Dear Summer lovers,
No one loves the summer time more than I do. Some would describe me as cold blooded (literally and emotionally) so hot humid conditions do not phase me in the least. I'm like a lizard laying out on a rock. Don't get me wrong, Autumn is still my favorite with it's warm days and crisp nights, but when the days are running long and cold beverages are involved I'm a happy camper.
Having said that there are few of my brethren out there I'd like to have a quick word with so as to ensure we are all going to have a safe, comfortable, and relatively painless time as we celebrate the season.
1.) Dear Baby Girls.... You've heard me say it before, you're going to hear me say it again. You are all beautiful but sometimes you need to leave some things to the imagination. Let me speak plainly, put some clothes on. Yes, I'm jealous you can hide your phone, cash, credit cards, and a taser in your cleavage. I know you're hiding it there because your shirt is almost open to your knees or your bikini top is more like two eye patches. Please do all your sisters and mature brothers a favor and put those twins away before they hurt somebody...most likely you. You're sending the wrong message about who you are and what you really want which is likely just someone to like you, tell you that you're lovely, and valuable. We don't need to visit with the "twins" to figure that out. Also, I don't care how much you profess to be working on your fitness, those lacey booty shorts are not biking shorts. You're going to catch a chaff so harsh you won't want anyone to look or touch. I'm just saying.
2.) Couples at the pool.... I'm so glad y'all found one another. I'm glad there is "chemistry" in your relationship. But latching on to your significant other and riding them like a sea sponge around the pool while my babies are splashing in their floaties two feet away kind of makes me cringe. Furthermore, pinning them up against the pool wall really should be something reserved for behind closed doors. Again, some things need to be left to the imagination. Most people do not want the images of your PDA burned into their retinas while they're sipping poolside, and let's be real... aren't there enough fluids already swimming around in that pool? Again, I'm just saying please, please have some modesty and decency.
3.) Final shout out to my sun worshipers out there... I love a good tan as much as the next person. I remember laying in the sun for hours growing up and getting deep, nice brown tans. A little color never hurt anyone. I must say though as I have gotten old(er) I've grown more cautious about intentionally working on my tan. Watching several good friends, some younger than I, have cancerous spots removed and now seeing the wrinkles, freckles, and sunspots popping up on my body from my young and fun days, I would encourage you to put on some sunscreen or invest in a good umbrella. I don't want my nice leather MK bag to blend in with you while we're out shopping together. Capiche?
Keep a couple of cold beverages and a hot dog in the fridge for me ok? Y'all are always welcome to come by for a nice ice cream treat or some cool lemonade if you're out this way. Around here we don't lock the doors when crazy shows up. We invite it up on the porch and break out the good stuff.
Happy summer compadres!
LJ
Showing posts with label Funny. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Funny. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 14, 2016
Saturday, June 6, 2015
Letters from Lendy: Dear Heritage Harris Teeter Shoppers....
Dear Heritage Harris Teeter Shoppers,
Greetings from a fellow food officianato. No, I do not own a house on your overpriced golf course. I live in the "hick" town right up the road. It's pronounced "Roseville" spelled "Rolesville." Why yes, even rednecks enjoy high quality steaks and specialty spices and not just natty light and beanie weenies. Sorry I'm not dressed in jacks and I left my Louis V at home. Adidas running shorts and camouflage crocks are just gonna have to do. Yes, I am wearing my Raybans. Inside. While I'm shopping. It's not bright in here. I'm not planning to pull a gun and rob your precious store. I'm just too lazy to take them off and put them away. Stop staring. Awkward.
Little girl at the meat counter, your kids are just too cute. I'm impressed how one is hanging from it's leg strap in the cart and the other one is licking every package of raw meat it can get its little hands on, but you've not a spilled a drop of your coffee. Is that a non-fat, sugar free, double shot caramel latte? I can smell success from a mile away. I can see it in your face that you're stressed and you're having a moment... just you and your latte. But if you could just scooch your buggy over one foot we can both have a moment picking out what steaks we're going to grill tonight. I might even pick your sticky kid up off the floor for you when he falls on his head.
If grocery isles were like roads, fellow shoppers, I would feel as if I were in India in a traffic jam. Seriously? Move to the side and then look at what you need to rather than pulling your cart horizontal and blocking the whole path. If there are 20 people on one isle, one or two more is one or two too much. Why are you just standing there in front of the waffles texting when you see me standing here waiting politely for you to finish??!!! Y'all are giving me buggy rage.
Granny... can I call you granny? There are approximately 27 boxes of fake yellow cake mix on this shelf. There are so many boxes that some of them are dusty from how long they have been here. While I am impressed at how you made eye contact and sprinted down the isle to grab the one I had my hand on... not necessary.
People of the teet, I love the free samples as much as the next person but let's be real. When you go and open a pack of paper plates on isle 10 to fix yourself mini sandwiches from the free artisan bread, cheese, deli meat, and fruit samples... we have a problem. Go home and fix you a meal. (P.S. There are pieces of banana nut and blueberry muffin for dessert on isle 2. Delicous.)
Little checkout dude, if I were 16 I'd totally crush on you. Actually, I would be completely embarrassed at how unabashedly you are staring at every woman's rear end who is walking by your station rather than paying attention to what you're doing. If you place my eggs and bread in with canned goods and they are crushed I will come back and hunt you down.
I'm just gonna swing by the free wine samples on my way out. Thanks.
Sincerely,
Hangry PMSing woman in the Raybans
Greetings from a fellow food officianato. No, I do not own a house on your overpriced golf course. I live in the "hick" town right up the road. It's pronounced "Roseville" spelled "Rolesville." Why yes, even rednecks enjoy high quality steaks and specialty spices and not just natty light and beanie weenies. Sorry I'm not dressed in jacks and I left my Louis V at home. Adidas running shorts and camouflage crocks are just gonna have to do. Yes, I am wearing my Raybans. Inside. While I'm shopping. It's not bright in here. I'm not planning to pull a gun and rob your precious store. I'm just too lazy to take them off and put them away. Stop staring. Awkward.
Little girl at the meat counter, your kids are just too cute. I'm impressed how one is hanging from it's leg strap in the cart and the other one is licking every package of raw meat it can get its little hands on, but you've not a spilled a drop of your coffee. Is that a non-fat, sugar free, double shot caramel latte? I can smell success from a mile away. I can see it in your face that you're stressed and you're having a moment... just you and your latte. But if you could just scooch your buggy over one foot we can both have a moment picking out what steaks we're going to grill tonight. I might even pick your sticky kid up off the floor for you when he falls on his head.
If grocery isles were like roads, fellow shoppers, I would feel as if I were in India in a traffic jam. Seriously? Move to the side and then look at what you need to rather than pulling your cart horizontal and blocking the whole path. If there are 20 people on one isle, one or two more is one or two too much. Why are you just standing there in front of the waffles texting when you see me standing here waiting politely for you to finish??!!! Y'all are giving me buggy rage.
Granny... can I call you granny? There are approximately 27 boxes of fake yellow cake mix on this shelf. There are so many boxes that some of them are dusty from how long they have been here. While I am impressed at how you made eye contact and sprinted down the isle to grab the one I had my hand on... not necessary.
People of the teet, I love the free samples as much as the next person but let's be real. When you go and open a pack of paper plates on isle 10 to fix yourself mini sandwiches from the free artisan bread, cheese, deli meat, and fruit samples... we have a problem. Go home and fix you a meal. (P.S. There are pieces of banana nut and blueberry muffin for dessert on isle 2. Delicous.)
Little checkout dude, if I were 16 I'd totally crush on you. Actually, I would be completely embarrassed at how unabashedly you are staring at every woman's rear end who is walking by your station rather than paying attention to what you're doing. If you place my eggs and bread in with canned goods and they are crushed I will come back and hunt you down.
I'm just gonna swing by the free wine samples on my way out. Thanks.
Sincerely,
Hangry PMSing woman in the Raybans
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Letters from Lendy -- Baby Girls
Dear young college girls behind me in line at Panera Bread:
The fake valley girl accent you're using was old in 1998. You're in college... "adorbs" is not a word. How drunk you were last night and how you were sleeping in a bathtub this morning is not funny at all. The very sound of your high pitch laughter, too short / tight clothing, and total lack of self respect makes me cringe, feel annoyed, and worried about you all at once.
Maybe I haven't had enough coffee this morning, or maybe if you could hear my thoughts you'd say that girl is just a jealous hater. I mean look at me. Rolling in with my hair pulled up, no make-up, old yellow shorts, camo crocks, and a t-shirt. This has always been me. Awkward and country while you slept in a tub full of vodka but are made-up and rocking jacks and juicy couture straight from the page of Cosmo. Part of me wishes that I could have been more "put together" like you but definitely not enough to change at this point.
Take it from your 30 year old sister, you may always enjoy / like the finer things in life but at some point those tubs will become too hard to sleep in. The booze will cause you to feel worse than any of the problems you had before you started drinking. You'll realize that true love doesn't happen overnight, and boys in bars don't necessarily make good daddies and husbands. People will respect and take you seriously if you can carry on a conversation without using weird slang every two seconds. This will be important as you look for jobs and determine what you want to be when you grow up. 2 out of 3 of you will not find a permanent paid "MRS" position while you're in school. Instead of talking bad about your girlfriends while they're in the bathroom, learn how to have each others' back and love them well, because true friends are hard to come by and even harder to keep.
I sincerely wish you well on your journey. The social drama may seem super important and consuming now but paying bills, working 40 hours per week, maintaining good relationships, and being a big girl will make all these things seem like fun. Figure out who you are, have fun, but be safe. I'm praying for you.
Now move over so I can get my hazelnut coffee and tell me where did you find that cute Louis V clutch?
Bless your heart baby girls,
Lendy
The fake valley girl accent you're using was old in 1998. You're in college... "adorbs" is not a word. How drunk you were last night and how you were sleeping in a bathtub this morning is not funny at all. The very sound of your high pitch laughter, too short / tight clothing, and total lack of self respect makes me cringe, feel annoyed, and worried about you all at once.
Maybe I haven't had enough coffee this morning, or maybe if you could hear my thoughts you'd say that girl is just a jealous hater. I mean look at me. Rolling in with my hair pulled up, no make-up, old yellow shorts, camo crocks, and a t-shirt. This has always been me. Awkward and country while you slept in a tub full of vodka but are made-up and rocking jacks and juicy couture straight from the page of Cosmo. Part of me wishes that I could have been more "put together" like you but definitely not enough to change at this point.
Take it from your 30 year old sister, you may always enjoy / like the finer things in life but at some point those tubs will become too hard to sleep in. The booze will cause you to feel worse than any of the problems you had before you started drinking. You'll realize that true love doesn't happen overnight, and boys in bars don't necessarily make good daddies and husbands. People will respect and take you seriously if you can carry on a conversation without using weird slang every two seconds. This will be important as you look for jobs and determine what you want to be when you grow up. 2 out of 3 of you will not find a permanent paid "MRS" position while you're in school. Instead of talking bad about your girlfriends while they're in the bathroom, learn how to have each others' back and love them well, because true friends are hard to come by and even harder to keep.
I sincerely wish you well on your journey. The social drama may seem super important and consuming now but paying bills, working 40 hours per week, maintaining good relationships, and being a big girl will make all these things seem like fun. Figure out who you are, have fun, but be safe. I'm praying for you.
Now move over so I can get my hazelnut coffee and tell me where did you find that cute Louis V clutch?
Bless your heart baby girls,
Lendy
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
The Name Game
Today the elastic in my big girl panties broke and I decided to go public with the fact it frustrates me to no end when people do not take the time to understand that my name...however weird, unusual, or quirky it may be... is Lendy and that it is not ok when people do not take the time to call me that especially after I politely correct them multiple times. WHEW! That was a mouthful. First time offenders, fast food / Starbucks people that I never intend to see again...no harm no foul. Everybody needs grace but when you are simply too lazy, too distracted, know me personally, have seen my name in print, or think that my name should be something other than what it is...the fact that you will not take the time to get my name right makes me feel disrespected. My blood pressure hits the midway point which is high for my typical collected-ness. The straw that broke the camel's back was this afternoon when I stopped in to check on a gift I ordered at a local store. I had to complete an order form when I purchased it so my information was clearly on file. The lady behind the counter asked for my name. I politely , compliantly, and quietly (my public front) replied, "Lendy Johnson." After a few seconds she said, "I don't have a Wendy Johnson." Slight intake of breath..."It's Lendy. L-e-n-d-y Johnson." Slight pause. "I'm sorry ma'm I don't have Wendy or Lendy Johnson listed. I do have Lindsay Johnson?" There are probably 1,000 Lindsay Johnson's in the greater Raleigh area but only 1 (maybe 2) Lendy's that I personally know of including myself. Facepalm. Sometimes my overactive imagination laughs at how I can get away with pretty much anything... I can just blame it on any one of my other identities Wendy, Lindsay, Linda, Leslie, Linday, Lyndee, Lindy, etc., etc. Wendy and Lindsay are my go-to girl's when I want to be hateful. Those are the names I get called the most. God help the reputation of all you Wendy / Lindsay Johnsons out there.
Ninety-five percent of the time I have difficulty dealing with the name game that I have played my entire life. The other 5% offer some pretty entertaining stories. I vividly remember coming home from vacation bible school at the age of 7 with a "Son" visor that we had glued little do-dads on during craft time. Our teacher had wrote our names on the visors so we knew which one to take home. She handed me my sun visor at the end of the day and while I recognized the fuzzy blue and yellow pom pom balls I had previously glued on I also noticed my name had changed to Linday. I was so confused. Was that my name now? Did she give me someone else's hat???? Where was my hat??? I was experiencing identity crisis / theft at age 7!! I still remember my Mama trying not to laugh as I cried about how my visor was lost or someone else took it after she explained that my name had not changed. I refused to believe that my teacher had mispelled my name.
My junior year of high school all of the cool kids were in the FFA and spent the majority of their time hanging out in the "ag department." My friends and I would eat lunch in the "ag office" or hang out in front of the building between classes. Everyone knew everyone and as juniors we thought we were too cool for many of the freshmen who tried to come in and earn their spot on our turf. There was a freshmen boy that always hung out after Agriscience class that got unmercifully picked on for not being the, "sharpest tool in the shed" but he did (does) have a kind heart. One day he shyly admitted to one of my girlfriends that he had a big crush on a hot upper classman. He said, "Uh well I think her name is Wendy... Wendy Beaman." I never lived that one down. My friends got a riot out of this and so Wendy Beaman has messages written to her in my senior yearbook. :)
In the heat of my frustration I posted a status on Facebook announcing my hate of the name game. I found out quickly that there are many of you that feel my pain. Even people with seemingly "normal" names battle folks calling them pet names or nicknames that they never wanted. There are people that go by abbreviated names or nick names that battle folks wanting to call them by their "formal" name. I have to admit that I am the worst for giving people pet names. My poor husband Mike has been permanently branded by most of my friends as "Mikey." I have a close friend I refer to as "boo." Another good friend I shared an office with is my "wifey" even though we are happily married, straight ladies. I have several Jennifers that became Jenn's. My dog's name is Bella but we call her "Pookie." At work there is Mac Daddy, Ms. Tripp, Meg, Shon, Real-lo... wow that makes us sound like a gang rather than a group of professionals. If anyone out there that has been given a title they didn't like...please let it be made known. There is no room for politeness on this issue. I would hate to make anyone feel the consternation I feel when people don't get my name right.... and obviously others feel the same way.
Here's a kernel of truth / my unsolicited advice on this issue...If you don't know how to pronounce a person's name or know what they want to be called...my suggestion would be to just ask. It may feel awkward but most likely they'll appreciate it and you won't feel like an idiot when they correct you. If you do mess up and get their name wrong, have the decency to pay attention (hard right?) and get their name right the next time.
Ninety-five percent of the time I have difficulty dealing with the name game that I have played my entire life. The other 5% offer some pretty entertaining stories. I vividly remember coming home from vacation bible school at the age of 7 with a "Son" visor that we had glued little do-dads on during craft time. Our teacher had wrote our names on the visors so we knew which one to take home. She handed me my sun visor at the end of the day and while I recognized the fuzzy blue and yellow pom pom balls I had previously glued on I also noticed my name had changed to Linday. I was so confused. Was that my name now? Did she give me someone else's hat???? Where was my hat??? I was experiencing identity crisis / theft at age 7!! I still remember my Mama trying not to laugh as I cried about how my visor was lost or someone else took it after she explained that my name had not changed. I refused to believe that my teacher had mispelled my name.
My junior year of high school all of the cool kids were in the FFA and spent the majority of their time hanging out in the "ag department." My friends and I would eat lunch in the "ag office" or hang out in front of the building between classes. Everyone knew everyone and as juniors we thought we were too cool for many of the freshmen who tried to come in and earn their spot on our turf. There was a freshmen boy that always hung out after Agriscience class that got unmercifully picked on for not being the, "sharpest tool in the shed" but he did (does) have a kind heart. One day he shyly admitted to one of my girlfriends that he had a big crush on a hot upper classman. He said, "Uh well I think her name is Wendy... Wendy Beaman." I never lived that one down. My friends got a riot out of this and so Wendy Beaman has messages written to her in my senior yearbook. :)
In the heat of my frustration I posted a status on Facebook announcing my hate of the name game. I found out quickly that there are many of you that feel my pain. Even people with seemingly "normal" names battle folks calling them pet names or nicknames that they never wanted. There are people that go by abbreviated names or nick names that battle folks wanting to call them by their "formal" name. I have to admit that I am the worst for giving people pet names. My poor husband Mike has been permanently branded by most of my friends as "Mikey." I have a close friend I refer to as "boo." Another good friend I shared an office with is my "wifey" even though we are happily married, straight ladies. I have several Jennifers that became Jenn's. My dog's name is Bella but we call her "Pookie." At work there is Mac Daddy, Ms. Tripp, Meg, Shon, Real-lo... wow that makes us sound like a gang rather than a group of professionals. If anyone out there that has been given a title they didn't like...please let it be made known. There is no room for politeness on this issue. I would hate to make anyone feel the consternation I feel when people don't get my name right.... and obviously others feel the same way.
Here's a kernel of truth / my unsolicited advice on this issue...If you don't know how to pronounce a person's name or know what they want to be called...my suggestion would be to just ask. It may feel awkward but most likely they'll appreciate it and you won't feel like an idiot when they correct you. If you do mess up and get their name wrong, have the decency to pay attention (hard right?) and get their name right the next time.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Taking it to the mattresses....
I have only heard the phrase, "Taking it to the mattresses," used
in the 1990's Meg Ryan blockbuster (*sarcasm*) "You've Got Mail."
Apparently it's a famous line from one of "The Godfather" movies and
it references mafia members hiding somewhere other than at their house. I
thought it could also be a great lead in to one of those little novels my mama
used to take to the beach. Either way I just ripped it off because I've got an entertaining
story and it happens to involve...you guessed it...a mattress.
For the past two days I've been taking one of my team members out into the district to meet with some very important volunteers. Yesterday we drove all over the northern counties and tomorrow we will finish up in the western counties. Today we both had various errands and tasks to complete so we drove separately most of the day. This afternoon we left Durham together and were both headed back to Raleigh on Interstate 85. Meg was right behind me because she's from down east and has no idea what's heads or tails in Durham and traffic was pretty intense. Right before our exit the large box truck directly in front of me slammed on brakes and before I really had time to get the words, "What the..." out of my mouth a full-sized mattress blew around the back of the truck and landed directly in front of me. Now, everything happened in a matter of 3 seconds but just like in those cheap made-for-TV movies time slowed down and I saw myself from the outside processing the situation. My options were to swerve left or right or hit the mattress. With two lanes of traffic on my left and two lanes of traffic on my right at 70 mph it could have / would have been extremely messy. My greatest fear period was that whether I hit it directly or just glanced it that the mattress would throw my truck into another lane of traffic or cause it to flip. Having only driven smaller cars my entire life I totally underestimate how tough and heavy my truck is. If by some luck I drove over the mattress with no issues then it would still likely be right in Meg's path. My options did not seem all that great.
I did what I thought to be the lesser of all the evils and made the decision to hit the mattress. I gripped the steering wheel, sped up a little, and slammed that mattress like a champion. Go big or go home people. I heard it busting all under my truck but the truck never swerved or even bounced really. After actually hitting the mattress my brain sort of began to slip into a haze of fear and relief that is until I heard the distinct sound of metal dragging behind the truck. First thought, the back passenger tire has busted. Everyone on I-85 immediately slowed to a crawl as I gradually took the lap of shame over to a sketchy median. I jumped out of the truck expecting to see my back tires slashed from the metal in the mattress but was quickly surprised to find the mattress was still wedged up under the truck.
Meg pulled in behind me, jumped out, and immediately began to laugh. She had watched everything happen from right behind me. After seeing that I was ok and had only gained a mattress landing gear, she was laughing at the craziness of our situation and at least a little out of relief. Still shaking...I swallowed the huge lump in my throat and I began to laugh too...I was alive, my truck wasn't damaged, and no one else got hurt in the process. Divine favor.
Traffic was whizzing by on either side of us as we tried to pull the twisted metal and stuffing out from under the truck. Meg and I were using all of our weight pulling and pushing with little result. I was debating whether to call the troopers. I've never had a good experience with a trooper so part of me almost just wanted to abandon the truck and just head home. A beat up black truck backed up the exit ramp toward us and this super kind man crawled under my truck and within a few minutes he was able to jerk the mattress out. He even loaded it on the back of his truck saying that he did not want someone else to have the same trouble. I really wanted to hug this guy. All he said before he jumped in his truck was, "There are still good people in the world."
I've been run down for the past week it seems ...my patience has been thin...my feelings have been hurt...the to do list seems never ending. After our little adventure I came home with the weight still on my shoulders, took a nap, and woke up with a song on my heart. We laughed at this story over supper but the fact that this could have a much more serious outcome is impossible to overlook no matter how much I don't want to dwell on it. I'm not afraid to die, but I'm not itching for death to overtake me or to cause harm to anyone intentional or not. It could have happened to anyone out on the road but today I was given a second chance to adjust my attitude and a reminder that there are still good caring people in this world regardless of the hurt others cause and that I need to try to pay that goodness forward. I stopped on the side of the road on the way home from supper and offered a poor runner my rain jacket in a downpour...She waved me off annoyed...I should have realized I was interrupting her pace and keeping her further from getting dry. Gold star for effort right?
For the past two days I've been taking one of my team members out into the district to meet with some very important volunteers. Yesterday we drove all over the northern counties and tomorrow we will finish up in the western counties. Today we both had various errands and tasks to complete so we drove separately most of the day. This afternoon we left Durham together and were both headed back to Raleigh on Interstate 85. Meg was right behind me because she's from down east and has no idea what's heads or tails in Durham and traffic was pretty intense. Right before our exit the large box truck directly in front of me slammed on brakes and before I really had time to get the words, "What the..." out of my mouth a full-sized mattress blew around the back of the truck and landed directly in front of me. Now, everything happened in a matter of 3 seconds but just like in those cheap made-for-TV movies time slowed down and I saw myself from the outside processing the situation. My options were to swerve left or right or hit the mattress. With two lanes of traffic on my left and two lanes of traffic on my right at 70 mph it could have / would have been extremely messy. My greatest fear period was that whether I hit it directly or just glanced it that the mattress would throw my truck into another lane of traffic or cause it to flip. Having only driven smaller cars my entire life I totally underestimate how tough and heavy my truck is. If by some luck I drove over the mattress with no issues then it would still likely be right in Meg's path. My options did not seem all that great.
I did what I thought to be the lesser of all the evils and made the decision to hit the mattress. I gripped the steering wheel, sped up a little, and slammed that mattress like a champion. Go big or go home people. I heard it busting all under my truck but the truck never swerved or even bounced really. After actually hitting the mattress my brain sort of began to slip into a haze of fear and relief that is until I heard the distinct sound of metal dragging behind the truck. First thought, the back passenger tire has busted. Everyone on I-85 immediately slowed to a crawl as I gradually took the lap of shame over to a sketchy median. I jumped out of the truck expecting to see my back tires slashed from the metal in the mattress but was quickly surprised to find the mattress was still wedged up under the truck.
Meg pulled in behind me, jumped out, and immediately began to laugh. She had watched everything happen from right behind me. After seeing that I was ok and had only gained a mattress landing gear, she was laughing at the craziness of our situation and at least a little out of relief. Still shaking...I swallowed the huge lump in my throat and I began to laugh too...I was alive, my truck wasn't damaged, and no one else got hurt in the process. Divine favor.
Traffic was whizzing by on either side of us as we tried to pull the twisted metal and stuffing out from under the truck. Meg and I were using all of our weight pulling and pushing with little result. I was debating whether to call the troopers. I've never had a good experience with a trooper so part of me almost just wanted to abandon the truck and just head home. A beat up black truck backed up the exit ramp toward us and this super kind man crawled under my truck and within a few minutes he was able to jerk the mattress out. He even loaded it on the back of his truck saying that he did not want someone else to have the same trouble. I really wanted to hug this guy. All he said before he jumped in his truck was, "There are still good people in the world."
I've been run down for the past week it seems ...my patience has been thin...my feelings have been hurt...the to do list seems never ending. After our little adventure I came home with the weight still on my shoulders, took a nap, and woke up with a song on my heart. We laughed at this story over supper but the fact that this could have a much more serious outcome is impossible to overlook no matter how much I don't want to dwell on it. I'm not afraid to die, but I'm not itching for death to overtake me or to cause harm to anyone intentional or not. It could have happened to anyone out on the road but today I was given a second chance to adjust my attitude and a reminder that there are still good caring people in this world regardless of the hurt others cause and that I need to try to pay that goodness forward. I stopped on the side of the road on the way home from supper and offered a poor runner my rain jacket in a downpour...She waved me off annoyed...I should have realized I was interrupting her pace and keeping her further from getting dry. Gold star for effort right?
Sunday, June 16, 2013
If at first you don't succeed...tri..tri..again
If you follow or read any of my social media then you know the past year has been a time of transformation of some sorts. I have never been a "little girl." I'll never forget during my first year of teaching, one of my students from the sticks referred to me as being "corn fed." All you ag people out there understand the difference between grain fed beef and grass fed beef. I’m not opening an argument of which one tastes better…just saying. I have always struggled with my body image and particularly my weight / size. At some point during my graduate career I was able to finally level off and settle into a size that I felt looked good but maybe wasn't as small as I would like. Let me rephrase...I may have been small enough but definitely was not concerned with how soft I was. When I started my job at the Bureau people teased me constantly, "Wait until you put on the FB 15 (pounds)." (Think college freshmen 15). One of girlfriends was quick to say try the FB 60. I swore then and there that I would have no part of a FB 15 or FB 60. But as the weeks wore on and meeting after meeting there was nothing but country cooking or fancy meals and soft cushy chairs or long truck rides I began to notice a difference in how my clothes fit and not in a good way. I decided I needed to do something and quick.
About 5 years ago Mike and I were at the State Farmers Market picking up some fresh veggies and I noticed all of these women milling around me with race bibs and bright pink shirts, shorts, shoes, costumes, etc. They had just finished the Race for the Cure...one of the largest attended 5K runs in the triangle area that is a charity run for breast cancer research. I had never put much thought into running...honestly I never thought I could run but something about all these ladies training and running for a purpose got my brain to turning.
It took me several years and some tight jeans to stir my memories of those 5K finishers one night as I desperately started looking for a gym, personal trainer, something to help me battle the bulge. My mom had been recently diagnosed with Type II diabetes and I knew that the risk for me was now a reality. I needed a long term action plan. I googled and found a local running coach who had great reviews for helping new runners. I wasn't a new runner at that point...more like remedial. I e-mailed her sort of hoping that she would accidentally not get my e-mail but low and behold she e-mailed me the next day, excited to meet with me the following week. We met on a cold March morning in 2012. They had called for sleet and ice first thing and I was desperately hoping she would cancel and reschedule. No..no...I met her at the Neuse River Trail at 6:30am bundled in cotton and fleece...terrible attire to run in but I didn't know that at the time. Other things I didn't know...how weak I was and maybe most importantly how to eat properly before running. I was fine for the first mile running and walking at intervals but about halfway through our second mile I realized I had some serious ish. The bottom of my gut was about to drop out. The Neuse River Trail is pretty but without any bathroom facilities. It also borders several expensive neighborhoods in the Wakefield area of Raleigh. There was a black canvas wall blocking out a tree protection area off the trail a little ways. I hurdled myself over the canvas and yes I straight did my business in the wooded area behind someone's multi-million dollar home. I joke with my friends that I'm sure someone had a glare on their security camera from my white rear-end shining. I'm also sure the other people on the trail were impressed with how totally obvious I was. Needless to say it was a very humbling moment in my life. On the way back over the canvas wall following my moment...I caught my yoga pants on a spike. It didn't tear my pants but it tore my thigh. Karma much?
I left that day thinking I would never see my running coach again or really wanting to run. For someone who is as competitive and afraid of failure as I am...that morning was a total disaster, cluster, trainwreck, hot mess, etc, etc. I ran on and off a little...ALONE....throughout the rest of March and in to April. I ended up running (mostly walking) in an Autism Awareness 5K in my hometown at the end of April. While I do hate failure and rejection, etc... I'm not a quitter. I looked up the race results after the 5K and was seriously displeased with my time. I don't know what I expected...I hadn't really trained...but it did light the fire back under me to start working again. I contacted my running coach and we've been working together ever since. We don't necessarily meet up very often but we talk at least once a week.
I trained through last summer and fall and ran my first half marathon in February. I cannot tell you the joy I felt crossing that finish line!! I was also shocked and humbled at how many people supported my training despite the fact that they may not like to run themselves. My time for the race wasn't close to what I had hoped and I often feel discouraged when I see how my other friends have progressed so quickly with their training and their race times but I'm trying to keep in mind that my ultimate goal was to be healthy and have fun...not to be some elite athlete. I would like to work my way up to having better race times and more strength but these things take time and discipline. I'm pretty sure God is trying to teach me some patience and perseverance.
Next Sunday is my first triathlon. The change in my training and mandatory strength training have been a good change of pace from simply running but I'm not expecting to break any records or even finish midway in the pack. I'm just going for a finish... until the next one. If I can get out there and pretend to be somewhat athletic I’m pretty sure anyone that has any gumption or desire whatsoever to do something physical can get out there and get it done. One of my running buddies says, “Don’t worry about how slow or dumb you look, you’re lapping everybody on the couch.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)