Rant-or

Recently, someone asked if I'd ever lost my cool in public. Here is a story of the time I went off on someone:

When I was 18, I used to work at a deli. People could buy cheeses and meats, order a sandwich to go or come over to the small restaurant on the other side of the store. I was the cashier/barista on the restaurant side of the deli.

There was an older woman who was a partial amputee, that used to come into the the restaurant and drink coffee. She loved to make a scene and would dramatically slip off her prosthetic leg and start moaning. Eventually she'd leave, but it made the other patrons incredibly skeeved out. She made everyone so uncomfortable, that the customers and staff didn't know how to respond. No one ever said anything to her.

One day it was raining, and she came in and hadn't sat down for 2 minutes before she started up, getting progressively louder:

Ooooh.

(pause)

Oooooh...uuuuuhnnnnn....

(pause)

OOOOOOOOOOHHAAAAUUUUUUUUNNNNNN!!!

I approached her and told her that I would do one of two things: call an ambulance if she was in pain, or call her a cab if she was not - but that her theatrics were making the other diners uncomfortable and she needed to leave if she couldn't be quiet. She was so shocked that I'd addressed her directly, that she stopped mid-wail and begged me not to kick her out. She said she wasn't in any pain and 'would be good from now on'.

That's when one of my co-workers sharply called my name and said, "Come in here at once!" He hauled me off into the walk-in refrigerator and bawled me out, yelling 'how could you turn an old woman out in the rain?!'

I got right up in his face and told him that she needed to take her crazy somewhere else. If she needed medical treatment, that was one thing - but she enjoyed making a scene and making people uncomfortable. Being older or having a disability doesn't give someone the excuse to be a jerk.

The woman still came in regularly, but she acted like a civilized person after that.

Rant-ee

Recently, someone asked if I'd ever lost my cool in public, or if anyone has ever gone off on me. Here is a story a the time someone went off on me:

I was 19-years old and had been recently hired to work at high-end gift store. It was on the main street of our town and very popular with tourists. My first day there, the owner came in to ask me to clarify some numbers on my application and said my writing wasn't 'clear enough'. After I confirmed the information, he re-wrote it next to my handwriting - except that his writing was completely illegible. It was so ironic, that I busted out laughing and made him a little flustered. I wish I could have held onto that feeling. 

My boss was a tyrant from that point forward. A week after I was hired, he brought me outside and screamed at me on the sidewalk, inches away from my face with spittle flying and everything, while people walked past us. It was exactly like a public shaming:

"YOU'RE DOING A SHITTY JOB!! YOUR SIXES LOOKED LIKE CAPITAL C's! YOU NEEDED TO GET OFF THE CHAIR AND HELP CUSTOMERS - AND DUST, AND CLEAN, AND POLISH, AND MAKE SURE THE MONEY IN THE DRAWER IS ALL! FACING! IN! THE! SAME! DIRECTION!  -- SO YOU DON'T ACCIDENTALLY HAND OUT THE INCORRECT CHANGE! IF I'M NOT SATISFIED WITH YOUR PERFORMANCE OVER THE NEXT WEEK...YOU'RE FIRED!!"

I went back inside, trying not to cry in front of my snotty co-workers. A week later, he came back in and told me that I had really improved and to KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK...except it's hard to receive a compliment when it's screamed at you. He pretty much had only one volume.

I worked there for a year and a half and there were dozens of nights I was alone in the gift store after hours, crying because the cash sheet wouldn't balance and dreading calling him with the final numbers for the night. It never occurred to me to quit.

I read a few days ago that he died, and his obituary described him as 'cantankerous'. Yeah. That's one word for it.

ETA: The one good thing that came of this job: It was the first place I laid eyes on Mr Doll :)

Birthday Boy

Today is Boy Doll's birthday. He turned 12-years old.

We are celebrating his birthday at Magic Mountain with two of his friends. Despite the lines, it's been a fun day. Would this have been my first choice? No, but that's what part of being a family is about. Girl Doll's friends have planned a sleepover tonight, trading group texts about what movies they'll watch. While she's disappointed that she can't attend, she isn't arguing or questioning why she can't go. Family is important.

Before I got pregnant, I worried that I wouldn't like another child as much as Girl Doll, or worse - the siblings would hate each other. It was a waste of my energy. Our kids adore each other. And in truth, I could never imagine my life without my son.

In a hurry to arrive, I labored with Boy Doll only 7 hours, compared to the 31 hours if labor with our daughter. I conservatively guessed that he'd be born in 12-15 hours, and because if this I missed the signs of transition. We barely made it to the hospital. My water broke on our driveway as we made our way out to the car, and I was overwhelmed by the need to bear down.

We got to the hospital, and I was still thinking there was another 3-4 hours of labor ahead of me. Remembering my childbirth training, I wanted to use the bathroom - an empty bladder makes for less painful contractions. This was a mistake; I ended up birthing our son right there on the potty. Thankfully, the nurses responded quickly and caught our Boy Doll. I lucked out, and got the same nurse that helped us when I was in labor with Girl Doll. It was an amazing day.

Twelve years later, Boy Doll is one of the kindest, most easy-going people I know. He has taken drum lessons since he was 7-years old, and is one of the best youth drummers in our area - although he is modest about it, and never brags about his natural ability.

It's bittersweet that he is moving on from grade school and entering junior high next year. We've begun the enrollment process for his 7th grade year. All of this makes me excited but nostalgic. I can't believe our 'baby' is in his last year as a preteen!

ETA: Today was a great day. We are all home now, tired and happy from a long day. I know if I blink - we'll be celebrating your eighteenth birthday, so I am trying to savor these carefree days. I love you, son. Happy birthday!

Nov. 2012 - This photo was taken when Boy
got home from 6th grade camp. Best. Hug. Ever.

Ten

Over the next couple of weeks, I will post some highlights and favorite memories of my 15 year running career. Here is one of those stories:

April, 2007 - This race was a local 10-miler and one of my best distance races ever. I finished in 1:35. 

A racing event - or any running for that matter, is a tricky wicket. There are so many variables (nutrition, hydration, training) that it's almost impossible to duplicate a successful race. I'll be the first to say that running is a fickle little bitch.

But on that day, running was my bitch. I had been pacing a friend who was running her first 10-miler. At five miles in, I got an endorphin rush and told my friend that I'd see her at the finish line. I took off like a shot and I felt like I could run forever. 

Perfection!  

Pier to Puke

Over the next couple of weeks, I will post some highlights and favorite memories of my 15 year running career. Here is one of those stories:

In September 2005, I ran the Pier to Peak half marathon. It is the most difficult race I have run. Ever. The event takes place at sea level and makes a 4,000 foot elevation gain to one of the highest peaks overlooking our town. It is absolutely grueling. So, naturally - I ran it again in 2009 and 2010. 

The first year that I ran Pier to Peak was my best effort out of the three races, finishing with a time of 3:16:53. That doesn't seem too fast - but in 2005 I was running a personal best of 2:05 for a half marathon, if that gives any indication to the intensity of the course. 

Mr Doll was out of town, so I had asked My Best Girl spend the night. The plan was that I would leave at 5am and she would drive up after the run later in the morning, and pick me up the top of the mountain with Boy and Girl Doll. 

The kids worked my friend pretty hard and weaseled a carbonated soda out of her to drink during the ride up. What makes this event so memorable wasn't the run itself, but the ride home when Boy announced that he didn't feel good - and then threw up all over himself and the back seat. Both kids were crying and Girl Doll yelled, "Why did you have to throw up?! IT SMELLS SO BAD!" My Best Girl pulled over to the side of the mountain road and we all fell out of the car from the stench. 

While all the other runners wound their way down the mountain past us and onto parties where they celebrated their nubile bodies and added another notch on their Pier to Peak belt - I stood on the side of the road, quickly stripping Boy Doll out of the vomit clothes and into a dry, spare change of clothes I kept in the car...you know, in case of the apocalypse or times like this. I dumped almost a whole container of baby powder on the floor mats and back seat which seemed like a good idea at the time - because who doesn't like the smell of baby powder? Instead of covering the odor, it just made everything noxious. 

Dude. Nothing kills a runner's high faster than having to deal with vomit. We drove the rest of the way home in silence...punctuated by the occasional dry-heave.

Summer 1999

Over the next couple of weeks, I will post some highlights and favorite memories of my 15 year running career. Here is one of those stories:

For my 30th birthday, I was 'gifted' a triathlon. Prior to that, I had never raced in any event. 

I was a total amateur.  Until I began training, I hadn't run farther than a couple of miles in my lifetime, and didn't even know how to swim the freestyle stroke. I took swim lessons and trained for two months. The morning of the event, I worked frantically to get the baby's bike seat off the back of my mountain bike. 

I'm not superstitious, well, not much, anyway - but I remember freaking out when I pulled the bib out of my racing packet and saw my number: 1313. We decided that it had to be good luck to get a number like that. And it was. 

I didn't set any records or even place in my age division - as a matter of fact, some tool volunteer disqualified me for crossing a double-yellow line and not adhering to the laws of the road, but I completed it. 

Winning!

Smack Talk

Sunday was my half marathon. It was one of the best, most organized races of the dozen or so half marathons I've run. Disney has definitely got it down. I ran the whole thing despite feeling sick, being under-trained and pacing a 15-year old. 

Actually, that last part was pretty impressive: I had mentioned in my previous post that one of Girl Doll's besties decided to run the race, with no training and only a 10k under her belt. She is a much faster runner than I am or ever was on my best day. I figured we would run the race - just not together. It wasn't until her mom told me that Bestie was not happy about being in different corrals that I realized she wanted to run with me.  

Girl Doll's Bestie and me at Tinker Bell expo.

Ready to roll!

I tried to smuggle her into my corral but it didn't work. I told her that I would wait for her, since our official chip time didn't begin until we crossed the start line. I explained that the pace would feel really slow, but to settle in and suggested she take water at each station. Although I know she can run a 7-minute mile, she stuck with me and paced herself well.

The race was amazing. We ran through Downtown Disney, California Adventure and Disneyland before hitting the streets of downtown Anaheim, CA. It was magic to see everything lit up at Disneyland, and run through all the places that we'd just been the day before visiting the park. Although we didn't stop, there were plenty of photo opportunities with characters along the route, ranging from Sleeping Beauty and Cinderella to Jack Sparrow. 

So, yeah. I made a fair amount of smack talk about Tinker Bell but truthfully, she was a wonderful host. Running through the castle was a highlight of my half marathon career. At the end of Main Street was Tinker Bell herself, waving to each of us as we ran by...and I swear that she pointedly made eye contact with me. So, I have this to apologize for:

And this:

Just after mile 7, there was a water station and port-o-potties. I told Bestie that I had to use the potty and she said that she would walk ahead and drink her water. This is where we got separated. 

Once outside the potty, I looked all over for her. I started running, figuring she was just ahead and considered calling her name as I went. I had assumed she would eventually take off and run on her own anyway; despite never doing any distance running, she is in excellent condition from basketball and can easily outrun me. I never found her until we all met up in the family reunion area. And I'll just say it right here: the first 7 miles with her was far more fun than the next 6 without.

13.1 miles, done!

My cheerleaders!

So what do I get for all my bad-karma smack talking? Sick. Really, really sick. It's a similar version - although the more potent, wicked step-sister of the bronchitis I had about a month ago that includes chills, high fever, wracking cough and total fatigue. I should know better than to mess with a fairy.