Sheep Learn Faster Than Me

I recently bought some new running shoes – the same kind that I had when I first started running. Back before I had joint problems related to running. And, wouldn’t you know, after running a few times with these shoes, I don’t have joint problems. I realize that I’ve probably just jinxed myself by saying that, but I’ve been through at least four other kinds of running shoes in the past two years, most of which have left me with some degree of pain or another. And it hadn’t occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, the shoes had something to do with it. Oh, I figured there was some connection, which was why I kept trying new shoes. But it hadn’t occurred to me until recently to just go back to the ones that were FINE IN THE FIRST PLACE.

*bangs head against desk*

In any case, whilst at the gym this morning, I was reminded of several gym behaviors that tend to bug me. The following list is in no particular order:

People talking on their cell phones while using gym equipment. I mean really – no one is that important. But my real loathing is for people who will sit on the equipment, not doing anything, and talk on their phones. As if the people who actually want to use the machines for the purpose for which they are designed have nothing better to do than sit around and listen to you discuss your most recent bad date or the sciatica that’s been troubling you.

People (often men) who try to lift more weight than they can really lift. If you have to throw your entire body weight into it just to make the weights move, YOU CAN’T LIFT THAT MUCH. Face it, deal with it, and get over it – please. You’re only injuring yourself in the name of vanity.

Women who take up an entire bench in the locker room with their buckets o’ grooming tools, lotions, and assorted chick products. Now, I bring all of those things to the gym myself, however, I try to be aware that there are other people there, and consequently, I don’t spread my crap out all over the place.

Although I think I’ve mentioned this one before, it warrants another mention: men who try to ask my breasts if they’ve had a good workout. First of all, they won’t answer you; all comments and questions will need to be addressed to my face. Second of all, I know what I look like when I’m at the gym. I am red-faced and sweaty, I probably smell bad, I have no makeup on, and my hair is virtually always pulled back in some ratty ponytail. If this turns you on, YOU NEED HIGHER STANDARDS.

There, that’s better.

When leaving CVS last night, I was behind a family with a few kids, probably ages 8 – 12 or somewhere in there. One of them decided that she needed to make her needs known at the highest volume possible, and screamed something about wanting to go home, wanting ice cream, wanting something – I really don’t remember. Without even pausing, her mother turned her head to the side as she continued walking out and said in a low, steady voice, “Scream one more time and see what happens.” That was the end of the conversation. I had to rush back to my car so I wouldn’t laugh right there, as I had the feeling that laughter wouldn’t be helpful.

Well, my move to the domestic division is, apparently, now complete. I suppose it’s good that it’s all settled, and it was done with the understanding that I’ll still be available for international work on a case-by-case basis, which was really the hardest thing for me to give up, psychologically. So, I haven’t closed that door, I’ve just moved myself to another place where my life can be afforded a bit more stability. I’m kind of sad and kind of relieved, and at least that’s one transition done. In any case, my boss (or rather, my old boss) has been really supportive and has pushed to get things for me, for which I’m really grateful. So that’s one thing taken care of – at least I’m not in limbo anymore.