When I Work Out I Develop a Split Personality

Saturday, June 23, 2012

5:44- I awake suddenly from a pee dream.  It's quarter to six on Saturday morning.  I toy with the idea of going for a jog.  I theorize that I could work out, get a shower, and go back to sleep while still having enough time to get ready for my noon rendezvous with friends.  After some debate, I decide to do it.

[Editor's note: For those of you who don't hydrate enough and/or have larger bladders than I, a pee dream is when whatever you were previously doing in a dream changes, and becomes an all-out battle to find a usable toilet.  It happens to me when I need to pee in real life, but I'm sleeping deeply enough that it doesn't wake me up.  Usually the dream has to do with searching for a toilet for a long time, until eventually I find one, but something makes it unusable.  It's running over; it's in a middle of an airport without any sort of doors or screens; or I start to sit down on the toilet and someone walks into the stall.  Anyway, I always wake up from a pee dream with the same immediate need.]

5:47- After my much appreciated trip to the loo, I yawn and stretch, stalling.  There's no reason that I HAVE to go.  No one will even know the difference.  It's not even 6am, for crying out loud.  On a Saturday!  I could crawl back in bed and be asleep in a couple minutes.  Besides, last week I worked out out five times and the scale still went up.  Finally, I give in and put in my contacts.  This is the point of no return- the contacts.  Can't go back to sleep with those guys in.

5:53- I grab a peach, my pepper spray, my cell phone, and bid Phil (the beta fish) goodbye as I head out the door.  I happily acknowledge that it's pretty cool out, which will make the jog better.

5:59- I pull into a parking spot at the park, hide the cell phone, lock up the car, and hit the trail.  There's no one else in sight.  On the way in I notice that the park doesn't actually "open" until 7am.  That seems odd to me.  I debate momentarily aborting the plan in order to follow the rules.  But nope.  I already did the hard part of working out- getting up.  Not going to waste that effort.

6:03- The path is green and leafy and cool.  For the first few minutes, it is only separated from the railroad track by about a ten-foot strip of trees and undergrowth.  I listen to a trail rumble past me, dwarfing me with its noise, size, and speed.  I walk the first five minutes to warm up.  I breathe deeply the fresh, wholesome scent of the woods in the morning.  I smile and feel pleased with my decision.

6:10- Having been jogging for a few minutes now, my euphoria is waning.  A guy passes me in the opposite direction.  He has a weird mustache and two little dogs on leashes.  I'm at a point in the path that is less wooded, so it's hotter.  And let's face it- I don't really like to jog.  Jogging just might be dumb, in fact.  But I'm still feeling good, and I chug along- quite possibly the world's slowest jogger.  I remind myself that I'm still going faster than if I had stayed in bed.

6:15- I finish my first ten-minute jogging stretch and I'm back to a brisk walk.  I'm thinking about safety.  Although I love this path because it's pretty and sheltered, that also means that it's less safe.  I feel glad that I brought the pepper spray, and feel thankful for this Easter present from my step-mom.  I also feel somewhat like a private eye, as I try to be extra-aware of my surroundings, which, in reality, seem quite benign.

6:30- I'm finishing my second stretch of jogging.  My feelings about the plan to get up early to do this are at a low point.  Jogging is clearly dumb and I'm unsure as to why I would have ever thought otherwise.  I'm hot and sweaty and I hate being hot and sweaty.  Creepy, overly-friendly guy and his dog, Buck (the rescue dog who's "been through hell and back" according to his loquacious owner) are behind me a bend or two in the trail.  But I keep going, reminding myself that I'm very near to the end of the jogging part, and then I'll feel really good about myself.  Just a little farther!

6:31- whiny me: I hate jogging.  

          teacher me: Suck it up, Cupcake!  

         whiny me: Whose stupid idea was this, anyway?

          teacher me: You're almost there!  Another minute!  You can do it!

          whiny me:  Jogging is dumb.  This minute is longer than a normal minute.

           teacher me:  Stop whining, Foster!

          whiny me:  (grumble, grumble, grumble)

6:32- Back to walking!  Jogging's done for this day!  Whee!  I love jogging!  I love this path!  I love the whole world!  Creepy, overly-friendly guy is probably just lonely!  Buck probably IS the best dog ever!!  Sweating isn't really all THAT bad!  Maybe I should go around agai--  Whoa, whoa, whoa.  Let's not get carried away.

6:40- I pause in the path to pick a couple of very sad black raspberries.  It's been too dry, so they're small, but still tasty.  I finish the route and jump back into the car, feeling a little bit like everything is awesome.  It's not really.  Real life will be waiting for me, when I come down off the post-exercise high.  But in the meantime, I guess there's no reason not to enjoy it while it lasts, right?

Hey Readers!  My latest article is now live on Inspired By Family Magazine.  If you'd like to check it out, you can click on the link to the right.  Once you're on the page, my article is called something about lessons from dad.  Happy reading!

Forewarned is Forearmed

Hello friends!

I'm just stopping in on my way to bed, to let you know that I'm feeling the writing itch.  Haven't narrowed it down to a topic yet, but I anticipate a post in the near future.  And I just realized that my next post will be #200!  Isn't that crazy?!?  It's like a blogging anniversary!

Um.  Yah.  That's all I have to say for now.  And so, until we meet again I remain

Faithful Yours,

Leslie :)

On Cleaning the Floors

The thing about cleaning is, I don't like to do it.  I mean, I'm anti-mold-growing.  But I can happily go months without cleaning my shower.  Know why?  First, I usually don't have my contacts in when I shower, so I can't see the dirt.  Second, I know it's only my own dirt anyway, so it doesn't gross me out.

Same goes for washing the floors.  I really would rather not wash my floors.  My apartment is all hardwood, so though it's just a one bedroom, sweeping and washing all the floors is an event.  Particularly because I once cleaned houses professionally and will probably never again be able to bring myself to mop a floor.  It's like going back to canned pineapple after you've eaten it fresh off the plant, still warm from the sun.  Not really possible.

And so.  There are some aspects of house cleaning that get a little (ahem) overlooked in my world.  But this weekend my aunt and uncle are going to spend the night at my place, and so I have kicked myself into cleaning gear.  Last weekend I cleaned the shower.  That was a really good idea.  And today I finally swept all the floors, and washed the bathroom and kitchen floors.

As I scrubbed, I was inspired to write this blog about why you shouldn't wait six month to clean your floors.  I thought if you read it, it might inspire you to not wait six months to clean YOUR floors.  If, in fact, there is anyone else in the blog-reading world that waits that long.  I'd like to think there is.

Here goes.

Why You Shouldn't Wait Six Months Between Floor Cleanings

- Dust bunnies the size of your head are scary.  Sort of mesmerizing, but scary nonetheless.

-After such a long hiatus, cleaning might make your beta fish look at you in shock.  You might fear that the sudden flurry of cleaning could send him into fishy-cardiac arrest, which would make you feel really sad as you'd be alone in the apartment again.

-You're likely to have visions of your deceased mother closing her eyes and shaking her head in dismay at how terribly she failed to raise you to be a responsible, floor-sweeping woman.  Then you might feel a little bit guilty.  But then you might think about how your mom didn't like to clean, either.  So that's a way you're similar.  And that would make you feel happy.

-Scrubbing six months of dirt off the bathroom linoleum is a lot harder than scrubbing a couple weeks' dirt off the bathroom linoleum.

-Your thoughts might turn to that annoying Proverbs 31 woman.  I bet she never went six months without cleaning her floors.  Course, she had maids, so I'm not sure it counts.  No, definitely an unfair comparison.

-Sweeping the floor should not always be an event meriting a blog post.  As I planned this blog I realized that the last time I swept the floors, I blogged about it.  You can read that post here.  I suppose it really should be a little more common-place.  Shouldn't it?

-You could have been using that tube of chapstick that rolled to the far side of the bed about four months earlier.

-The floors look satisfyingly shiny after their sweeping.

That's about it.  Are you feeling inspired?  Happy Sweeping!