The Horrible, Terrible and Not So Great Day

Only one asthma attack.  That's the answer.

 Ready to break-in my new Minimus 10v1 shoes by New Balance.

I had woke up sad.

There was no reason to be sad, but inveritably I was.  The night before I had snuck in some time with my oldest, and it was wonderful hanging out with my adult  daughter.

 Red Light selfies.  Like sitting AT a red light.

Perhaps it was the lack of sleep (I went to bed at 1am, but still woke up at 6am), or perhaps it was the epiphanies I had had the afternoon before.

Oh.  Yes.

Epiphanie(s).

As in plural.

 Good lord.  There are rules?!?

In a Lululemon fitting room I had no fewer than three epiphanies:

1. Exercise bras and I will never work.  Ever. I hate  squeezing into them, and then I look prepubescent once I'm in.   No.  Just no.
2. Lululemon wants ridiculous amounts of money to feel naked.
3. My weight was in the critical zone.

Before you argue three, and tell me "I look great", let me tell you that you can't see or feel the extra weight due to my height.  I can.  I know my energy levels are down, and I know it's because I'm eating virtually only junk food.

Like lots of junk food.

 The four biggest perpetrators.

So "tomorrow is a new day?" Right?

Maybe that's why I woke up sad.

Or maybe it's because after seven weeks I'm still dealing with the fallouts of my New Years Eve allergic reaction.

Or because I'm a wee overwhelmed with the work still to be done.

Or because of the wicked headache I've had for over a week.

Or because the King moved back in.

Or because I was ghosted.

 

In honesty, it was the last one.

Regardless, I'm rarely sad.

 Pouty, yes.  Sad, no.

My tipping point was a call from a bill collector.  Yes, you read that right.  This girl with an 805 credit rating was chewed a new one over a bill that was erroneously billed to me instead of Workman's Comp.  I hung up crying, knowing that I shouldn't take it personally.  The stresses of the week got to me, and I just wept.  To the inquisitive mind, the greatest pain another can inflict is silence.  Not knowing.  Not allowing the scientific breakdown of facts and data.  Being ghosted?  It was too much.

 Lol-should have read that yesterday:)

Drying my tears, I set to work.  Ride opens in a week, the punch list is long.  At the top of the list was something that wasn't quite resolved yesterday, so I made that call first.

 Yeah.

The ensuing argument rattled me to my core.

More tears, lots of yelling, and my heart being ripped in two.

Then I received this:

 Flyboy (of course) sent it.

I called him driving home (said argument extended into a wicked drive to another city) and Flyboy (as always) listened as I sobbed.

Because he's awesome, even if he is a buckeye.

As I poured out my frustrations, he told me to ditch my planned morning activities and go for a hike or a run.  As BFF's typically tend to point us in the right direction.

So I drove to Dreamy Draw, made sure I had my inhaler, and set out for my first run in the valley in several weeks, knowing an asthma attack would likely occur despite the pre-puff.  Another call cheered me enough to get my head on straight; I determined I was going to have a good run.

 Setting out.

 At least there's light at the end.

 This was tremendous fun.

 And then I stopped.

 And apparently took multiple photos...

I was 1/4 of a mile in.

This attack was ruthless...it was the second time I felt scared in two weeks' time.  I had tried throttling slowly instead of quick bursts...it hadn't worked.  Regaining my breath took a few minutes, so I moped before resignedly deciding to hike instead.

 It's getting green.

 And this jump even I could see!

My heart grew heavy as the argument continued by text...and at some point I gave up.  I didn't want to argue.  I didn't want to be sad.  I just wanted to run.

So I did.  And I could breathe.

I ran for three songs, so about ten minutes, before I called it.  

I felt terrible.

I was breathless, but could breathe.  Plain and simple, I was out of shape.  And it just sucked.  

My glasses are never straight. 🙁

I made a video, but the sound didn't record.  Essentially, I bemoaned the fact there was no runners high, no endorphin dump, no feeling better.

It was just hard.  So very, very hard.

Exercise has been my nemesis since childhood.  Undiagnosed asthma prevented enjoyment of many activities, and uncoordination marked me as the last one chosen.  I thought about how much I had envied the Special Olympics kid's basketball team-truly envied them-because they got to play.  I never got to play.  And when I did?  I was terrible and told I was terrible.  There was no opportunity to get better.

Dejected, I started the drive back home; stopping for a large White Annhilator from Dutch Bros and a Big Mac meal (with an extra double cheeseburger on the side) from McDonalds.  Typically under stress, I don't eat.  Lately? The opposite.

I felt better.

Let's get real:  exercise made me hurt.  Food satisfied my soul.  This is why 80% of America struggles with weight.  Don't give me the shill about "just do it."  It's physiologically wired into us.

It's how we were born.

And then I saw this:

 Camelback Mountain, Echo Canyon trail side.

Th photo does not do justice to the sheer size and complexity.  As I drove down Lincoln towards Scottsdale, the mountain dominated my view.

I had hiked that, with little difficulty, less than a month ago.

It didn't matter what was happening now, I needed to simply move forward.

Not quit.

I've mentioned it before, but it bares repeating here.  While flying two years ago, I was seated next to a man who was a Navy SEAL.  Knowing my son aspired to such a position, I asked him for any advice.  He thought about it and replied:

"Everything they throw at you is designed to make you quit.  Just don't."

 My theology summed up in one verse.

The terrible day flashed before me anew as I drove south to an impromptu business meeting in Tempe.

 

Yes I was in sweaty running clothes.  Being a business owner is magnificent😎

If this day was designed to make me quit, I wasn't going to.  If this day was going to discourage me from exercise, I was sorely tempted to let it, but in the end I'd go at it again.  It was a choice, and I alone stood at the crossroads of a "what if."

My mind again renewed, I had an incredible meeting and went back to work.

I may be a Sharpie addict.  😳

It had been a terrible day.

But I survived.  The argument of earlier in the day was resolved, apologies given and received.  Real work got done in a dedicated three hour slot in which I was focused and on task.  The meeting was fantastic, and gave me a good shot in the arm of encouragement.  Jenny came down for the evening, and we enjoyed sushi and a favorite band.

 At Geisha A Go Go Sushi Lounge

After I ate my 52 million junk food calories I could have just given up.  Most would not have faulted or blamed me for going straight to bed after drinking a bottle of wine.

Instead, I recognized this day as one designed to make me quit.

And I didn't.