We are heading out tomorrow for vacation. So, today, was the last day of staycation. It was a gorgeous day in New York City today. After POB (partner of blogger) came back from the gym, I got ready for my run and 2 hours of mindlessness.
As I left POB and SOS (our son, source of sanity), they were fighting over the TV remote control, because POB wanted to watch the rest of Phineas and Ferb (Dr. Doofenshmirtz’s embarrassing high school tape and the importance of the aglet — ok, you had to see it) and SOS wanted to watch something about swamp monsters. Ah, a typical day in Paradise.
I only run because it is quick and easy (I stop shortly after starting). And, clearly, I don’t run very far. And running doesn’t accurately portray that which I do, which is a lazy, and somewhat resentful stumble. To the casual observer, I might be late for an appointment and haplessly jogging, all the while looking over my shoulder to see if a cab were coming.
But my knees and my back hurt, even from this pathetic display at athleticism. So, a few weeks ago, I went to the Super Runners Shop and bought these crazy slipper-like sneakers that are supposed to make me run toe-heel, toe-heel, toe-heel. Apparently, heel-toe, heel-toe, heel-toe is bad for aging knees and backs.
So I tried toe-heel and for a while (ok, three minutes) I felt great — I was using my calf muscles and I got into a toe-heel, toe-heel, toe-heel groove. Actually, I couldn’t figure out about the heel thing. So I was doing toe toe toe toe toe toe toe. My ankles hurt and what do you do with your heel?
These shoe-slippers of Mercury (or Hermes, depending on your preferred mythology) were just a waste of money, although my calves have some definition (if you use a magnifying glass). Ok, so these were for super runners. I need shoes for stupid runners.
I went back to the shop wearing my fab footwear and asked for something with some cushion and a little less emphasis on what hits the ground first. If I am running fast, the balls of my feet hit first. If I am jog-running, who the hell really knows.
So I have new running (ok, schlepping) shoes. The least offensive color combination was white and hot pink. And that required me to pay more (of course). But I figure the pink will be an important feminine counterpoint to my accidentally severe haircut (IFOB (Italian friend of blogger), I will never let you live this down).
(Janet Napolitano (US Secretary of Something), I hope you are reading this. You need an emergency hair style consult.)
Then I napped and, since we had a rental car, we were off to the BIG Fairway on 125th Street, where you could spend the gross domestic product of a third world nation on what we term “essentials”. And we were stocking up for the beach in case supplies were still short in Hurricane affected areas.
Stores that big scare me and I was getting a little unhinged as POB was discussing the pros and cons of a new blend with the coffee guy. Also, POB is a comparison shopper. Even in the Cold Room (the room where the temperature is below 40 degrees so that fewer refrigeration units are necessary). I am in a t-shirt and we are shivering and POB wants to compare the prices of various organic yogurts. REALLY? REALLY? REALLY? Is this vacation or is this hell? Would I rather be checking my work email in the warmth than comparing biotic statistics and price of yogurt in a subzero room? At this point, I am thinking that a run even in my toe toe toe toe toe toe shoes from hell seems like an inviting activity.
I guess the point is (do I ever have a point and does that matter?) that tomorrow we start a vacation. And we are all really glad about it.