I just returned from two weeks at a camp somewhere west of here, a place of bad winter memories but bursting with spring excitement and adventure. The big pine trees towered over bare trails and the general lack of precipitation all winter made for spring- and even summer-like vibes for at least the first 12 of 17 days (then we got snow, but hey, we can pretend).
I headed west with the intention of working long, hard days, proving my worth as Team Mom, and putting in just the right amount of miles on the ol' tennies to be fully prepared for my upcoming marathon.
I even thought I had the right combination of staff - a physical therapist with significant running experience, another very athletic PT, and a coach with a competitive past and present (mind you the present consists of basketball and softball leagues in his southern home, but hey, even old men are known to run from time to time). They all seemed open to the idea of putting in at least a couple of miles of my runs with me and I set out optimistic that for once I wouldn't be solo training with my Netflix and a treadmill, wondering why in the world no one likes me.
Day one I made the mistake of running one of the guys ten kilometers, and he was great! But also still sore three days later. The other two caught wind of this and I realized I'd lost any hope.
But I knew they also were into hiking...
So, day after day I tried to drag these bums from their afternoon workloads just for a hike. I mean, if you won't run 2-3 miles with me, we might as well hike a Californian mountain.
And then one day I saw it on Instagram: two of the boys had gone hiking without me. And posted them to social media to show the whole world that they didn't need me for an adventure.
This was the last straw. That afternoon I knocked on their door, covering the peep-hole so they wouldn't know it was me, their athletic arch-nemesis. I barged in, promising pancakes in exchange for aerobic pursuits. And that night, when we'd all finished our day's duties, I hiked a mountain at sunset with this coach, getting lost, but finding great vistas and crisp mountain air.
Upon our return we phoned home, warning those that awaited our return that we would be home soon, but that they would have to go purchase flour and maple syrup before we arrived. I whipped up a fantastic batch of chocolate chip pancakes and we dined in style.
The next day I discovered their condo had a waffle iron, the perfect tool to prove my worth as a human and friend. think those "healthy" waffles and the side salad combined with the next day's sea salt chocolate chip cookies just might have done exactly what I intended: bought me two friends who will never run with me, but will always eat my pancakes.
And if that's not a close second to what I've dreamed of my whole life, I don't know what is.
I miss my white dog. He'll adventure without promise of pancakes.
I headed west with the intention of working long, hard days, proving my worth as Team Mom, and putting in just the right amount of miles on the ol' tennies to be fully prepared for my upcoming marathon.
I even thought I had the right combination of staff - a physical therapist with significant running experience, another very athletic PT, and a coach with a competitive past and present (mind you the present consists of basketball and softball leagues in his southern home, but hey, even old men are known to run from time to time). They all seemed open to the idea of putting in at least a couple of miles of my runs with me and I set out optimistic that for once I wouldn't be solo training with my Netflix and a treadmill, wondering why in the world no one likes me.
Day one I made the mistake of running one of the guys ten kilometers, and he was great! But also still sore three days later. The other two caught wind of this and I realized I'd lost any hope.
But I knew they also were into hiking...
So, day after day I tried to drag these bums from their afternoon workloads just for a hike. I mean, if you won't run 2-3 miles with me, we might as well hike a Californian mountain.
And then one day I saw it on Instagram: two of the boys had gone hiking without me. And posted them to social media to show the whole world that they didn't need me for an adventure.
This was the last straw. That afternoon I knocked on their door, covering the peep-hole so they wouldn't know it was me, their athletic arch-nemesis. I barged in, promising pancakes in exchange for aerobic pursuits. And that night, when we'd all finished our day's duties, I hiked a mountain at sunset with this coach, getting lost, but finding great vistas and crisp mountain air.
Upon our return we phoned home, warning those that awaited our return that we would be home soon, but that they would have to go purchase flour and maple syrup before we arrived. I whipped up a fantastic batch of chocolate chip pancakes and we dined in style.
The next day I discovered their condo had a waffle iron, the perfect tool to prove my worth as a human and friend. think those "healthy" waffles and the side salad combined with the next day's sea salt chocolate chip cookies just might have done exactly what I intended: bought me two friends who will never run with me, but will always eat my pancakes.
And if that's not a close second to what I've dreamed of my whole life, I don't know what is.
I miss my white dog. He'll adventure without promise of pancakes.
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