Bowling day blues

(E-mail to Charity Bowling Participants)
"Just an fyi, if you’re on the clock – which I’m sure we’ll all be – there’s no drinking at this event, per (company name withheld) regulations."

BryanZFresno: No drinking at the bowling event ... but can we go do some lines behind the bowling alley off a crackwhore's chest before we get started?
traciFresno: Well we better!!!
traciFresno: if not, I am so outta here.
BryanZFresno: I mean, cause bowling without some sort of intoxication is like ... just throwing heavy things
BryanZFresno: and I can throw heavy things at home
traciFresno: *sigh*

My exciting life.

Tonight is Monday night.

I made a crockpot chicken.
I will...
... probably do some laundry.
...possibly ruminate over recent changes in my physical appearance.
... likely be scolded by the Empress of All.
... likely scold the ne'er do homeworkers of the house.
...maybe do a little vacuuming. Mmmaaaybe.
...maybe, maybe, MAYBE bathe a dog or two.
...definitely drag the trash out to the curb.

This is my life, the exciting life of a single mother. There will be kids, tantrums, scolding, squeezing, giggling, phone calls, dirty dishes, dirty clothes, dirty diapers, and toilets to clean. There will be a thousand funny things said in my head, perfect comebacks to angry moments in my day, ample regret, and a large dollop of righteousness to fill the empty spaces.

My boys will make me laugh. My daughter will make me chase her. My dogs will make me infuriated.

My cat will vomit.

I will bathe my two-year old and read her a story. I will watch something funny on t.v. or the computer with my 12-year old, and listen to an overlong explanation of how the particulars of a game worked and the varied rules and how it was super cool that this guy got this thing in this place because it's so super rare, by my 10-year old.

Eventually, all will be tucked in, snug in their beds. I will then settle into the quiet dark of my house, the silent comfort of my small, squeeky, overfirm bed, eventually drifting off, in and out, weaving a pattern of sleep, only to wake and do it all over again.

Limbo.

What man, I ask you, could possibly resist the charm of a crockpot chicken?

Uh oh.

I was reading the newspaper today-- something that every good citizen should do daily-- where I came upon the following nubbin:

"Riding for the first-year Toyota-United team, Haedo completed the 130.7-mile stage — longest of the tour — in 4 hours, 41 minutes, 2 seconds. That's a little more than 24 mph."

I rode everything above that century mark today-- which is to say, approximately 30+ miles-- and I did it in about two hours forty five minutes.

HO-LEE CRAP that's a lot of riding, without the century along with it. My top cruising speed is about 15 mph.

Yyyeeeah... I'll be working on that, you know, speed and agility thing.... ahem.

On the plus side, I felt pretty good upon finishing the ride and it pushed my weekly total to about 75 miles. On the not-so-plus side, this weekly total mirrors the smallest daily total for the LifeCycle -- BUT I'm not going to fret. No sir.

Baby steps.

You are what you eat.

Apparently I am composed entirely of Snickers Minis and Cheetos.

My friend can swim 100 laps.

My friend, like many of my friends, is amazing. She is witty and stylish; she is smart and curious; she is wise and passionate and clever, and oh yeah-- she's 13.

And my friend can swim 100 laps.

In water.

This is what I hear-- second-hand-- and I believe it to be true. It might be a slight exaggeration. Maybe it's 75 laps; maybe it's 35. Here's my point: SHE'S 13 FRICKIN' YEARS OLD and she can SWIM MANY, MANY LAPS.

All I keep thinking about is where I was at 13. And where I'm at, now, at 36. Years and years and worlds apart. I have reinvented myself dozens of times over, and probably will continue to do so well into my sedentary years. (I have a sense that I will be the only octogenarian in my peer group with screaming pink hair.)

My point: You can be anything you want, at anytime, if you decide that's what you want to be. But it takes courage and committment to be that kind of an athlete. And she does it. AND she's 13.

Think about teenagers. Anxiety. Angst. Hormones. Body changes, peers wigging out, parents going from cool to geeky and back again inside of 20 seconds. It's a strange, heady world, one that is judged constantly and hypercritically by those on the inside AND outside tracks. Rules for existence can change on a minute by minute basis and trying to remain even-keel in such a world takes an amazing amount of emotional agility.

As adults, how do you explain that? How do you explain--earnestly-- that we get it, that some of us remember that world?

Anybody can be angst ridden. Anybody can have said they wanted to maybe one day at some point have tried to swim. Anybody can watch a group of people and have things to say about that group, be critical, foist opinions upon the world. Anybody can go out for the swim team and hey-- maybe even everybody can make it.

As an adult, I may forget many things about the life I lived at 13, especially EXACTLY what it was like to live in the trenches of teen-life.

But I can tell you one thing for certain, something I know in my bones to be true, cash in the bank: Not just anybody can swim 100 laps. Or 75. Or even 35. And at some point, this amazing friend of mine, she will swim more than that, and it will be just part of her daily routine.

How awesome is THAT?