Archive: September 2008

The date was November 26, 2004. I had survived my first Thanksgiving with JG’s family, and I crammed into an SUV with the female part of the clan for some serious Black Friday shopping. I had never really been out to the malls on the day after Thanksgiving, but the call of tradition beckoned, and we ventured forth.

Outside the fitting rooms at the Gap, I saw a girl carrying a small shoebox with a picture of a turquoise moccasin on it.  Before I could stop myself, I tapped on her shoulder and asked, “Where did you find those cute shoes?”  I don’t know what came over me.  I had no need for flat, blue shoes.  The novelty must have struck me in the right way.

Over there, she gestured, but they didn’t have many blue ones left.

I dashed over to the markdown shoe wall, but the only sizes in blue were too big for me, and the only other color was black, which seemed downright dreary in comparison.  The shoes were so cute! The main body was made of turquoise suede with patent leather accents at the heel and toe.  Oh, well.

Someone tapped my shoulder in the check-out line.  It was the girl I had approached earlier, and she held out the shoes.  “These didn’t work out for me, so do you want to try?” she asked. “They’re sevens.”

Did I!  I thanked the girl and tried on the shoes quickly, right then and there. They were a little roomy — I probably could have used a 6.5 — but they were on sale, so the deal was done.  In the same way that my sister and I breathe a little prayer of thanks for a parking spot right next to a mall’s entrance, these shoes were Meant To Be.

With that purchase, I began what I call my Teal Phase, which resulted in the acquisition of many teal or turquoise items (including a corduroy jacket that very same day) in an attempt to move away from my then-signature olive green.  I saw the light of wearing flats, and I accumulated several more pairs in varying colors, even taking the leap to patterned shoes. My wardrobe of neutrals and solids was never the same again.

And to think it all started with those turquoise moccasins that I almost didn’t find.

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Psst!  Mission: Put Together - Fall Edition kicks off tomorrow!

Of all the weeks in the volleyball season, we’ve been dreading this one the most:

• Games after school on Monday, Thursday, and Friday
• JG’s grad class exam on Wednesday
• Back to School Night on Thursday (after the volleyball game)
• Tournament for the junior varsity team all day on Saturday

Oh, and I’m getting my hair cut on Wednesday before I pick up my library book, but that is hardly worth mentioning.  Suffice to say, the week is going to be a slow trudge toward the end of Saturday.

There’s a sadistic part of me that relishes being pushed by extreme circumstances.  I like the possibility of triumphantly rising out of the wreckage, perhaps bruised and battered, but whole and stronger for it.  We will grit our teeth and get through it, and it doesn’t hurt that the week’s menu is packed with our favorite meals.

On the other hand, facing a week like this one is daunting.  JG has been having trouble sleeping, so he is even more drained than he ought to be.  He woke up at 3am today, and he told me this afternoon that the last thing he wanted to do was coach because he just wanted to lie down.  As if the pace weren’t hard enough, he’s too tired to hit the ground running like he needs to do.  I’m already anticipating how rough Thursday will be for JG: a full day of teaching, varsity and JV volleyball games, and then two hours of Back to School Night.  I’m prepared to come home from work, walk Ted, make dinner, eat it by myself, and maybe even go to bed before he gets home from the 14-hour day.  This week, my job is to make JG’s homecomings easy and light, even if everything feels difficult and burdensome.

I know that this week will be the hardest one of the fall in terms of sheer activities, so I’m banking on the assumption that the rest of the time will feel comparatively calm.  One can hope, at least.

Seeing as I’ve already run my 5K, I admit that it’s anticlimactic to make this announcement, but I officially finished Couch to 5K today! To satisfy my need to check off all the boxes and earn my hypothetical gold star, I continued with the prescribed workouts to complete the program. This week, I jogged for thirty minutes on three mornings for an approximate distance of 2.35 miles each time (plus another quarter mile for my warm-up walk). I am immensely proud of myself.

The air has crisped up ever so slightly, so my morning runs are much more pleasant than when I began C25K over the summer.  Our neighborhood is unnervingly dark when I leave the house, but the sun rises soon enough to give way to a pearly dawn.  I start out heading east, watching the blue sky lighten with a brash lining of orange.  There are several moderate hills in my route between the comfortable areas of level ground, and I’m accustomed now to pushing through the tough spots with the knowledge that the world will soon return to Happy Flat Land.  Since I passed the 20-minute mark, I’ve broken the habit of checking my watch every forty seconds, thank goodness.  I know from my distance about how long I’ve been running, and the metronome of my sneakers slapping on the sidewalk keeps me steady.  Before I know it, I only have two minutes to go, and then I’m back at the house to retrieve Ted for his walk, or as I like to call it, “my 1.25-mile cool-down.”

I have no big training plans in place for the future.  The annual Kennett Run takes place in May, so I’ll probably sign up for the 5K then.  In the meantime, I’d like to keep up with three 30-minute runs each week, but my left knee has been acting up recently on inclines and toward the end of my route.  It’s just the faintest of twinges, but it worries me and reminds me that running is a high-impact activity.  For the next few weeks, I’ll replace one of my morning runs with yoga or core conditioning to prevent any major issues.  I also plan on looking up treadmill workouts so that I can keep up my endurance during the coldest months.

I would not call myself a runner, by any means.  My pace is not fast, my form is not clean, and my shoes are not high-end.  My morning workouts are just that: work.  I like being outside, getting fresh air, and starting my day with something healthy, but running does not come naturally to me.  C25K appealed to my sense of duty and discipline, and my incremental progress each week was encouraging.  I don’t know if I lost any weight or gained any muscle, but I can jog steadily for thirty minutes, and for me, that is a huge change.

I began the summer boldly proclaiming that I hated running, and now I might say that I almost maybe enjoy it.  When I am not struggling up hills or gasping for breath, I find it surprisingly calming.  If nothing else, running no longer hates me, so I’ll take it.

Toward the end of my morning commute, I pass a lady on a bright red scooter traveling in the opposite direction.  She’s an older lady with short white hair and glasses, and she looks so merry tootling along on her boxy scooter.  Sometimes, a light yellow jacket that flows behind her; on chillier mornings, she wears a purple fleece pullover.  I love that she appears to be completely comfortable on the scooter.  When I see her at stoplights, she never gets intimidated by the big SUVs around her, and she takes her right of way with confidence.  I wonder how she decided to get the scooter.  Maybe she wanted better gas mileage?  Maybe a grandchild suggested it?  Maybe she figured she was old enough to get that chubby red scooter she’s seen in movies and, darn it, she will have it?  Whatever the case, I bet that lady has spunk.

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During the walk from my office building to the parking garage, I noticed that two women had stopped and were staring and pointing at something in the access road.  When I looked down the road, I saw an enormous hawk standing over what appeared to be a dead squirrel.  The hawk was standing stock-still, passersby notwithstanding, and it was so large that I initially thought it was an owl.  Its curved beak was frightful, and I hurried along the path to the garage.  If that hawk decided that any of us wanted his dinner, I did not want to be nearby.

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Lately, Ted has been licking a spot on his paw that is red and swollen.  He has had a skin irritation problem before, so I took him to the vet this week to get it checked out.  The vet said that it wasn’t the skin issue; instead, Ted had broken his “thumb”!  Oh, great.  Apparently, it’s very common in small terriers, which didn’t make me feel much better.  The vet shaved off the fur around the nail bed, where it was clear that the joint was swollen and out of alignment with the paw, and there was a chance of infection.  Thanks to another (common!) infection, Ted got a shot of antibiotics and a prescription for a twice-daily antibiotic pill for two weeks.  Plus, we have to clean off his paw twice a day with an antiseptic pad.  Ted’s maintenance level has sharply increased as a result of this vet visit, which was the most expensive one to date.  Despite the vet’s reassurance, I felt like a negligent dog owner because I didn’t realize that our dog had broken a bone, for goodness’ sake.  Oh, well.  At least Ted doesn’t have to wear a cone around his neck.

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Thanks to the nonstop Olympics coverage and a record low number of seniors on JG’s team this year, I am working on the last volleyball scarf!  Even more exciting, there are still three more weeks left to the season, thank you for asking.  Three scarves are already finished and tasseled, and the last one is benefiting from the crop of fall television premiers this month.  At the risk of jinxing myself, I am determined not to stay up into the wee hours of the morning on the day of Senior Night in order to finish this year, so help me.