This will happen every Wednesday as part of my ROW80 weekly check-in.
My son is about to graduate from high school.
He spent the last five years dedicated to the sport of wrestling, and it finally paid off this year — he qualified for State, which resulted in a pretty decent title: in all of Ohio, only fifteen guys in his weight class are rated higher than he is.
…considering that along the way he fought against several interpretations of “God’s” will. I put “God” in quotations here not because I question the existence of a superior being, but because I question any human daring to proclaim an understanding of a superior being’s intentions. Last I checked, it isn’t ours to know. But boy, people certainly do try.
An Athlete’s Motto: Push Through the Pain!
This talented young man broke bones, pulled lots of muscles beyond repair, sprained digits and appendages, and walked on crutches almost as often as his own two legs. He almost lost use of one of his thumbs, and one elbow is forever misshapen. Girlfriends who didn’t appreciate his dedication to the sport year-round were kicked to the curb, so in addition to abusing his body, he also lost out on relationships. Every time he got hurt, someone was there to gently say, “Maybe God’s trying to tell you wrestling isn’t your sport.”
Thank goodness he didn’t listen to the friendly advice of naysayers! (I was one of them.) Otherwise, he would have missed out on the opportunity to roll with the best. He would not be able to add this achievement to his college applications. He would not have gained the respect of his coaches, his teammates, his school, and ultimately, his entire community.
I Should Totally Get a Divorce and Run 500 Miles Per Day.
Just Kidding — I love my hubz way more than running! Duh. Seriously, this isn’t a lesson about going nuts with exercise. I’m fifty pounds overweight, so I’m the last person to get all healthy on your ass. This *is* a lesson, however, in doing what’s right for you, not making excuses or taking advice from well-meaning but stupid doodie-heads (myself included), and standing on your own two feet, taking responsibility for your choices.
Yesterday I fought against the treadmill beast, and won a grand battle. I was able to gain more ground during my thirty-minute, walk-jog-walk routine than on previous attempts, and MAN — I was feeling pretty damn good about it. I felt so good, in fact, I decided to give it an extra try today — *Le Gasp* — a self-proclaimed DAY OFF from exercise! Excellent!
Except — There Were Signs.
God obviously did not want me to exercise today.
Sign Number ONE:
I couldn’t get my iPoodle to log in to Netflix. Bummer. I just discovered this awesome-fun, non-Twilight, but yes-there-are-vampires-n-werewolves show called BEING HUMAN (American version — I haven’t tried the U.K. one) which is available via Netflix Instant Streaming. Plug in my ear-buds and I’m ready to run across the planet… or at least keep sluggishly moving along until the episode has ended. But no show for me today. Fuck.
Sign Number TWO:
Merely two minutes into my warm-up, the treadmill rolled over and played dead. Now this machine is very old, and this has happened before. All you have to do is unplug it, give it a moment to rest, and then re-engage the battle where you left off. Except that it didn’t pick up where I left off. Bummer. I had to start my warm-up all over. Which means I would be going over my allotted half-hour. Which peeves me because I was already resentful about giving up thirty minutes to stupid aerobic fitness as it was. Plus with no show. Fuck.
Netflix not working, and iPoodle now frozen so I couldn’t even listen to music from my “Go Mode” play list, I started the warm-up over, distraction-free (which equals bored and not really inclined to stay the course). And half-way through my walk-jog-walk, right when I was hitting my stride and feeling really swanky about completing a routine against all odds (and on an “off” day at that), the fucking treadmill stopped again. No kidding. I actually jumped up and down on it like a child in a fit of frustration. Seriously — FUCK!
Now some people might interpret this as a sign from God.
They might say, “Andi-Roo, God likes you to be the chubby girl that you are. He, in all his glory and wisdom, is pleased with your shitty pulse-recovery-rate, and does not want to see you able to dodge zombies during the impending apocalypse.”
See now, I almost fell for it:
Sure, God likes me the way I am. Oh yeah, baby, God says it’s fine to be a lazy slob! Couch potatoes unite! *woot*
That can’t possibly be true. I am an awesome individual (even if 89% of the human population disagrees). So obviously I am misreading the signs. After thinking things through, over a large cup of ice water (not wine, which is what I always crave when I’m sweaty, and NO, I don’t know why), I realized what the sign REALLY was.
Don’t Overextend Your Power Sources.
God does not want me to be an a-hole and run the treadmill, washer, and dryer out of the same plug at the same time. Turn the corner and… YEP! sure enough — I blew a fucking fuse! The microwave, stove, and Keurig clocks were all blinkie-blinkie. Sure signs that the power had just flickered.
And as for the Netflix? Well I don’t know. Maybe God just thinks that show is dumb. We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one, Big Guy.
For now, I’m off to shower, and then I’m taking my Little to the Cafe for a late lunch. Because God wants us to eat, that’s why. And also, because God doesn’t want me to save money.
When we get back to the house, I will be finishing up chapter two of my *Work In Progress* so I can be better emotionally prepared for the fun-making I’ll receive at the writing group tonight. Because God wants me to feel stupid, that’s why.
How do YOU read the signs that crop up in your life from day to day?
And how is your ROWing going?