Objects in Motion

Inertia. I learned about it in 7^th grade science, I believe.  It made perfect sense. Objects in motion stay in motion. And, for years and years, I’ve referred to it on a superficial level when I see it play out in front of me. It’s an intriguing theory and all.  But, lately, I’ve begun to understand it beyond that simple explanation.  It’s more than a ball that keeps rolling and keeps rolling until stopped.  It turns out it is a theory that can play out physically and mentally.

My first wake-up call was while running a 10K a few months ago.  It was the longest distance I’d ever run but I found myself doing it. Once I got going, I just kept going.  I had trained. I was ready and my body did the rest….that and inertia.  It became abundantly clear when at about mile 5, I slowed up for water.  The volunteers handing out the water didn’t quite have a rhythm down and I had to stop to get a cup.  I walked and drank and then, feeling pretty good, started to run…or not. I was moving and clearly thinking, “Ok…time to run that last mile,” but my legs didn’t do it. I had stopped the motion and my body decided it didn’t need to stay in motion at the speed I was willing it to go.  It took several tries. Seriously, I looked like some washed up telekinetic freak scrunching up my face, walking along and thinking “move legs, run.”  Until, slowly, very slowly they began responding and I dragged them along until I was at a jog again.  That last mile, though, was not like the first 5.  It felt terrible.  I pushed through and made it happen, but the laws of physics stood true. I should have never stopped.

You might have noticed that I haven’t posted in awhile. Same theory.  Life got crazy. I have been moving along at a clip. Doing everything that needs to be done. I swear…the last month of school for the kids is busier than even the holidays. It should be fun…end of season parties and school plays and class parties and teachers gifts and celebrations, but it’s all piled into three weeks that tend to also be busy weeks at work.  Add to that the trials of life in general…hormonal sass from my daughter, helping my son achieve nearly unachievable goals as he struggles to overcome dyslexia, and the horror and sadness of my stepfather facing into cancer yet again while my Mom tries desperately to help him overcome it…it’s not a surprise that I was moving so fast that I slowed up on the writing. I slowed up enough that the particular activity didn’t stay in motion enough to propel it forward. And, I thought, I’ll just lay my head down here and rest a bit.  Before I knew it, two months had passed.

Don’t get me wrong…it hasn’t been too much…this life of mine.  As I strongly believe and have based this entire blog on…it’s normal.  These are the things everyone faces in one way or another, and sometimes you have to slow up on one thing to manage another.  So, I slowed up on writing. For just a bit. Until today.  Today…as I sit here with a physical reminder of why it’s important to stay in motion.  That particular reminder would be a searing pain in my back…my old lady back that managed to rear its ugly head….or, in this case, its ugly herniated disc…just because I stopped.

You see, after the crazy month of May and all its school-year-ending activities, we took a family vacation to the beach. I managed a business trip the week before as the kids finished school, my husband packed us and I had less than 24 hours to get the rest of the plans together before hitting the car to drive to visit my Mom and her ailing husband and then, two days later, unload on the beach. We got there and I looked out on the ocean and thought, “I’m not moving from this spot for 6 days.”  Ironically, I really didn’t.  The first day was normal…active, but normal.  I went for a run and then walked the beach with my kids, boogie boarded in the waves with my daughter, swam with my son, built a boat out of cardboard, duct tape and Saran wrap with my family as part of a poolside activity at the resort and walked back to our condo to crash for the night.  Sounds like a lot, but this is my week to let loose and play with my kids. This is what we do at the beach each year, and I love it.  So, the next morning, as my husband and daughter set off for a bike ride, my son and I walked on the beach and then played Bocce.  Next, he wanted to build a sand castle.  That’s when it happened.  I stopped the motion.  I sat down on the sand while he brought me buckets of wet sand and water and I just leaned over and molded his creation.  He did all the work.  I just enjoyed the sun and sat mostly still.  And, when we were done, I went to get up and I was stuck.  Literally stuck.  Like an old lady in a medical alert commercial, I could not get up.  My body wouldn’t move and when it swayed even a centimeter, the pain was overwhelming. The sun was beating down, my son had no idea why I wasn’t moving on to the next thing and my husband and daughter were off on a two-hour biking trek, leaving me to figure this out on my own.

I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how I actually got up. I know it hurt…I remember the wave of nausea that accompanied the pain once I was on my feet, but I don’t remember actually standing. And, my sweet son just put his tiny arm around me as we made our way up to our chairs.  We rested there and then we made it to the pool where I could get some shade and let him play while I caught my breath and figured out how to get a call into my doctor to get pain killers sent directly to me at that pool.  Ok…it took a bit more work than that, but we found our way.   Funny thing…it didn’t ruin our vacation. I mean…if you have to be laid up, a beautiful place with an ocean view is the place to do it.  Yet, one friend said it all when, upon hearing the story, she said to me, “Only you could injure yourself while relaxing.”

I disagree…it wasn’t me. It was inertia. I stopped.  I don’t think I should have.  Or maybe the lesson is maybe I should stop more often so my mind and body know how to react to it.  Honestly, I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll take another Percoset and ponder it.  I do know this though…don’t mess with the laws of science.  I don’t care who you think you are…they win…every…last…time.  So, I sit here just waiting…waiting until I can get into motion again. And, then, who knows…I may never stop again….because…if you haven’t noticed, the juices are flowing and my normal life continues to march on which means there’s always a story to tell, my friends, always!

The Big Picture

My daughter and I have been training for a 10K together.  For true runners, that’s probably not a big deal.  But, I’m not a true runner. Up until about a year ago, I only ran if there was danger involved. But, my daughter wanted to do this. And, we had a good cause to support. So, we signed on and began training. It’s been a nice challenge…with challenge being the key word.  And, it got me thinking about all the stories I have in my head…there are a lot of them, and I’m betting I’m not the only one out there carrying stories around.

Just look at what I said earlier…I’m not a true runner.  We’re all actually able to run soon after walking. Some of us just do it more than others.  So, really, we’re all true runners. We just need to put it to use. I was thinking about that the other day as I came up on 2.5 miles of running. I have a herniated disc that has kept me from doing more than light weights, yoga and brisk walking for years. But why? When I pushed myself just a bit…first to step up my fitness program as I get older, then to meet this challenge my daughter set for us, I’ve been able to do it.

Yet, I’m still telling myself I won’t be able to run 6 whole miles in just 2 weeks.  I need to stop that…seriously.  Just one month ago, I didn’t think I could run more than 3 miles, which I did just last week after a little hard work and a little practice. Ok…a lot of practice and a lot of touchy, feel-y “self-talk.”  At least the self-talk has evolved.  A year ago, while running short 3 minute intervals, my self-talk consisted solely of “You’re not going to die. You can do this. You’re not going to die. You can do this,” said over and over in my head to drown out the huffing and puffing of my gasping breaths. Today, as I run, I’m more likely to think about the reasons why I’m running. And, only toward the end do I have to lightly remind myself, “You can do this.”  I haven’t thought of dying during running in months…throwing up, maybe, but not dying!

As I ran yesterday, I kept focusing on the reasons.  Like I said, it started as a move to be more healthy. Then, it became something I could do with my daughter. She’s nearly 13. It’s getting harder and harder to find things we can do together that don’t horrify and embarrass her. This seems to be a safe one. So, I start focusing on that…this is good for us. We’re setting good examples for each other. From there, it grows…I’m so proud of her. She’s such a hard worker and she wanted to do this. She drove the idea. Even better, she insisted we do it to raise funds for the Myotonic Dystrophy association, in honor of our baby cousin born with this terrible illness. That makes my mind wander to Baby Kate and her fight. “That’s really why I’m doing this,” I think. “For her!” I mean she doesn’t get to slow down or stop her fight when things get hard. She, at younger than 2, pushes through. And, even though she wasn’t supposed to ever walk, she pushed through enough to walk with a walker and…this week even…take steps independently. It’s incredible.

Still, my mind doesn’t settle there. I run along and realize it’s the sum of the whole. It’s all those things. It’s the big picture. It’s about pushing yourself, doing more…for many reasons…and living life. I told a friend the other day that I never say never. We were talking about the very important topic of Botox. Well…really, we were talking about getting older…a common theme with me that you may have noticed. (Don’t worry if you are getting annoyed with hearing it from me…you are not alone..I’m getting tired of the topic as well…it’s actually the only thing really getting old around here!)  Anyway, while talking with my friend. I got laughing about sitting across from a woman in a meeting the other day. She clearly Botoxes and had either just recently done it or had a Botox treatment gone bad because she was a living, breathing stereotype of every Botox joke you’ve ever heard. She was sitting there, listening to the speaker kind of drone on…no need for any facial expression, yet her face gave the appearance of someone who was startled, surprised. Her eyebrows were permanently arched up, her eyes wide. It was incredible to look at.

I sat there, not listening to the speaker drone on, but, instead, coming up with my story about her. She must think she looks great, but can’t she see what happened there? Does she realize that her need for perfection just made her look odd and a little sad? When I was recounting this to my friend on the phone, she said, “I’ve done it. I got so over being old and getting more wrinkles that I did it…Botox.  But, I panicked afterward. My one eyebrow kept rising and I couldn’t stop it. It scared me to death. My husband didn’t even notice, but I did.”  We laughed hysterically. I went on and on about how I’d seen it done well so many times, but maybe that’s what happened to this woman I was with earlier in the week. And I realized that I hadn’t really considered the big picture. I made up my story about how she was so into herself that she went overboard on the Botox. Yet, she, like me, was probably just trying to find a way to make herself feel good. She, like my friend, may have just given it a try for the hell of it and had it go a little wrong. And, most likely, she was sitting there not truly listening to the speaker drone on but wondering if anyone noticed that her eyebrows had gone insanely out of whack.

Let’s face it, that’s why I said “never say never”…because, even after that experience, I may Botox some day. I’d certainly consider non-poisonous wrinkle fillers if I had the disposable income to take it on. And, then, will people have stories about me?  I’m sure they will. And, I’m betting, like me, they wouldn’t consider the big picture…they’d be short-sighted and judgemental…just like I’m prone to be.

So, all that ran through my head as my feet pounded along on yesterday’s run trying not to notice the searing pain of a cramp in my shoulder, the lunch from 3 hours before that felt like a brick in my stomach or the gasping breaths I was taking. And then, of course, in the midst of the pain, my mind jumped to work. What big picture thoughts am I missing there?  It hit me that I like what I do but I often spend time focused on the day-to-day stories, the frustrations of daily work life, the people/personality issues, the challenges. I began wondering what makes some people at work push through more than others on those fronts, and I realized it’s that they focus on the big picture. They don’t let the small challenges or the minutes or hours get them down, they think about the ultimate goal, the real long-term benefits. For me, that’s showing my kids an example of a woman who can hold a big job and still be a caring, loving Mom who participates in their schools, their activities, their lives.  It’s showing them that work is necessary to have the things we need and a little bit extra. And, it gets me thinking about how inspiring they are each and every day as they face into life’s challenges…and they have them at nearly 8 and 13…it’s all relative…our grown up challenges exist in their world as well…just on a different level.

Before I know it, I’m right back to where I started…why I’m running.  To face into a challenge. To help my kids learn to do the same. Because they want me to. Because Baby Kate will get something out of it. And, because all these things put together make it good. The big picture is a pretty one. And, just as I think that, my iPod app calls into my earphones that I’ve reached the end of my run. It’s amazing what will get you through, huh? I’m looking forward to where today’s run takes me!

Facing Midlife

Facing Midlife

Midlife Crisis: “A period of psychological stress occurring in middle age, thought to be triggered by a physical, occupational or domestic event.”

I took a quick quiz in “Health” magazine last week while on a plane. In just 12 short, easy questions, you could determine your estimated life span.  I scored an 87.  That means, the way I’m living right now and with my family history, I’m likely to live to the age of 87.  That also means I’m just shy of hitting middle age. Because I’m neurotic or vain or whatever you’d like to call it, I’ll tell you I’m actually 6 years shy of hitting that particular middle age point.  And, because it’s true, I’ll tell you that it wasn’t a revelation.

You see…I’ve been wondering if I might be showing signs of a mid-life crisis. I mean I haven’t been considering leaving my family behind and trading them in for a hot sports car or an even hotter younger man, like the midlife crises we all think of from those movies in the ‘70’s and ‘80’s.  Ironically, the definition I found of “midlife crisis” says it originated between 1970-75.  Makes sense, huh?  I mean, when thinking about a midlife crisis, I tend to picture a guy with a mustache and thick, feathered hair driving around in a convertible corvette with a young Farrah Fawcett-type on his arm…his wife and kids wondering where he went while sitting in their brick ranch home decorated in orange, yellow and lime-green hues.

Yet, I’m feeling the pull of mid-life.  Me… a woman…living in the new millennium…a working Mom with an active, full family life.  It doesn’t mesh with the picture I have in my head…a cross between Lee Majors gone wrong, all those fathers I knew in my early teens who left their families for their younger secretaries and the guy living nearby who, just in the last 5 years, chucked it all to buy an ice cream franchise that almost immediately went under.

Somehow, that doesn’t fit for me.  What IS in my head is a question.  The question of “what exactly am I doing each day?”  I tell myself I’m making a living. I’m supporting our family and providing what we need plus a little luxury.  I remind myself how lucky I am to have reached a certain level of success in my career. And, I even enjoy that position now and again.  I mean, I have earned it. But, I wonder.  Am I the type that hangs on, stays solid, sees it through ‘til the end?  Or, am I the mid-life crisis type?  The “I’ve had enough and always wanted to be a writer, so I’m going to give it one last shot”- type?

I’m not 100% sure.  The jury is out.  I know the “running away to start a magazine column” image is a bit unseemly to me when I have two children to raise, private school tuition and college looming not far behind.  Yet, I also know that just two weeks ago I was ready to quit my job on the spot. It happened at a point when my boss was acting unruly, and I realized that pulling all-nighters for a project at work when I’m 41 years old and hold a VP title was kind of insane. I pushed through that moment, week…okay…two weeks, but it got me thinking. I felt like running.

I’ve never run before. Have you?  It’s not really me. I’m the dig in, fix it, stick-to-it person.  That’s always worked for me, but, as the definition above goes, “a period of psychological stress” can make you walk away from your normal self. Or, it can just make you re-think things a bit.

While I’ve been pondering, a movie I saw a few years ago came to mind. It was an HBO movie called Dinner with Friends. It looked at two couples who had been best friends since early in marriage and were now in midlife– Dennis Quaid and Andy MacDowell and Greg Kinnear and Toni Collette.  Kinnear’s character has a midlife crisis, and leaves his wife and family for a young secretary who “he gets aroused just looking at” in his scheezy, low-life explanation to Quaid’s character. As Quaid’s solid family man listens to this story and finds disgust in his heart when looking at his oldest/dearest friend, he tries to make him understand why it isn’t worth it. Quaid’s character talks about the life he’s built with his wife.  And, how, yes, it’s hard to raise a family, deal with work and life and stay excited in a marriage, but, when he’s feeling unfulfilled, he isn’t willing to just destroy everything. Instead, he looks for more in what he has. He points out that for an outlet, he’s started taking piano lessons.

Kinnear’s character finds this laughable…piano lessons versus the hot chick and a single life with no kids.  He doesn’t say it. He expertly implies it. I, on the other hand, the one watching that movie found it admirable and, in my gut, the right move. It spoke to me.

I think it’s important to hold on to what you’ve built. It’s important to make things work and not to buckle at the first sign of stress. So, I’m not taking up piano but I have taken up something new.  Running.  I don’t know if I really like it, but it is a challenge. And, my daughter has decided to do it with me. We’ve actually signed up to run a 10K next month and raise funds for our newest family member on our side, Kate.  Kate was born a little under two years ago with Congenital Myotonic Dystrophy, a very rare form of Muscular Dystrophy.   She wasn’t expected to develop normally, walk, talk or crawl.  She is beating the odds.  She is already walking with a walker. So, we’re running in her honor and raising funds for research of this relatively unknown disorder.

Kate may not be able to face her 40s some day and ponder whether or not she’s having a midlife crisis. I hope that’s wrong. I hope, against hope, that she can experience it. But, in the meantime, I’m making the most of mine. No sports cars here…just a huffing and puffing woman in her 40s being schooled daily by her nearly 13 year old daughter as they train for something new together.

http://www.activegiving.com/donate/bridgerunforkate

Knowing Where You’re Going

I have a friend who grew up in a small, rural town. When she and her friends visited anywhere new…a travelling football game, a restaurant in the nearby city…they would say to each other to “act like you’ve been somewhere.”  When she would tell me the stories, I could picture them, all awkward teen girl nervousness, putting on airs to belie their small town roots. Yet, as I get ready to head home for the holidays,  I find comfort in the exact opposite.  There’s something to be said for being with people who know exactly where you’ve come from.

This week, I’ll get together with family and friends who watched me grow up. While I haven’t lived in that city for the better part of 20 years, I’ve been fortunate to keep in touch with a close group of friends.  I’ve written about them before.  In the 4^th grade, a group of us bonded together…boys and girls…but mostly girls…and though our lives have taken us all in different directions from the time we split up to go to different high schools because of school zoning, private school choices and parents relocating for their jobs…we still have a bond.  Whenever any of us run into each other, plan a visit or attend an event together, it’s as if no time has passed.  We have all grown, married/divorced, lived very, very separate lives but, when we see each other, something kicks in.

It could be chalked up to nostalgia…and for the core group’s outlier friends…that’s much of what it is, but when you get into the 5-10 of us who stuck together all those years, it’s more. It’s an understanding of what shaped us…of what set us on the path where we’ve landed today.    Because, you know, whenever anything major takes place in my life…or even minor, like a business trip to some unexpected place…there’s still a part of me who is that silly, unsure “one normal girl” of my childhood living inside the body of “one normal woman.”

I find it funny when I come across people who pretend they are only from the place they currently live.  New Yorkers are famous for this.  I work with them daily and they harken from all over the place…Florida, Alabama, California, New Mexico, Minnesota…but, if asked, they proudly say they are New Yorkers and openly tell you they’d never claim those other places as their own.  I love that they have found their place, a place that speaks to them, but I want to say…come on, you’re still that Florida girl somewhere in there…don’t hide from that.

My sister is one of those people. She escaped to New York when she graduated high school…full of big dreams of stardom…they didn’t pan out and she didn’t live there all that long, but, even now, living in rural South Carolina, where she’s lived longer than she did in New York, she tells people she’s from the Big Apple.   Maybe it’s because that’s where she found herself….or based on her history with drugs and life crisis…lost herself. Regardless, it’s likely because it’s where she found her “group” – the people she bonded with the most in her life…the people who know what has shaped her.

I, for one, am excited to see a few of those people in my life this week.  We’ll laugh…at ourselves, our past and our current circumstances…and we’ll catch up on where we’ve all landed now, meeting the people who have become the biggest parts of our lives in this stage.  We’ll have some drinks…legally…since most of our time together might just have been spent enjoying some drinks not so legally years ago.  And, we’ll leave, if we’re lucky, feeling better for it.

I know everyone is not like me…they don’t feel a need for these connections to continue forever. They can easily let relationships come and go.  And, that’s their way.  It’s not mine though…I feel like I need to remember where I’ve been so I can know where I’m going.  With that… I’m going home for a bit…and I can’t wait!

Until…

If you saw me living day-to-day life, I’m pretty sure you’d classify me as a no-holds-barred, strong and liberal woman. I mean I grew up with a poster hanging in the laundry room in clear sight of the door I entered and exited every day from my home – it beckoned to me daily, reading: “Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a jail. Yet, until the ERA has won, we’re only out on bail.” I’d say that pretty much shaped me considering the woman who raised me…my beautiful, strong mother…is the one who hung it there.

Despite how most people would read that poster, assuming the woman who hung it was a tough-minded career woman in the 70s, it turns out that same beautiful, strong mother of mine was instead a stay-at-home Mom until I was a teenager. She cooked, kept a wonderful home, volunteered at our schools and carpooled us to tennis, drama, horseback riding, cheerleading, gymnastics and more. She even sewed many of our clothes for God’s sake. That too, shaped me. That’s my picture of a mother…a wife…a woman. And, what seems to be doing me in these days is that it’s not what I am.

When my Mom returned to work when I was a teenager, she took it on with the fervor and passion of a woman moving into the next phase of her life. That, too, shaped me. I was encouraged to be whatever I wanted to be…to reach my full potential. I was the one they expected to bring that poster’s thoughts to life…even if on that sad day in the 70s the ERA was voted down….I could still live it in spirit. I didn’t plan to get married. I didn’t plan to have kids. I was going to take on the world with a hard-core career. In my youth, it’s what I thought I wanted…until…

…Until I met the man who would become my husband…by the age of 23. I was the one who never considered marriage growing up. Yet, I was the first of my friends to get married.

…Until 5 years after our wedding my thoughts about becoming a mother changed and something inside me told me I NEEDED to do it…so at age 29, I became a mother.

…Until I realized that to be the mother I wanted to be, I needed to put my career on the back burner. I needed to read to, do crafts with, cradle and cuddle my baby all day, every day. Soon thereafter, I needed to be the pre-school room Mom and advocate for my child in elementary school and run the PTA and drive the carpool and be the Girl Scout helper and more…and more…and more.

Yet, I also needed to work for financial reasons. So, I found a way to do both. You see, growing up, I was also encouraged to know I could do it all if I wanted. And, over the past 12+ years of motherhood, that’s what I’ve tried to do…I tried to do it all…until…

…Until it didn’t work anymore. I had started a consulting business to be able to set my own work schedule. It grew, it thrived…the 70s ERA baby in me took over and wanted to make it more. And, it was. So much so that it turned into a full-time executive job within a corporation. A job with some flexibility…it allowed me to work from home and still be a part of my kids’ activities.

…Until the day it became more demanding and the day my husband lost his job, my safety net that allowed me to leave whenever I wanted to go back to my “Mom” life. And …until the fear and pressure of being the breadwinner made me question me being able to do it all…made me realize it’s pretty essential that I’m more present at work and less present at home.

So, we’re re-defining roles here. We’re very fortunate to have the choices we have. I’M very fortunate to have a husband willing to re-define his role in this new world, this bad economy and actually run the carpool and volunteer at the school and more. My kids are even more fortunate to have an open-minded, giving father who was shaped by the same type of parents when he grew up. Yet, the re-defining of roles is fighting with my core being. I was recently at a seminar for Women in Leadership, and we discussed just this…how the changing society has women doing more, owning more, yet feeling more anxiety because many of them are just like me…dueling with the traditions with which they were raised. Statistics show that mostly middle management men lost their jobs in the economic crash 2 years ago and many, many have not been able to return to work. It all rang true with me.

So, maybe that no-holds-barred liberal person people see me as isn’t so accurate, because a truly liberal person would let it go…would be open to the change…would be willing to make the full switch. Wouldn’t she?

I think she would…I think I should. I think I will. And, I know it will all be just fine. Because what I know now is I’m not just one type of person. I’m not just a stereotype…none of us are. We’re all just plugging along, finding our way and trying to find joy in all of it. It’s quite a ride though…quite a ride…because really there are no rules to life…there’s just doing the best you can with what you have and being willing to adapt…until…until it changes again.

Listen and Learn

Ok…I’ll admit it. I can’t help myself.  Often, when we eat out or sit waiting for a movie to start with lots of strangers in a theatre, I just have to listen in to the people around me.  Some might call it eavesdropping, and I guess that’s what it is in reality, but, for me, it’s also the chance to get a glimpse into other people’s worlds…to validate my feelings that everybody has a little something going on…sometimes a good something, sometimes a bad something, sometimes just an interesting something. Just yesterday, my husband and I stopped in for a drink at our local suburban sports bar and grill. As I looked out at all the people on that deck, I was taken back to just a few years ago when I sat next to a couple in that same place. They were on a date and discussing, within, two feet of me, loudly, how much they enjoy the “lifestyle.”  For those of you who don’t know..the “lifestyle” is swinging, partner-switching parties and, what sounded like orgies.

Yes…I just said orgies. I’d say that’s definitely in the category of an “interesting” something going on in these people’s lives. Now, tell me that wasn’t a score at the ol’ Friday night hang out for kids’ baseball and soccer teams and their families!  My two kids and husband had just walked away from the table to hit the game room for a bit while I waited for the drinks to come and to place the order for my family. So, I was openly sitting there by myself with nothing to do but hear what the people around me were saying. It started a bit cryptic. A woman in her mid to late 40s and a guy about the same age. They were clearly on an early date in their relationship. You could just tell by how they greeted each other, the kind of stilted, “How was your day?” and “Oh…I didn’t realize you liked a good work out that much” type of conversation. That’s what originally drew me in. The woman was a bit nervous, the man trying to play her a bit. So, I was in…it had potential for a second marriage, later in life type of love. A mini, real-life soap opera right there as I sat staring off by myself trying to busy myself with other things around me…my blackberry, the menu, etc.

Then, he asked her, “So…what did you think that first time?”  Hmmm, I thought…first time for what?  She giggled nervously. “Oh, I don’t know. I wasn’t sure what a party like that would be like.  It wasn’t as unusual as I thought though. The invitation was very tasteful so that helped me feel more at ease. It felt like I could just come and check it out but I didn’t have to participate. Then, I got there and it was like any party and no one pressured me, but it was exciting when I saw people start to leave the room together.”

His response: “Yes…yes. It’s exciting all right.”  He then mumbled something a bit unintelligible but I got the gist…it turned him on and he was baiting her to see if it turned her on too.  She didn’t play along. She giggled in the right spots and smiled and gave him enough tempered response to keep him interested but not to commit. I got the distinct impression that she liked him and wanted some sort of relationship and was either truly interested in this lifestyle or just really interested in dating someone right now and was willing to push her boundaries a little for that. (I was tempted to use the word desperate vs interested here but I’ll reserve that judgment…because, you know, she may have found what she was looking for and all. We’ll say I definitely found what I was looking for in that particular evening out, sitting by myself…because the conversation only got better from there.)

He, starting to get to a point that he was losing some control, was almost unable to hold back his animalistic grunts and man-at-a-strip-club “UHHHH HUHHHH”‘s when he described the next party coming up. She, was saying how she was worried because she had seen a woman from work at the last one and then laughed because when they saw each other at the office the next week, they just smiled knowingly. “I know,” he said. “What’s she going to do? Blow the whistle on you and admit she was there, too?  Hey…maybe you two could hook up at work now.”  Clearly, the hook up…followed by a big “UHHH HUHHHH” did not mean lunch together in his mind. She let that one go. And, then, I had to let it all go because my family had returned.

My husband still laughs about how, when they sat back at the table, I was sitting there trying not to make a scene but staring at him with huge eyes and trying to make him recognize that something BIG had finally happened at a table near us as I sat listening. After years of him dealing with me juggling our conversations and those of the tables around us, I thought he deserved to get in on this action, but he wasn’t able to understand my cryptic eye motions, so he lost out. The story lives on with us though. I finally got to unload it all on him when we got home and the kids went off to play in another room. Months later, we were at the same place and that same couple came back in.  He was wearing a shirt advertising some web site. So my husband checked it out…it mentioned “the lifestyle” but also listed this guy’s past career history…currently a life coach, also, at one point, an internet guy and prior to that some type of entrepreneurship.  Pretty much fits the bill. What didn’t to me, was the woman. After the first time I’d seen them, I had expected her to be dabbling in this after a recent divorce or long-term relationship ending badly. She seemed too nervous, too mainstream.  But, when we saw them again, she seemed much more happy and comfortable in her own skin. The lifestyle was serving her well apparently.

There are people out there living all kinds of lifestyles…they walk among us and we assume they are just like us but each and every person is driven by their own codes, their own morals and their own thoughts, desires and ideas. Just the other day, I sat at a hair salon for several hours getting a treatment done. I chatted with my stylist and read for much of it, but I also listened. You think people will tell a bartender anything…check out what they’ll tell their hair stylists. I heard one woman talking about her nights out recently and wondering aloud why her back was hurting so badly after noting that she’d been dancing all night with several men and didn’t think much of it at the time but maybe, just maybe, the 5 glasses of wine masked the pain when it was happening. I heard others bemoaning their bad marriages and talking about visiting old boyfriends at their workplaces just to check in, not for anything more, of course.  And, even more, discussing troubles at home with their kids….loudly, for all to hear, because they were under hair dryers and were nearly yelling to be heard by the one person they thought they were discussing this with.

Yep…everyone has something…some good, some bad and some just plain interesting. And, I love when I’m able to collect stories, not to judge, not to name names, but just to share. Forget reality TV…this is reality…there are all kinds of lives being lived out there. We can judge or, as long as it’s not hurting anyone, we can enjoy the show. We can also learn a valuable lesson…before you share something very personal in a public place, check out how close you are sitting to the nearest stranger! Because, I for one know there’s plenty in my life people might be watching, listening to what I talk about to my stylist  and judging in quick conversations with their friends that start with “You wouldn’t believe what I just heard” and end with “Man…and she looked so normal!”

The Genius Within

I recently found myself at Harvard…as a student…at age 41. Okay. It was only for a week as part of their Executive Education program within the Business School, but they worked hard to make it feel very real.

I went with my executive team of 12 people…they were my roomies for the week. You see, we lived on campus in a dorm. Single units for each individual at least, but still a dorm with a single bed, no TV and our legal counsel, our VP of Sales and the many other male teammates I work with daily as my neighbors on the hall.  Something about the dorm made it feel different than when we all stay in a hotel together. There was a common area to gather in to watch TV or do the course work versus the very private hotel suite I am used to holing up in on my own.

My father used to love to come to the back of the house where we lived while growing up and bellow “Man on the Hall” while standing at the start of the hallway that led to my sister’s bedroom and mine. And, when I lived in an all-girl dorm in college, it made him even happier to come visit, yell it out and then ask if people really did that still.  This turned all of that on its head a bit because of the 12 of us, there were only 4 women. It is corporate life after all.  I had to laugh to myself…forget the dorm…with those kind of numbers, maybe I should yell “Woman at the meeting” every time I enter one at work.

Even better, we were there with 75 colleagues from around the world. The male to female ratio did not improve with these numbers. Nor, did the feeling of equality. Sorry to be blunt, but, let’s face it, most of the male leaders from our China and Middle Eastern business units don’t really seem to have any interest in having women in the room.  They pretend most days but you see it in their eyes and, in my case, feel it in the groping of their hands during an evening out with the group…at a bar after hours…when they think no one is looking and they can get away with it. Yes…after a 20 year career of pretty much hands off respect from men…I was yanked back by a drunk colleague from another part of the world who rubbed my back hard and planted a big wet kiss somewhere on my neck or cheek or something…I really don’t know because I was pulling away and trying not to look. I turned to him afterward and glared to make him aware of how wrong it was that he just did it. Then, I turned to the closest of my male colleagues and declared, “I’ve just been groped and kissed. I think it’s time for me to go.”  Did these guys who swear they have my back and were insistent that I stay out with the team come to my rescue? No.  They did not.  They acted like they didn’t really hear me. They laughed a bit and then they went about their business. It was at the second yank…yes…this guy attempted it again…that all bets were off.  He was sitting…teetering, really…on a bar stool and when he tried to pull me again, I pulled away with all my might, causing him to fall. Then, I grabbed a colleague and had him escort me back to the dorm immediately. Like I said…it felt like real college life if only for a week.

So my friends keep asking if I lodged a complaint. I didn’t. Not because it wasn’t wrong, but because it wasn’t worth it. It had been a long week. They guy had way too much to drink, and I made it known to my whole team what happened after the fact so people can be on the watch out for his behavior in the future. Not to mention, I quite literally had physically taken him down.  That part kind of cracks me up.  There he was falling over in front of all his “big men” friends…looking like an ass. That, to me, feels a bit like justice.

Even with that fairly interesting event, that’s not what the week at Harvard was about. The groping was on blip on a pretty mind-blowing week.  I have to say…even for just a week, even for just one course…Harvard lived up to its reputation. The faculty got you thinking. The work was productive and you walked away feeling like you learned something valuable.  That doesn’t happen every day. I know for a fact it doesn’t happen with every one of these classes…because I feel like I go to them ALL THE TIME…as my company seems to be on a quest to fully develop each leader to the nth degree.

Yet, you can’t come to a class like this with 74 other colleagues who hold MBAs from prestigious business schools and high positions not having just a shred of a thought that you are just a lowly English major from a State school who has potentially tricked everyone into thinking she belongs there. Add to that the fact that the campus is hard to navigate, even with a map, so you are constantly lost. They give you key cards they call “finicky” to enter every doorway, stairwell, elevator, dorm room etc. Yet, finicky is not even close to accurate. They don’t work.  It’s like some constant test as you try to move from place to place to remind you that you don’t have the touch…you can’t even open the doors at Harvard…what makes you think you should be in a class here???  Until…the moment when you raise your hand during a session and make a comment…and the professor, a tenured Ph.D. at Harvard…says…”You have just captured the core of the lesson for this entire case study.”   That’s when you remember…that’s right…I actually thrive in a classroom setting. I’m actually very good at what I do. So what if I get locked out of my room twice a day…I can hold my own where it matters here.

It got me thinking about my son. He’s 7.  He’s struggled for some time with insecurities…a funny thing to say about someone so young, I know.  But, he doesn’t feel like he fits in because he’s drawn to girl things…he loves dolls and dress up and fashion and art.  We’ve had to let go of our preconceived notions of “boy stuff” and realize what parents are meant to do…guide our children to become who they are meant to be. In this case, it’s taken us allowing him to embrace his own individual likes and dislikes instead of being driven by what society deems as the “way a boy should be.”  We’re finding our way and his confidence is growing.  As it grows, we’ve noticed that he has a level of brilliance beyond others. He perceives more and understands concepts even adults have trouble with, but put a piece of paper in front of him to do basic 2nd grade writing or math and it all falls apart. For a long time, we thought it was because of his self confidence issues…he didn’t want to put himself out there in writing, permanently, to be judged. It turns out that’s not it.  We had him assessed through hours and hours of analytical testing. Guess what?  He’s a genius.  Certifiably…he has an IQ that’s off the charts. As often comes with something like that, there’s a downside. He’s dyslexic.  I’ve come to learn dyslexia is more than just seeing letters and numbers backwards…it’s a processing, organizing and planning issue within the brain. Basically, he’s a genius who can’t process his way out of a paper bag…and that doesn’t fly so well in the ol’ school system.

I’m thrilled that we’ve pinpointed the thing that is causing him more problems and making him feel undue pressure and concern among his friends. Even better, it’s actually something that can be tackled. There’s a whole strategy to help him overcome this. It just takes time and resources..and…you know, everyone has a ton of those, right?  Seriously. It can be handled. It will be handled, and he will grow into the unique, amazing genius potential we all see in him.

Yet it wasn’t long ago that I was talking to a physician who treats people with chronic illnesses. He told me that the way we live in today’s society…overscheduled…minute to minute…far away from our extended families…that people don’t have the bandwidth to deal with even a minor illness or unexpected need. There’s no room for it…there’s no money for it…and there’s no support for it in the typical American family…so when something like that comes along, they break.

We refuse to break over this. My child has some issues, but he has so much more positive factors than most. He’s not facing a life-threatening illness. He’s a very smart child who just needs some guidance. I will admit, though, it does take a lot of time. It takes doctor’s appointments, tutoring sessions, meetings with the school and constant focus on helping him day in and day out with his work. And, as I boarded the plane to Boston for a week of mind expansion for work, all I could think is my mind doesn’t need my time right now. His does. And, that doctor’s words kept echoing in my ears. How will we fit it all in?

Somehow, we did. My husband focused on him while I worked to ensure the financial resources needed for this little venture were secure…let’s face it…you have to show up and do well to get paid. You have to play the game a bit and if it means taking down a drunk fool in the process so you can prove yourself and still provide what your child needs, watch out because I’ll barrel through anyone necessary to make that happen.  And, I’ll do it with a smile, a wink and a reminder that I’ve still got it my friends…I’ve still got it mentally, physically and in the hallowed halls of Harvard no less.

Business Travel Separates the Weak from the Strong

Life will test people but I truly believe it’s not actually life’s serious challenges that can do a person in.  It’s actually the little things.  For me, it’s things as minor as consistent business travel that I often see take down the weak. After nearly 12 years of pretty constant business travel, I can assure you that the slice of life you see in airports, car rental lines, train stations and sitting next to you on any mode of public transportation will make you check yourself. A friend recently gave me a gift, a travel pillow with a picture of my children on it.  She laughed and said, “Now, all those wierdos you always encounter will strike up a conversation with you.”

“Oh, honey, I don’t need a travel pillow to make that happen,” I thought.  But, really, if I’m being honest, I thought, “They aren’t wierdos. They’re just making their way through life. And, the exhaustion, the terrible way so-called service people treat you, and the mercenary nature of corporate America and its airline representatives toward you…their customer…just brings out the worst in people on most days.”

I have to laugh at how much I’ve changed over the years, though.  Just today, I sat down on a plane next to a very young man, all dressed up in his business suit and tie, like a little boy playing “office.”  He wanted to talk.  He was excited to be upgraded to first class.  He shared that he’d flown from Atlanta to New York this morning and was going back tonight, but he’d be back on Thursday.  “Ahhh…I remember those days,” I told him.  It seems so great to get in and out in a day, when, in reality, you are spending 20-22 hours awake in the name of doing a good job while still stealing an extra 24 hours at home.  The problem is that 24 hours at home is existed in a stupor….no matter how young you are.  I warned him, “That seems like a great idea the first few years you travel, but then reason …or age…takes over and 20 hour days just aren’t conducive to living a  decent work or home life afterward.”  He nodded and agreed with a look in his eye that said otherwise.  More power to him.  I was there once.  I can’t do it anymore, and I don’t want to.  But, that doesn’t excuse me from many late nights and early mornings facing things that, in any other life situation, I would take a stand against.

You see, just on this trip alone…this 30 hour whirlwind…I was upgraded to my next level of status from my trusted airline but then told I was ineligible for a first class upgrade on the flight that pushed me over the edge.  “Why?”  I asked.  “Because” was the answer.  Really, that wasn’t the answer. There were lots of words and long explanations, but, all of it could have been summed up with, “Because we feel like it.”  Actually, it was “Because we said so and because we like to mess with you a bit.”  So, did I take a stand?  Did I argue my case and explain good customer service to them while toting my bags and my old-lady attitude through the airport?  Nope.  I just smiled and said, “Okay…maybe next time. Thanks for your help. See you next week.”

Then, I boarded my flight, put on my headset and tuned out until I landed…45 minutes late.  I followed my normal path through the Newark airport…the one I can now do in my sleep…heading to my rental car place.  I’m a Gold Member there.  They have my information and credit card on file. They know I always need a mid-sized car with a GPS system. 92.5% of the time they give me that.  The rest of the time…well, too bad. Just last month, I came out at 12:30 a.m., knowing I had an hour drive ahead of me and a 6:30 a.m. wake-up call planned so I could make my 8 a.m. meeting. Do you know what I found?  The Hamster car.  What is a hamster car, you ask? You know…those TV ads with the life-size hamsters dressed in hoodies and baggy jeans wearing “Mr. T” necklaces rapping about how you could drive “this” or you could drive “that.”  “This” is a cube-type SUV/Crossover thing made for 20 year olds.  “This” is what was waiting for me…without a GPS.  My choice was to go back in and lodge a complaint and get a new car, eating up another 30-40 minutes…30-40 minutes of precious sleep time…or to grin and bear it.  So, I left a bit of my dignity on the parking deck of that there rental car place and hopped into the Hamster car singing about driving “this or that” all the way to my destination.

I used it, of course. I got a great laugh out of those I met with that day, having them guess what I was driving from all the cars in the parking lot and pretending to do the Hamster rap. So…last night, I arrived very late…again…see the theme here on the timeliness of air travel?…okay…I was very late….again….and I hit the parking lot to find a bitchin’ brand new Camaro…a bright orange bitchin’ brand new Camaro.  With, of course, no GPS.  Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not a pushover.  I have gone back in a number of times before and had them change things. I’ve even called myself between trips and then had my travel agent check my profile as a back up.  It’s just that they don’t always care.  Some nights they just mail it in. And, some nights….like last night…I’m too damn tired, so I hop in the Camaro and drive it like I stole it.  I laugh, and curse a bit. But, I suck it up and drive it.

So, I pulled into the office parking lot this morning amid stares and guffaws. I am, after all, a senior leader in the business, and I can’t manage to drive something as simple as a Corolla, or even a Hyundai for God’s sake.  It’s funny.  It’s annoying.  It’s life.And, there was once a version of me that would have fought it.  I would have fought every last one of these battles. I would have been righteous and indignant. I wouldn’t have seen the humor. But the one thing I’ve learned as I barrel through life is that there is humor in so much.  There also is NOT humor in more than enough. So, it’s pretty damn important to know when the little things just aren’t worth fighting.  Does that make me a push-over?  I’m not sure.  Does it make me able to get through life with less unproductive effort and a heavier focus on the important things? Definitely.

So, I watched the young guy next to me tonight and wondered…how long? How long until he decides to give up the 20 hour days to get an extra two hours with the fiancé he was so excited to tell me about?  I hope never, but I also hope it doesn’t break him because I do like the excited, newbie look in his eye. The world needs more of those. As for me, I’ll take my jaded approach, smile about it all and just keep writing.

A Lesson in Ebbing & Flowing As Taught By M. Beck

“We live in an up-and-down, ebb-and-flow  universe, yet we’d much rather flow than ebb. When we find ourselves in the troughs between the peaks of life, some of us…become resistant.  The rest of us…panic.”

— Martha Beck

I’m writing today while I enjoy a ridiculously lazy afternoon.  It’s overcast and drizzly outside and I am watching stupid Lifetime TV movies and laying around reading magazines, all compliments of a great friend who has taken my kids for the day because…I believe… she fears I may break at any moment based on the week, the month, the year I’ve had. She doesn’t say that…she just smiles and tells me how much she really wants to add two more young maniacs to her house on a rainy afternoon, but we both know it. She’s worried.

She’s wrong. I’m not ready to break, but I’m sure enjoying the rest, the chocolate and (don’t tell anyone) even the trashy movies!  I don’t blame her for worrying though. The past two weeks were a doozy…the first full week of school for the kids, full of new projects and challenging reviews, Open House meetings, parent volunteer jobs and last minute needs mixed with piles of forms to be completed in time to meet unwavering deadlines.  It gets better when you add to that budget planning at work, the crisis du jour to be dealt with for my most high maintenance team member and …what I will for some time refer to as the money bloodletting of this week’s home ownership and mid-life responsibilities…a $200 garage door repair, a completely shot mini-van transmission which led to the need to purchase a new car (and fast!), a large tree branch needing to be removed from our roof and a compressor gone bad in our air conditioning unit to the tune of $600.  I’ll say it again….it was a doozy.

Call it what you want…Murphy’s Law,  the ol’ standby…”when it rains it pours” or any other anecdote that points to lots going wrong at once…it happens…to all of us…regularly. It’s life.  My friend who saved me today knows better than anyone else. She too has a husband out of work (just like me), two high maintenance kids and even a parent needing help with medical care.  We did laugh this week when everyone we knew kept commenting on the crazy week I was having. We laughed because I admitted to her that I didn’t really feel anything about it.  I threw up my hands a few times…yea…but it didn’t ruffle me or my husband that much. I think we’ve just learned to roll with the punches a bit better. It does feel odd that I didn’t get more upset or cry or yell (okay…there may have been a few harsh words during the new car decision making…all budget related though).  Yet, I never felt that ruffled…never felt that “my life is shit” or overly dramatic “life will never change for us” dismay I did when I was younger and these things happened. I don’t think my husband did either. We just shrugged, got through the bewilderment and took the next logical step.

In a few weeks, I’ll turn 41. My 40^th year has held some big stuff.  First, there was turning 40 and the fact that I did not do it gracefully.  I don’t like getting older…for any reason…whatsoever.  I don’t like that I look older, that I have to run now to barely maintain a higher weight than ever before when I used to be able to walk fast and stay thin. I don’t like the new wrinkles or the few gray hairs I’m getting.  I don’t like that I’m the oldest at the table at most work meetings or that society loves young, beautiful skinny women. I could go on and on…but you get the drift. But, that part was nothing.  Within months of turning 40, we were dealing with my step-father growing a 15-pound cancerous tumor near his kidney out of nowhere and in a matter of weeks.  It was incredible and scary and crazy. But we faced it, and he’s recovered and he’s actually doing great.  Then, we began dealing with my niece in her early 20s who is, sadly, facing some mental health issues that are keeping her from living a normal, stable life on her own.  I say we…but, really, my Mom has taken the brunt of that. My sister is helping, but that’s a story all on its own….for another day. Next, came my father…seriously, no joke the healthiest, most vibrant person I know in his 70s.  He wasn’t feeling right and got checked out. Turns out, his carotid artery was blocked.  So, he underwent surgery for that. Again, we got in, we got out, he recovered and life was good again.  Meanwhile, he spent the next few months still feeling poorly. After much pushing with his doctors, he was tested more and more until…low and behold…they uncovered 4 blocked arteries around his heart which led to a quadruple bypass and a ridiculously long recovery that is still going on.  These incidents reunited me with said sister from above who has not been part of my life for many years. Good…meaningful…but…wow…a lot!

All of this was going on as I held down a fairly all-encompassing executive corporate job and raised (with my husband, of course) two great children.  That’s said with a bit of laughter because anyone who has raised children knows they can be the most amazing creatures on earth and you can love them more than life itself, but they are hard work, and mine are no different. They have big meaty needs…my youngest is bright, creative and a child who marches to the beat of a different drummer. We love him for it. He doesn’t love himself so much for it. He feels different and he beats himself up for it…all…the…time. I worry so much for him that I could easily do nothing but be his mother 24 hours a day, seven days a week, and I still fear it wouldn’t be enough. Except that’s not okay…that’s not reasonable. Because it’s not possible. And because I have other responsibilities. Like my silly, smart, amazing daughter who managed to conquer her first year of middle school during my 40^th year of life. And, while she had crazy hormone moments, and sass-filled Saturdays stuck in her room, she still made it through that first year with more finesse and pure cool-ness than I’ve been able to muster for even a minute in my whole life.

They bring me so much joy…those two little beings who hold pieces of my husband and me in their genes.  They are so resilient and bounce from thing to thing, interest to hobby to interest, crying tantrum to grinning, toothy smile.  They seem to know that the ebb and flow of life is okay. And, I’m with them.  All the way. Because my Dad is going to be fine.  My step-father is going to be fine.  My friend who helped me today is going to be fine.  My kids are going to be fine. And, I, who will never be younger than I am right now, am going to embrace this 41^st year with all my might, ride the ups and downs it will bring and thank out loud whatever it is the 40s Gods do that graces us with the ability to embark on the ride with excitement.  If that’s not something…me thinking there’s some merit to being in my 40s…I don’t know what is!

Friggin’ 40

I ran today and there wasn’t even danger involved. That’s been my standing rule for nearly 20 years.  I don’t run unless there’s blood, scary stuff around or the possibility of someone being maimed.  So, why did I run today? Friggin’ 40, that’s why!

Turning 40 has been interesting, that’s for sure.  They warn you. They tell you. They all try to lead you to the water gently, but you’re sure…you’re positive that you aren’t the one…that you’ll beat it…middle age spread won’t overtake you. Yet, halfway through your 40th year, you notice things shifting.  So, if you’re me, you step up the weight training a bit, cut back on the enriched breads and snacks and expect the bulge to settle down, the scale to lower.  Friggin’ 40 has another idea though…it just speaks in silent whispers to your body…encourages your belly to pooch a bit more and adds a layer to your thighs…the thighs that were once your pride and joy…making them jiggle and not quite fit into your jeans like they once did.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m fit.  I’ve exercised and eaten right my whole life.  I have really good habits. Yet, they are not serving me like they should.  Probably because they aren’t great habits, and to maintain what I was in my 30s, they have to be great, unwavering habits. To be honest, I waver. I like my glass of wine in the evening. I love my occasional donut and …seriously…what’s life without an order of fries every few weeks? So, my whole life, my overall good habits and my active lifestyle has cut it. Until now, I’ve been on the thin side and been able to rein it in when things started to “bubble over” a bit.

It hasn’t been so hard all these years. It’s about being active. It started with competitive tennis when I was young, and constant swimming…from growing up in Florida with a pool in the backyard…. Then, I moved to cheerleading (basically hours of aerobics at a time field or court side) and on to crew.  That’s what killed my desire to run.  One would think crew is about rowing, but it’s about stamina. So, we had to train, and training for stamina meant running. We used to run three miles a day, six days a week. I was the slowest runner.  They would drive alongside us..yes…drive…those lazy high school coaches…and yell and call me out for being the slowest. It was Florida. It was hot. I sucked at it.  It did not make me love running.  After my time on the crew team, I left running behind forever.  I turned, instead, to Aerobics and circuit training …it was the 80s; that’s what we did back then…Jane Fonda and all.  I had some great outfits…my favorite was an electric green body suit w/royal blue high cut bikini bottoms that I wore over the bodysuit and finished off with scrunchy socks and white high top Reeboks. It was a sight to see…and thinking back…not a good sight…but I digress. I bopped and sweat it out in classes between home and college and, in the meantime, I walked…and walked…and walked every chance I got. Then, I discovered mail order workout videos.  I was hooked.

Whether I heard about it on TV, at a gym or in a magazine, I had to have the latest video, gadget or weight loss device.  I’ve bought and seriously bought into (emotionally, mentally, whatever) Calinetics, rubber band workouts, Tae-Bo, Yoga videos, Roller Blade and Walking workouts..you name it.  I may have even considered a Richard Simmons workout program at one point but I don’t think I ever went that far…I mean a woman does have her limits. Seriously, I can’t promise though…someone out there may have evidence of me and Richard Simmons that I can’t deny.

I would be embarrassed by this if I hadn’t encountered a funny situation with someone I respect the other day.  A woman I know who is completely together, beyond successful by almost any standards and one of the most even, seemingly well-adjusted women in her 50s that I’ve experienced in some time, let on that she has a bit of the same “As Seen on TV” habit that I do.  Hers is not so much related to fitness although, from her account, it does lean in that way fairly often when she makes her purchases. It all started with a conversation among a group of people about the P90X “Muscle Confusion” DVD set.  Anyone who has seen the ad must have been somewhat swayed….I’ve been close to picking up the phone several times to buy it. Several people in the group I was talking with had bought it and were discussing it and she…the well adjusted woman…said “I have that.”  She’s not a particularly fit woman, so we all asked her about buying it.  She began to explain. “I have insomnia,” she said.  “I don’t know what to do with myself during that time of night. So, pretty much anything they sell between 2 and 4 a.m., I own.  I have a whole space in my basement dedicated to it. I’ve got the Ab Roller, P90X, the Crunch Machine.  QVC sent me a hand written thank you note once and reminded me when my favorite jeweler would be on next. That’s when I knew I was in trouble.”

I wanted to stop and dissect that a bit.  There’s something going on there. Someone who seems so even and together on the surface but can’t sleep…every night…for years…and soothes it by buying a bunch of stuff she never uses. That’s got to be something.  Could that be her Friggin’ 50 response?  Maybe.  But, what I really wanted to know was whether or not she has the Zumba video by those eccentric Latin American women who help you dance off the pounds and make you lose inches around your middle to uncover six-pack abs in mere weeks. She did!  “And, what about the Wen hair system?” I begged. “Have you tried it?  I just know that stuff will work.”  She had it and liked it.  This was a gold mine!

And, so I had a choice…I could dig into her neuroses and worry about my friend or I could live vicariously without spending too much or becoming the “As Seen on TV” hoarder assuaging her Friggin’ 40 insecurities.  I chose the living vicariously.  And, then, I decided to start running the next day…I mean there had to be a lesson in all of this, right?

Walking is just not going to cut it anymore. And, trying to maintain the old way…that’s out too.  Two weeks in and my knees hurt, my ankles are acting a little hinky and my middle has STILL not whittled away. But, I’m sleeping at night and I’ve continued to slowly back away from the questionable fitness purchases. You know…now that I think about it…they told me I’d get more reasonable when I turned 40 even if the bulge got harder to budge.  Who knows…maybe this is the way one normal woman embraces the new her…pounding the pavement and stopping the maddness…and…yes…I do know that was a phrase coined by the great Susan Powter…tv pitchwoman extraordinaire.  Because, no one should ever forget her roots even if she is running from them with all her might.