms and pushing my leg muscles to carry me just a little bit higher. But there is no getting around it. Believe me I have tried. The closest I can get is to drive myself somewhere and then run which seems to completely defeat the purpose. I cannot run on a treadmill, it gives me motion sickness. I cannot run on a track because I lose count of how many times I have run around and seven plus miles on a track might just make me dizzy. At this point I have to concentrate on the music playing in my ears and use Jedi mind tricks to convince myself that the landscape is just tilting and that I am staying straight on course and the horizon is not over the hill but staring me right in the eyes. Now if I could only use that same trick to convince my lower abdomen that have enough muscle to hold everything in place this race should be a piece of cake.

Musak to run by...

Truth be told I love music. I love to sing. I sing in the shower, the car or anywhere I am alone. I sing as though I am Barbra Streisand's long lost sister and could blow you away with my octaves and bellowing voice. Truth be told I have a quiet, somewhat in tune voice. Of course after watching "American Idol" I cannot say without a shadow of a doubt that I do sing in tune since being "in tune" apparently is something only Simon Cowell can diagnose for sure.

This week I got an IPod Shuffle. My old MP3 bit the dust. My husband proceeded to "help" me download music so I could get back to running. ( I cannot run without music since the days of the Sony Walkman) He managed to download his music onto my IPod. Needless to say I was in a frenzy to get his music back where it belonged. He listens to bands named KORN ( with the R spelled backwards which leads me to believe the band has bigger issues then not being able to speak lyrics coherently) and Nine Inch Nails. If I put on a Glenn Miller CD he just rolls his eyes and tells me I was born to the wrong generation. Could be. Or we could say that I am very well rounded. I love Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald. I love Young MC and vintage Micheal Jackson. I can dance to Black Eyed Peas or Big Band Swing. My husband thinks I am nuts. I think he has no musical taste.

I am unable to run without music. The sound of my breathing isn't really pleasant, especially with all these hills. And really it is just boring. I have done it once or twice and the time just seems to drag. With music time moves forward simply and peacefully and my legs just keep moving. MMy legs move to the beat and my mind sings along or sometimes even wanders since music also has the ability to evoke memories. Paul McCartney and Wings reminds me of summers when I was very young. Madonna reminds me of 8th grade and some pretty bad fashion choices. Billy Joel reminds me of my friend's mom who loved BIlly Joela nd we listened to him all the way to Maine one summer for a week at her grandparents house on a lake.

My husband spent quite awhile trying to figure out how to get rid of his music and get mine on the Shuffle. At one point he managed to add my songs but still had not deleted his own. He was listening to the songs to figure out where mine started and his ended and he just kept looking at me and shaking his head. "You run to this?" He asked , incredulous. We apparently "run" for different reasons. I run to be alone for an hour. To clear my head, let my mind wander. To imagine my life had I been born Barbra and could sing out loud and blow an audience away. He runs to run fast and get it over with. Thus he runs with "Bang your Head music" blaring in his ears and I run to "Love, soft as an easy chair", or something along those lines. I do like Celine Dion but I also love Aerosmith. Music is like good food, you can never get enough of it and the more stuff you like the richer the experience is. So I suppose I should give my husband's music a chance. Nah my life is rich enough.