Jan. 16, 2008 at 6:09pm
(and then abruptly stops)
With a little help from the site that my techy fun running device links me to (nikeplus.com) I was able to create a running route slightly deviating from my normal Pt D jaunt, and figured a fun new 8.24 mile frolic that would take me along Ruston Way, then upland, inland, and eventually back home.
The thought of the tunnel daunted me, so I decided to face it later-- and went inland and upland prior to waterfront-- consequently, I lost the concept of where the jiggy-jog road was that I should have turned on, and consequently, ran 11.1 miles,through Proctor, along N 21st, through Old Tacoma, and ultimately along the waterfront. Still anxious to avoid the dreaded tunnel, I went up a hill I recalled (in my car) as being super steep but very short. Turns out, it was super steep but hella long. I got a "word!" wave from a kindly, sympathetic postal carrier as I slogged up the last of the hill (a walk might very well have been faster) and then discovered, in point of fact, there was yet another uphill before the downhill before the uphill that would lead me to the downhill home.
Damn you, Tacoma roads.
Home, finally, amid the triumphant strains of Rocky's "gonna fly now!" (actually, I think it was We Cunningham, "so it goes," apropos, I thought, "she broke down... where no-one could see her" it begins)
Here, I dosed myself up with emergen-C (ran out of cytomax, dammit all), ibuprofen, a Real Fruit popsicle thing, a shot of jell-o (sans alcohol, but made with cranberry juice), ice massage, Sombra gel (glutes and calves) and felt mostly human.
I couldn't figure out what I had stuck to the bottom of my (new) shoe that was flopping around. Checking out my $130 Nike Moto something something shoe out (purchased January...3?), I discovered a piece of the traction on the sole came unglued.
So I headed out, with the kid, to the mall, to Nordstrom, where the significant one had purchased it for me. I explained the problem, found out (a few minutes later) not in stock. Naturally. Options: return the shoe, get one sent in the mail, 7-10 days. don't return the shoe, get it glued, 3-ish days. don't return the shoe, purchase another pair to be sent to me, THEN return the defective shoe for a refund. ----Any way you slice, dice, or splice it, I'm left $130 shoe-less. And I've become That Pissy Customer who says crap like "this is unacceptable" and "I am not happy" and all the surly bee-otch behind the counter can do is look at me like I'm a lesser life form and say, "I'm TRYing to HElp you." I want to say, "YEah, I can TE-ll," but all I can do is get red-faced and flustered and mutter, "I can't think", and run to the Gap for a corrective emotional shopping experience.
No such luck. The kid wants freakin' everything, the helpful salesperson really wants to help us find what we're looking for and finally I have to tell her, "look, I'm in a pissy, pissed off, nasty mood, and I'm just..." I twitch as I walk off to the back of the store amid, "mom, can I have that? Can I get that? Will you buy me that?"
Agh.Corrective emotional experience ain't happenin' today, esp. not at the mall. Malls suck, the Tacoma Mall especially.
I buy shoes at South Sound Running, this is a beautifully filigreed illustration why. At South Sound, they don't try to throw you into the first shoes they find in your size-- they bring out 5 boxes, and you get a sweat rolling as they analyze your gait in each pair. You have an issue with a shoe, they fix the issue. As quickly as they can, without attitude. Of course, since I had to have that Nike techy gadgety POS, I needed Nikes, and they didn't (at that time) have women's Nikes (because as far as shoes go, here's a secret: they pretty much suck.)(although the ones I had were really nice for the nearly three weeks I used them.)
sooo much brouhaha over something really not that monumental, right? No point in getting the panties in a bunch, I'm made of sterner stock than that. I can rally. Rally, rally! I cry to myself as I drive us home, desolate for no good reason other than I am new-running-shoe-less. I'm disgusted that the shoes won't get to me til late next week, I'm disgusted that the sales staff at Nordstrom were rude, I'm disgusted that I'm given a gift receipt for my returned shoes, "in case they don't come to you" --umm, so you're saying, this isn't a complete transaction? And I won't know if it's botched until 10 days has gone by and I *still* don't have shoes?-- and mostly, I'm disgusted because I AM IMPOTENT in this whole stupid thing.
Rally, rally!! I can run in my old shoes! (that give me calf, hip, and back issues after 1.5 miles) I will get the new pair! (eventually.)(maybe.) I WILL stop going to the mall!! (hell yeah.)
RALLY! There's the Rosewood Cafe. I had already intended to go there and buy a bottle of T3 for girls' Project Runway night. A plan is hatched, the kid is on board. We have a lovely dinner, mine including a lovely sauvignon blanc for a mere fiver, as well as a huge hunk o' salmon that immediately nourishes the weary parts of me. The kid has grilled cheese, and we have conversation ("I love the bathrooms here, because the walls are red, like blood. I love blood." and "Kindergarten is very tricky, because you have to sit still, and you need alot of practice sitting still if you're me.")
And now, acceptance. Sure, I'm pissed, I'm tired, and yet, I have coffee and chocolate and plans for a gabby chatty evening of bad fashion. Somewhere in all those things, I'm at a place where what's done is done, what's passed is past, and the future looms with good things.
(Too bad tomorrow's good thing-- that 3 mile run I had planned-- will be tainted by bad shoe-itis)(but this too shall pass, negative poopy-pants grasshopper!)
musing her way through arts, culture, dining, shopping, exercising, and parenting, all while wearing a pungent, truffle-like aroma.