I know this is shocking, so hold onto your granny panties ~ two posts in two days!
"What could she possibly have to say," you ask. "She stays at home, avoids housework and watches reality show marathons on the Bravo channel all day!"
That may be true, but my venture out into the Florida sunshine today for my semi-daily **cough** "jog" proved to be especially fruitful for blog fodder.
There were hoards of people out this morning, all of whom seemed to be in fantastic moods. And why wouldn't they be in good moods, with the children back in school, the sun shining and the palm trees swaying gently in the breeze?
People smiled and said "hello" and made comments about the baby, not all of which I caught as my Ipod was turned up full blast to the tune of "Sexy Bitch" (whatever it takes to motivate me...whatever it takes, folks). I enjoy pretending that I am, indeed, a sexy bitch.
I like to imagine myself as the "real jogger" you may have seen in the picture I posted in one of my previous posts ~ the one in the spandex and sports bra who is effortlessly bouncing and looking impossibly fresh while doing so. I try to imagine this instead of the reality: the chubby girl visibly melting and tugging at the crotch of her shorts because they have already ridden up five minutes into the jog.
I passed a runner. You may notice that I said "runner," not jogger, because he reminded me of my husband who is, in fact, a runner. A runner, in my definition, is someone who appears to be actively keeping track of his/her time as the miles pass.
It is all I can do to endure my husband's babbling on about his frustrating seven-point-five minute miles.
"I would like to get my runs down to six minute miles," he says, as he puts another potato chip in his mouth. I try to ignore him as I am fairly certain that I am trudging fourteen minute miles. I remain quiet, but execute the vacant nod he gets from me that gives him the illusion that I'm "tracking him."
It is always an interesting thing when I pass a Runner. I speed up a little bit and brightly hold my hand up and wave. I could see the look in his eyes as he passed ~ I should just have a tee shirt that says "POSER" on it.
As I turned a corner I passed a walker. At the inception of my excercise journey six years ago, I was a walker who pumped my arms because I wanted to appear to be a "power walker," just because I liked the term "power walker." It indicates you are more than a walker, and the word "power" adds so much. Don't you think?
However, this was a power-walker of the likes I had never seen before. Instead of pumping her arms side to side, she was doing a ninja kickboxing speed bag move with her arms. It is not surprising that this was new to me and I tried not to be so obvious with my "what the hell" look. My one year old even gave a quizzical turn of her head as we passed. This woman was gravely sober, apparently because she took her ninja walking over-the-top seriously, and she vaguely acknowledged my "good morning."
We continued on and I got to the point where I do in each of my jogs. The point in which I think of how nice it would be to take a nap under that palm tree immediately in front of me, and cursing myself that I didn't bring a bottle of water because I have certainly lost five pounds in water weight considering the perspiration that is saturating my shirt, hat, and general crotch area. You know how it is.
It was at this point when I saw her again, turning the corner towards me. I'm sure that even the baby produced a gasp. She was walking, doing the same ninja move with her arms but was doing this backwards.
I vowed to go home and look up the benefits of walking backwards because I cannot think of someone who would make such a spectacle out of herself for any other reason in that it does something fabulous for the body. I couldn't help it, I very rudely stared. My eyes slowly moved to my camera phone, but I immediately dismissed this thought as it would be too obvious.
I thought of calling my husband and telling him what I had just witnessed, but I remembered he was in a meeting. Then I thought of you, my dear blog readers and literally ran home to write about it.
Perhaps I should take that route more often, at that time of the morning. Next time, I think I will take a picture. It's sort of like she is begging for it.
Oh, and if she is coming at me while walking backwards, hell, she won't even notice if I snap off a couple shots.