Things I've Learned

Since I had a couple of interesting things come up lately, I thought I'd share my new found wisdom with friends and strangers:

1. Don't change the water cooler jug right before a meeting, especially if you're wearing high heels: It's hard to look dignified in your meeting when you're wearing a white shirt that is too wet and slightly muddy. People will laugh at you. Or they'll pretend not to laugh at you as they stifle their laughter and ask how you got attacked by the water jug. Trust me nothing good will come of your well intentioned act. Just wait for someone else to come and change the damned thing.

2. American men overshare: Maybe I'm a prude. (actually, I am a prude, but that's besides the point), but I really have no interest in hearing how awkward it was when your 22 year old son walked in on your private moment. You will know I'm uncomfortable with your narration by the beet red color of my complexion and the look of horror on my face as I stare at the floor. Feel free to abruptly change the subject and talk about horticulture. Likewise, when I ask how your new girlfriend is doing, I don't mean in the Biblical sense. I'm either making small talk or referring to her overall health. Feel free to not pick up the pace as I run away from you.

3. Music can be used for medicinal purposes: I have been consuming music as if my life depended on it. I have been known not to pay attention to the lyrics of songs I listen/sing along to, but lately, I've been hearing lyrics and almost every song somehow connects to my life. My musical mood swings from the serene to angry to heartbroken in a span of hours--and every one is the perfect salve for that moment. My co-worker (bless him) sent me a package full of CDs yesterday, including two Chris Isaak CDs to replace those I may have accidentally given away. How could I have forgotten the lyrics to Forever Blue?

Everybody Knows, the World Is Full of Stupid People

The last two days have been trying my patience. Yes, you're right, patience has never been one of my virtues--so you can imagine how delightful I am when I people go out of their way to test my patience. The worst part is, they weren't confined to one place. EVERY call I made yesterday and today spiraled into new circles of hell. I won't bore you with the story of the travel agent that yelled at me for telling her the numbers on our receipt didn't add up before she hung up on me. Nor will I bore you with the story of the lady at the bank who told me there was no way to prove an electronic payment had been processed. I will start with the crazy woman who started all of this.

I called our HOA to ask them why they keep sending me statements with past due fees and multiple monthly charges when I make my payments each month. After getting passed around to everyone in their building, I was eventually 'helped' by Cathy. Below is a sample of our conversation:

"Hi Cathy. My bank statement indicates that I have made my monthly payments on time, but every month, my statement has late fees."

"Ok. Do you have the canceled check to prove you made the payment?"

"Well, no. I make pre-scheduled electronic payments each month."

"So you don't have a check number or canceled check?"

"No, it's an electronic payment that get's deposited to the HOA's account each month. I've been doing the same thing for the past four years."

"Well ma'am, if you haven't sent a check on time you will be charged late fees. Do you need the address to send us the check?"

"No, Cathy. I have already sent my payment electronically. There seems to be a misunderstanding. What kind of documentation do you need me to provide you to remove these charges."

"Ma'am, if you haven't paid, we can't remove the charges. If you had sent us a check--which you say you haven't--you would have to provide a copy of the front and back of the canceled check."

"Well, how do you handle electronic payments?"

"MA'AM, you need to send us a copy of the the front and back of the canceled check. Otherwise, you have to pay your monthly fees, plus any extra late fees."

(As a side note, I was quite irritated early in the discussion, especially since one of my co-workers kept laughing at my explanations.)

"But Cathy, there is no canceled check. I'll have to ask the bank for some kind of document. Could you please tell me what I can provide to resolve this problem?"

"I have already told you, you need to send a copy of the front and back of the check you say you have sent us."

Breathe.

"I see. So once I get that document, should I mail it, fax it or email it to you?"

"Yes."

"Which one?"

"The front and back of the canceled check."

"So a copy of the canceled check emailed to you?"

"Front and back to us immediately."

"Thanks, Cathy."

It was around this time that I missed having the old fashioned phones that you could bang on the holder. This woman literally made me wonder how she has made it alive to her workplace. I mean, don't you think she would have died trying to figure out the toaster?

The worst part? Of all of the people I have spoken to since talking with her yesterday, she wasn't the dumbest or the rudest. Do you feel my pain?

I am hoping my week gets better, but I'm not very optimistic.

Grace in Motion

I have officially had my first and second sports related injuries while training:

As I was buying my running shoes last weekend, I was so excited that I jammed my finger between my heel and the shoe. I bent my weak nail so far back, my finger started bleeding. In shoes I hadn't tried on yet. The look of horror on my face just made the lady next to me laugh, especially because I tried to casually brush it off as a broken nail. It really wasn't that funny. Although, on the way home, I did think it was the kind of thing that would happen to TK--which made it a little less painful.

I tried to swim today. It would have gone better if I hadn't been so enthusiastic. So enthusiastic, that I pushed myself away from the wall with all my force and scraped my chest area along the bottom of the pool. The good news is, my chest area helped me bounce a little and saved my head from hitting the bottom of the pool. The bad news is, I am sore in a place I totally didn't anticipate hurting while swimming.

This may be why I was never the athletic type.

A Runner's Life for Me

I am a new woman.

I am pretty sure I can never tell my mom about my attempts at running a half marathon. If I did, I'd have to confess that Amanda has inspired me to do two things that she could not achieve in 34 years: she couldn't get me to wake up early or exercise with any regularity. And now, thanks to Amanda, I do both. For the past two weeks, I have been waking up between 5-5:15 everyday. Most days, without my alarm going off. Twice a week, I get up, get dressed and go running with my mid-week teams. Other days, I go into work earlier than I ever have so I can leave early and meet the evening running teams. This is my schedule every day, but Sundays, where I sleep in until 7. It is another one of my life's little ironies that I cannot share with my mom this little tidbit that would bring her so much joy.

I have learned however that getting up and driving to a beach trail does not imply a state of awareness. Take this past Monday for example. I got up and drove to the Torrey Pines Lodge, parked my car and greeted my team. We stretched, warmed up and proceeded to run approximately 4 miles in 3-1 intervals (I was able to run 7-2 intervals for most of the way). As we made our way back to the cars, all I could think of was the Cliff Bar in my bag. However, as I approached the car, I realized something didn't look quite right. Perhaps it was the driver's side door that was left wide open, making it easy for any potential car thieves to easily enter and make themselves comfortable. The funny thing is that the doors were locked, just left ajar. I consider it my contribution to the joy of my morning running mates...

On a serious note: I am so overwhelmed and honored by everyone's help and contributions. I appreciate your faith in my abilities and your generosity. I am meeting survivors whose enthusiasm is contagious, volunteers who come to support us and family members who are thanking us for our efforts. It makes early mornings and shin splints trite, and almost anything possible.

With the exception of today's painful run, I am able to run 1.5 miles at a time, but almost 4.5 with intervals. This is a much more realistic goal than my initial plan of running miles at a time. My intervals are increasing (longer runs, same length walks) as is the distance that I'm running. I need to address the shin splints that are the biggest limiting factor right now, but they are getting a little better.

If you have any suggestions to actually be awake in the morning or run/jog more effectively, please share. If you can't believe that I abandoned my open-doored car for an hour on a holiday morning, I have a bunch of witnesses who are probably still laughing at me. And seriously, why would I make this up?

Pick On Someone Your Own Size

A few years ago, I was a restaurant Marketing Manager, where I shared workspace with the hotel employees who housed the restaurant. The Events Manager (a tall, young, African-American gentleman) welcomed me every morning, by slapping the back of my neck when I least expected it. And every morning, I practically jumped out of my skin. While I sat behind him in our weekly staff meetings, I dreamed of getting back at him. Just once. His big, bald head was practically asking for it. But someone had to be mature and dignified. (Ok, so I was too short to reach the back of his neck, unless he was sitting with his back to me which he rarely did). I know he did it affectionately (or so he said) and that he actually liked me(or at least didn't hate me). None of this mattered as I sat at my desk, heart racing, trying to calmly plan no-budget marketing campaigns.

One night, The German planned a dinner get-together at his favorite sushi joint, a tiny hole in the wall with an L-style sushi bar and pictures of all of its patrons on the wall. M and I were the last to get there, everyone else was sitting along the long side of the L. We walked in, waved hello to everyone and that's when I saw Ryan--sitting with his back to the door; big, bald head shining; and within my reach. He was still wearing the blue shirt he had worn to work that day. All of the sudden the wish to get back to him was so great, my fingers were tingling. I could just see him jumping out of his chair the way I had every morning for the last three months. I didn't care that M's co-workers would see me in a moment of gleeful indignity. I was not afraid.

As M walked toward his friends, I raised my hand, focused on the big bald head and SLAP!

It was beautiful. There was an echo. Everyone saw it. The big, black man jumped out of his seat and turned so fast his chair hit the floor. My victorious laugh turned into a blood curdling scream. The man was not Ryan.

Did I mention I couldn't stop screaming?

He was incredibly nice. Not many men would start laughing that hard after being slapped by a complete stranger. I couldn't stop apologizing; M couldn't drag me away. My audience was laughing hysterically at the end of the bar. I had no dignity left.

I didn't taste anything that night. I wanted to die when the nice gentleman walked over to wish us a good night. I almost cried when he laughingly told me to pick on someone my own size next time.

I never recovered from my performance that night. It's hard to maintain any sense of dignity when people refuse to let a small matter of mistaken identity die.

The Lyrics in This Post Do Not Reflect the Beliefs of the Poster

One of my more endearing characteristics (and by endearing, I mean entertaining to people in close proximity to me) is the fact that I sing along with songs oblivious to the lyrics and surroundings.

I don't know how I manage to sing along with songs for years and not actually pay attention to the lyrics, but I do this often--and they are usually songs that I should really pay attention to. When I was in college, I used to go jogging around the mall every night. I always listened to the same tape on my Walkman--Best of Police--and would try to sing along to Message in a Bottle, Every Breath You Take...One night, about three months into my running ritual, I was listening/singing to Don't Stand So Close to Me (which I loved), when I stopped dead in my tracks, started laughing uncontrollably and turned to run back towards my dorm. I ran into the building, up the stairs, burst into my room, where my roommate was curled on the bed reading, and announced, "You know that Police song? They're referencing Lolita! He's singing about a teacher who has a crush on his student!!"

My roommate barely looked up from her book to give me a deadpan look and asked, "How long have you been listening to that song?"

"Three or four months. Why?"

"You should pay attention to songs you sing along to. It's very entertaining, but you'll get yourself in trouble one day."

Of course, I still haven't lived down this incident. When we visit, she asks if I have discovered any hidden messages in old songs...

She was right. Years later, I was working at an Italian deli/market where I usually did everything that wasn't directly in contact with customers. I was helping with the bookkeeping, marketing, inventory, web design and menu designs. I shared the tiny office with the owner and was watched carefully by the almost all male staff who couldn't make heads or tails of what I was doing. They were all nice to me, but generally kept their distance. I mean, what would you think of a spiky haired young woman who works in the back room of a restaurant, wearing 'fancy pants'; one who eats her pizza with a fork and knife and who doesn't talk about her personal life?

All of this changed one day when I was doing inventory. I had my headphones on and was listening to the local Alternative Rock station. At the time there were two songs in heavy rotation, Limp Bizkit's Nookie and Korn's A.D.I.D.A.S. On this particular afternoon, they had played the two songs back to back--and I was singing along, pretty close to the top of my lungs, blissfully oblivious of the audience that was gathering at the doorway to listen. I have no idea how long they were there (ALL of them), but I'm assuming they got an earful--why else would they start applauding and whistling at the end of the song? I would like to say I handled the situation as gracefully as could be expected. I jumped out of my skin when I saw there was a crowd at the door (more applause and laughs), looked at them with a little confusion and asked if they needed to get anything from the storage room. To their credit, they just laughed and walked away, with one of them saying I should sing more often (of course I was flattered). It took me about a month of being asked questions about what I like to do after work by the guy behind the deli for me to figure out something had changed that afternoon. I finally asked the only other woman at the store what was going on and why the guys were always looking at me funny.

"Oh, they all think you're a nympho."

"What?!? Why?! Me?!? What??!?!"

She looked at me like I was mentally challenged. "I think it is because you were screaming, 'All day I dream about sex.' in the storage room last month."

"What? I did not!" Pause. Think. Panic!! When I realized for the FIRST TIME what I had been singing.

It is so sad that my school schedule no longer allowed me to work regular hours soon after that.