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?

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.”  

A Fable if you will....

This morning I was on a short run at the greenway and I remembered a great story that I feel the need to share.  In the shower I came up with a whiz bang moral to the story...Let's try and see where it all goes.  I should tell you that if you don't like gross things or cannot handle some sketchy language then this blog post is not for you. 

I have a weekly bike date with my boo.  It's like we're two 12 year old girls again and we meet up to ride our bicycles once a week except we're not 12... We're competitive 28 year olds training for a triathalon.  That's what happens when you grow up girls...j/k...and I digress.  We have been going for our weekly rides at the Neuse River trail, which is a fairly scenic route.  At the end of the first mile are 2 pedestrian bridges across small creeks.  One afternoon as we rode across the second bridge we both noticed this huge, gross, fresh pile of...yep...poop.  Instead of turning away and moving on we are both staring at this pile of crap speculating on where it came from, how long it had been there, and how long it would take for someone to run through it...how we would hate to run through it, etc.  I was completely lost in pondering this issue when a distinct clanking sound broke into my thoughts.  I looked over to realize that my boo had lost her balance while we were awkwardly staring and was  bumping along the rail on the side of the bridge.  She eventually slid off the bridge, down the side, and somehow successfully managed to not completely fall off or turn over her bike.  She's talented.  Watching this all happen was pretty nightmareish.  Most people probably would have laughed but I couldn't stop thinking how she was going to rocket over the side of the bridge onto the rocks below or slam the pavement and skid.  It was scary and I couldn't do anything but watch.

This story has a happy ending.  My boo didn't get hurt and we went on to have a glorious stress-free bike ride with a pretty fabulous time (remember triathalon) and we're going back tonight.  Now, here's the literal and figurative moral to my story: Don't waste your time focusing on shit (literally or figuratively speaking) or wondering who caused it or where it came from...it can cause you to get off balance, lose perspective, and potentially get hurt.  Fact of the matter is that "it happens" and we may have to ride by it or through it at some point so keep good company that can support you if you fall and who make your ride enjoyable.

The end.