167

Today, my friend B asked me if I would like to go running with her. Like a deer on the road blinded by the glare of an oncoming car, I said, “Um… yeah!”

Some background:

B is the mother of one of Lucas’s best friends. She’s tall and thin and gorgeous—even though she has THREE kids. She’s a professional, too. She is a neonatal intensive care nurse at Sutter. B was attracted to me as a potential friend because I have a subtle sign on my CRV that says, “I am Pro-Choice America”— something I got from NARAL. My sign is subtle because it’s actually on the inside of my rear driver-side (tinted) window—I’m too much of a princess to put actual bumper stickers on my vehicle. But it’s there to subtly piss off fundies, and, I suppose, to subtly attract hot mothers of preschoolers. Apparently, B sometimes gets sick of all the feel-good, supermom, Christian Waldorf people. Apparently, my little pro-choice sign indicated that I was edgy and friend material.

Anyway…

B is a runner. She looks like a runner, except she’s stacked. B informed me today that she’s training for a marathon.

I am not training for a marathon.

I am simply training to not get fat again. I am slowly climbing the fitness hill out of the Valley of Sloth.

So why I said “Yes, I would like to run with you” is a bit of a mystery to me. I think it’s because I would like to be like B—would like to be able to do what she can do. A brief fantasy played in my mind: We are both running near Lake Natoma, in shorts and tanks and clean white shoes. B’s golden hair floats along behind her, gleaming in the sunshine. I am keeping up with her; we are running side by side, chatting becasue we are so fit that conversation is easy and relaxed. I am not wheezing. My knees feel fine. I am cracking funny jokes and she is laughing.

Then the otherworldly bubble burst. I started backpeddling: “Um, well, I’m not really a runner. I jog a little bit. I’m only just trying to get into better shape. I’m pretty much starting from scratch. I’m not very fit. Um… I’m definitly slower than you are. I can only do a 15 minute mile—and I can only do that like, maybe two miles.”

B smiled at me. “I don’t care,” she said. “It will be fun! We can walk.”

Relieved, I said I was pretty sure I could run for a ways—that we wouldn’t have to walk the whole time.

We have a date for next Tuesday. Instead of sitting in a café like we have a couple of times, we’re going to Lake Natoma to go running. I am glad I said yes.

2 Responses to “167”

  • dakini_grl
    April 27, 2006 at 6:06 pm

    I haven’t had the chance to slow the heck down and tell you how gutsy this is! Awesome. I am so impressed. What luck to have a truly fun friend who wants to get out and move. Isn’t it weird when you feel words leaving your mouth and some other voice someplace asking “Wait. Who said that?”

    I also think it’s cool that after you jumped and said yes, what came out of it was that she thinks it would be fun to just spend the time doing something with you. I can’t wait to hear how it goes.

    Yay for you!!!!

    Reply

  • sarabellae
    April 27, 2006 at 7:18 pm

    Thanks. Yeah, it’s pretty cool. I hope at least some part of my fantasy comes true—hopefully the part about laughing and having fun. We’ll see how it goes next week. I may not survive. If I don’t, I’m sure some kind hiker will send my dogtags and running shoes home. Let me state, for the record: I do not wish to be buried in the ground. Burn me up instead.

    Reply

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  • About Sara

    Thanks for visiting! I’m Sara, editor and writer, wife to Ian, and mother of two precious boys. I am living each day to the fullest and with as much grace, creativity, and patience as I can muster. This is where I write about living, loving, and engaging fully in family life and the world around me. I let my hair down here. I learn new skills here. I strive to be a better human being here. And I tell the truth.

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