So last Thursday last me and herself the Pirate, went with members of the Albuquerque roadrunners for a run up the side of a mountain.Oh, and her beloved took a picture of us to prove that she is real. That's herself, on the left.
Here's the Garmin readout (below) of my run, which began at 8500 feet. Click on it to see the elevations.
I made and broke lots of deals with myself on this run.
Hmmm. Looks steep. I'll just jog it. Umm, okay, I'll jog the flats. Um, okay, I'll hike it. Energetically.
Eventually it just became a hike up, jogging down.
I was out of breath, sweaty, tired, slightly dizzy from the altitude, and loving every moment of it. I gotta do this more often! The views were spactacular.
the Pirate was of course far ahead of me, as was the rest of the pack. Alone, I started thinking, for some reason, about how much my life has changed.
Ten years ago, I was in an unhappy relationship that was about to end abuptly, after which and I would spend a year wallowing in self pity and wine while seeing a counselor.
Ten years ago I had not even met Sweet Baboo. He was a teaching assistant at my college. I'd just started grad school, and would soon begin a graduate assistantship in the faculty development center. I settled comfortably into my nickname, working on computers, writing interactive tutorials, authoring web pages, and teaching technology classes. In a little over a year this psychology graduate assistant, flipping his too-long hair out of his eyes, would be very friendly while I, the angry divorcee, would ignore him.
On the trail, I crossed ski slopes where the wind rushed at me. It was 90 degrees below, but in the sixties on the mountain. Time to go back down now.
A decade ago, if you'd have told me I'd be running 1000 feet up the side of a mountain, I'd have laughed my ass off. Then I'd have taken a puff off my cigarette, and offered to share my "trash nachos" with you, a charming concoction involving as much cheese as it possible over cheap greasy chips and whatever embellishments are availble...Surimi, leftover pork loin, whatever.
I made and broke lots of deals with myself on this run.
Hmmm. Looks steep. I'll just jog it. Umm, okay, I'll jog the flats. Um, okay, I'll hike it. Energetically.
Eventually it just became a hike up, jogging down.
I was out of breath, sweaty, tired, slightly dizzy from the altitude, and loving every moment of it. I gotta do this more often! The views were spactacular.
the Pirate was of course far ahead of me, as was the rest of the pack. Alone, I started thinking, for some reason, about how much my life has changed.
Ten years ago, I was in an unhappy relationship that was about to end abuptly, after which and I would spend a year wallowing in self pity and wine while seeing a counselor.
Ten years ago I had not even met Sweet Baboo. He was a teaching assistant at my college. I'd just started grad school, and would soon begin a graduate assistantship in the faculty development center. I settled comfortably into my nickname, working on computers, writing interactive tutorials, authoring web pages, and teaching technology classes. In a little over a year this psychology graduate assistant, flipping his too-long hair out of his eyes, would be very friendly while I, the angry divorcee, would ignore him.
On the trail, I crossed ski slopes where the wind rushed at me. It was 90 degrees below, but in the sixties on the mountain. Time to go back down now.
A decade ago, if you'd have told me I'd be running 1000 feet up the side of a mountain, I'd have laughed my ass off. Then I'd have taken a puff off my cigarette, and offered to share my "trash nachos" with you, a charming concoction involving as much cheese as it possible over cheap greasy chips and whatever embellishments are availble...Surimi, leftover pork loin, whatever.
Because, in my view at the time, sitting on the couch, smoking cigarettes, and eating junk was much safer than running up the side of a mountain.
I hit the switchback flats and jogged them, and the hit a steeper downhill, stepping gently to avoid turning my ankle on the loose rocks. Hummingbirds shot by me.
Ten years ago when I attended weddings I was admonished to behave. It was well-known some that I was just a bit bitter, and thought marriage was a crock, having had more than one of them fail. This would present as my signature sardonic wit, given enough alcohol and a very solemn occasion. Moreover, I thought most men were perfectly delightful until one married them, and then, poof! Overnight they turned into (ugh) HUSBANDS.
I hit the switchback flats and jogged them, and the hit a steeper downhill, stepping gently to avoid turning my ankle on the loose rocks. Hummingbirds shot by me.
Ten years ago when I attended weddings I was admonished to behave. It was well-known some that I was just a bit bitter, and thought marriage was a crock, having had more than one of them fail. This would present as my signature sardonic wit, given enough alcohol and a very solemn occasion. Moreover, I thought most men were perfectly delightful until one married them, and then, poof! Overnight they turned into (ugh) HUSBANDS.
(Even more frightening,
I worried some flaw of mine made them turn bad.)
But then almost nine years ago, I met Sweet Baboo, and all that changed.
I worried some flaw of mine made them turn bad.)
But then almost nine years ago, I met Sweet Baboo, and all that changed.
← Here's a photo of us when we were dating.
Our first few months would be a muddled long-distance relationship and trying to figure out how to get a handle on a "normal" relationship which a "normal" person.
After nearly two years of dating, we merged: the nervous psychologist and the anxious divorcee and the three young kids.
That was July 1, 2000. Seven years ago.
I was terrified that day. What would happen? Would I work my voodoo magic and turn another perfectly normal man into a jerk?
So far, Sweet Baboo has not turned into a toad. He's still my hero, the terrific man I married. He makes me feel safe and loved and appreciated. It never ends.
The only time I've been scared since that day was right before my first open water swim.
Here's a wedding photo. →
That was July 1, 2000. Seven years ago.
I was terrified that day. What would happen? Would I work my voodoo magic and turn another perfectly normal man into a jerk?
So far, Sweet Baboo has not turned into a toad. He's still my hero, the terrific man I married. He makes me feel safe and loved and appreciated. It never ends.
The only time I've been scared since that day was right before my first open water swim.
Here's a wedding photo. →
Proving that anything's possible.
I can run up a mountain.
And live happily ever after.
And live happily ever after.
Happiness is in all our grasps. All we have to do is close our eyes, take a deep breath, and jump in the water.
Or run up the trail.
Or whatever.
Or run up the trail.
Or whatever.
Happy anniversary, Sweet baboo.
XOXOXOX
Love, your GeekGirl.
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