Sign #1 – I was chatting with one of my sister-in-laws (I have a virtual harem of sister-in-laws). We’ll call this one “Pants”. (Because sometimes I do.) Pants was in particularly bright spirits. Late in our conversation, she shares that she’s working out up to four times a week and has focused more closely on what she eats. As a result, she dropped 25 lbs. Boast on, Pants, boast on. You’ve earned some serious bragging rights.
She added, “I don’t know what made me finally do it this time. I think because I’m doing it with Scoots (We’ll call her husband “Scoots”. Because sometimes we do). Turns out Scoots and Pants eased up on their normal routine to make time for workouts and engage in a little healthy, marital competition. They are now seeking 5k and 10k runs as goals.
I have endorphin envy. I want in. I selfishly bring the focus back to me, “I gotta get back at it.”
Sign #2 – I prepare my “Honey, we need to get back at it” motivational speech for my betrothed. I plan to do it over our morning coffee when he’s in his happy place. But the first thing he spits out as he walks through the door after work is “Hey, the Crazy Legs run is April 30th. We should do it together. I want to start running again, or something.” I give him a suspicious stare. “Did you just talk to Pants?!” No.
So we set a goal. It’s cheaper than the $30/person race, and more warm turkeyish. I’m a fan of the realistic goal. I fully acknowledge that it will take longer than a month to get these atrophied cheeks running an 8k.
Sign #3 – I roam the aisles of athletic footwear, absolutely dumbfounded by what the hell could be the significant difference between the $50 and the $100 shoe? I end the epic journey at the clearance rack. Enter right the sales clerk who I blew off earlier with my cool “just looking” attitude. Quit pushing me, lady, I can handle this. After establishing my lone wolf status for an idiotically long time, spidey senses keenly aware that our 8 yr. old has reached his adult shoe shopping limit, I accept her help. I’m wearing a pair of Nike Airs, holding a pair of New Balance, giving her some friendly shoe-themed bullshit to cover for my prior snub, when I hear a quiet “Whoa.” She hands me a pair of Saucony Hurricanes, valued at $100. “Very good shoes…” she adds, “…surprised to see them here.” Sweet, sweet baby jesus, they are marked at $30 until April 24th.
The clouds part. Lo, a beam of light shines directly upon the blessed Hurricane. It tenderly hugs my foot, a metatarsal’s guardian angel. Vivaldi’s Spring bursts from my arches.
Three signs = Something bigger than myself truly wants me to address my current endorphin levels. And atrophied cheeks.
Shopping Lessons learned: Always head to the clearance rack first. And unless they’re drooling and staring vacantly at the door, utilize the damn sales clerk.
Motivational Lessons learned: Grab vicarious sparks of motivation from the success of othes. Grab someone to join you. And…nothing motivates like a quality shoe on serious sale.