Caught in a Downpour

First, I’m absolutely lashing with apologies. Each time my iPhone dings, I see WordPress notices from friends who have written something new. Bloggers, I’m clamoring to read your posts and shower your words with comments.

But the truth is, someone resigned on me at the office this week, so I’m spending my free time redistributing work to the rest of my team. Once that’s finished, I can sit back and wait for someone to retaliate by: 1) egging my windows, 2) laying a flaming bag of poo on my doorstep, or 3) keying automotive-love-of-my-life, Jones. With a vengeance. And then I shall cry.

So: Here’s a post I wrote in July about rain, a stolen hour and music. Bloggers, my fingers are crossed that I’ll catch up with you on Friday to see what sort of trouble you’ve been getting yourselves into.

~*~

Caught in a Downpour – July 26, 2010

My original plan was to wake early and run before anyone missed me. When the alarm sounded at 6:30 AM, my groggy mind and sinus headache regarded each other, shook hands, and agreed to go back to sleep.

Now it’s 7:30 AM. The morning is dry and cool—perfect for running—but a pocket of grim and gathering clouds lines the northwest sky. So what then? Run in the rain? I’d kind of love that. The problem is, I don’t like to run without music. And since I’ve stored my favorite mp3s on my water-averse iPhone, I need to make a decision. The sky above me is eerie and yellow, but the storm is miles away. The rain could hold for 40 minutes or so—just long enough for a 5 mile workout.

I decide to test fate, and the first two miles are easy. The air is crisp and still. Then, half-way through mile 3, the trees begin to blow sideways. I hear the rain before I feel those first heavy drops land squarely on my forehead.

Oh, my sweet baby iTunes, I think. Things are about to take a nasty turn.

~*~

To date, I have exactly 424 mp3s and 540 photos locked in the sacred memory of my mobile device. I’ve never backed up those files because my company’s code of conduct says I can’t sync my phone on my laptop. If my iPhone gets wet, all those files will disappear. Hundreds of dollars plus hours of my listening enjoyment would be washed away with just a few well-placed raindrops.

I’m two blocks from my neighborhood Starbucks. If I sprint, maybe I can make it there before the sky drains all over this sidewalk.

So I run full tilt. I take a sharp left into a condo complex that juts up against my favorite hard-core caffeine supplier. What I’ve never realized until today—what I never had a reason to notice—is that a 5-feet tall chain link fence separates the two structures. I’m sure I can scale the fence, that’s not the problem. But by now, the storm has unleashed itself. I look around and see a long garage with a 2 ½ foot overhang. I’ll be fine out here under the gutters, I think. This kind of downpour can’t last long.

~*~

In movies, you can tell when the “rain” is really just the studio’s sprinkler system. The water pours down in visible streams and splashes all over the set. That’s exactly how this thunderstorm is. The drops fuse together into furious lines that strike loudly against the pavement; they don’t change direction. It’s just a straight shot from sky to ground.

I watch those drops fall, listening to the slush of cars edging wetly through the neighborhood. My shoes are damp from the dripping overhang, but my iTunes are bone dry. I call GB to tell him I’m fine, then spend the next half-hour shuffling through my favorite songs. I feel sleepy and relaxed, and I’m all settled in when GB calls to say he’ll come find me.

Pantha du Prince – Welt Am Draht (Animal Collective Remix)

~*~

In a way, I wish I could stay longer. It’s just a half hour I’m glad I’ve had. In this time, I’ve thought of next to nothing—just rain and music and rain again. I’ve been forced to be still and quiet—a bit like sleeping, I guess. For a chronic multitasker like me, that’s really kind of a gift.

When GB pulls up, I’m glad to see him. The boys are smiling through their red hooded rain jackets. They spend the ride home recounting the morning’s cartoons. I tell them I missed them and they kick their feet happily. The rain falls loudly for hours, and my house is noisy with play.

~*~ Find me on Twitter @36×37
~*~ Visit the 36×37 facebook page

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Side Stories: Caught in a Downpour

My original plan was to wake early and run before anyone missed me. But when the alarm sounded at 6:30 AM, my groggy mind and sinus headache regarded each other, shook hands, and agreed to go back to sleep.

Now it’s 7:30 AM. The morning is dry and cool—perfect for running—but a pocket of grim and gathering clouds lines the northwest sky. So what then? Potentially run in the rain? Honestly, I’d kind of love that. The problem is, I don’t like to run without music. And since I’ve stored my favorite mp3s on my water-averse iPhone, I need to make a decision. The sky above me is eerie and yellow, but the storm is miles away. The rain could hold for 40 minutes or so—just long enough for a 5 mile workout.

I decide to test fate, and the first two miles are easy. The air is crisp and still. Then, half-way through mile 3, the trees begin to blow sideways. I hear the rain before its first heavy drops land squarely on my forehead.

Oh, my sweet baby iPhone, I think. Things are about to take a nasty turn.

~*~

To date, I have exactly 424 mp3s and 540 photos locked in the sacred memory of my mobile device. I’ve never backed up those files because my company’s code of conduct says I can’t synch my phone on my laptop. If my iPhone gets wet, all those files are gone. Hundreds of dollars plus hours of my listening enjoyment would be washed away with just a few well-placed raindrops.

I’m two blocks from my neighborhood Starbucks. If I sprint, maybe I can make it there before the sky drains all over this sidewalk.

So I run full tilt. I take a sharp left into a condo complex that juts up against my favorite hard-core caffeine supplier. What I’ve never realized until today—what I never had a reason to notice—is that a 5’ tall chain link fence separates the two structures. I’m sure I can scale the fence, that’s not the problem. But by now, the storm has unleashed itself. I look around and see a long garage with a 2 ½ foot overhang. I’ll be fine out here under the gutters, I think. This kind of downpour can’t last long.

~*~

In movies, you can tell when the “rain” is really just the studio’s sprinkler system. The water pours down in visible streams and splashes all over the set. That’s exactly how this thunderstorm is. The drops fuse together into furious lines that strike loudly against the pavement. It doesn’t change direction. It’s just a straight shot from sky to ground.

I watch it fall, listening to the slush of cars edging wetly through the neighborhood. My shoes are damp from the dripping overhang, but my iTunes are dry. Bone dry. I call GB to let him know I’m fine, then spend the next half-hour shuffling through my favorite songs. I feel sleepy and relaxed, and I’m all settled in when GB calls to say he’ll come find me.

~*~

In a way, I wish I could stay longer. It’s just a half hour I’m glad I’ve had. In this time, I’ve thought of next to nothing—just rain and music and rain again. I’ve been forced to be still and quiet. It’s been a bit like sleeping, I guess. For a chronic multitasker like me, that’s really kind of a gift.

When GB pulls up, I’m glad to see him. The boys are smiling through their red hooded rain jackets. They spend the ride home recounting the morning’s cartoons. I tell them I missed them and they kick their feet happily. The rain falls loudly for hours, and my house is noisy with play.

~*~ Find me on Twitter @36×37
~*~ Visit the 36×37 facebook page

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Sporties for Shorties

A few weeks ago, a good friend told me she’d hired a personal trainer to help push her workouts to the next level. “It’s totally worth it,” she said. “It’s expensive, but I’m afraid to back down from whatever he has me doing that day. Have you ever used a trainer?”

“Oh sure,” I said. “I have two. They work for free. But they’re more like drill sergeants. Plus, they’re a lot younger than me. Best workouts I’ve ever had.”

~*~

“Mama, I’m HOT!”

“I know, kiddo. Drink your water.”

“There’s no ROOM in here!”

“H, scoot over and make room for O.”

“It’s too HOT!”

The stroller comes to a halt. We are exactly three miles from home, and the boys are *this close* to a full-on meltdown. I understand. I’m close to a meltdown myself. It really is hot, and the boys are just slightly too big for this monolith of a running stroller. Still—and if this sounds selfish, so be it—it’s been a week since I’ve squeezed in my last work out. If I don’t get exercise today, I’ll be tired and cranky. Tired. And. Cranky. Trust me. It’s better for everyone if I finish this.

“H, move over a little. O, sit up, buddy. That will help.”

“WE want OUT!”

I sigh and take a knee so we’re on eye-level. “Listen, guys, I’ll make you a deal. Let’s keep going. No complaints. And when we get to the park, you can tell me how fast I should run.”

“How fast?”

“Yep. And you can tell me how to run, too—circles, zig-zags—anything you want.”

They look at each other, smiles creeping across their faces. Then they look back at me.

“It’s a deal, Mama.” H says.

~*~

The next two miles are peaceful. The boys talk quietly without ever breathing my name. No complaints about the heat. No complaints about the close quarters. When they first see the park, O shouts “Now! Go, Mama!”

Well, it’s earlier than I intended, but since they kept their end of the bargain, so will I. I pick up my pace.

“Is that the best you can do?” H shouts. I go a little faster.

They laugh devilishly. “Fast, Mama, FAST!” O demands.

So I sprint.

“Keep going, Mama! Zig zags!”

I’m sprinting and zagging and they’re laughing uproariously. “Maybe I should slow down?” I gasp.

“NO!” H barks. “Keep going, Mama. Quit your compwaining! You can do it.”

~*~

Merciless! By the time we finish at the park, I’m a wheezy, winded mess. My face is hot and flushed, and I’m far sweatier than I’d like to admit. It’s like I’ve never run a day in my life.

“You did great, Mama!” H says. “That’s the fastest I think you’ve ever run.”

For the record? I’m happy for my friend. She feels good about her workouts because she has a personal trainer to cheer her on and make sure she’s pushing herself. That’s awesome. But I feel like I’m getting the better deal. For the past 15 minutes, I heard nothing but laughter. Most of it came from my boys, but some of it came from me.

And I didn’t even have to pay for it.

~*~ Find me on Twitter @36×37    ~*~ Visit the 36×37 facebook page

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Guest Blog Post #3: The Drill Sergeants

Now drop and give me 20.

 

Look, I’m a tightly wound person. Stress gets to me, so I work out a lot. Lately, I’ve been training with these two guys who really are more like drill-sergeants. Plus, they’re a lot younger than me. And they work for free. Best workouts I’ve ever had. 

Forget The Shred. See what these guys have in mind. Visit www.bondwithkarla.com right this moment for my weekly guest blogging gig, and I’ll tell you the whole story…[read now] 

~*~ Find me on Twitter @36×37     

~*~ Visit the 36×37 facebook page

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