And on the tenth day of rest, Syndee went for a jog. or Musings of a well-rested, middle-aged writer who really doesn’t want to write what she has to write

It was more of a stumble than a jog. A gimp through the neighborhood really. A pathetic attempt at some sort of exercise that includes more than what has become the all too common reach for the remote. It was time, and today was the day.

As I was running--okay, let’s be honest, it was mostly walking--I started writing in my head. It's what I do. I write in my head when I’m doing anything that doesn’t require any other kind of brain activity. I write in the shower. I write in the car. I write when I walk. And apparently, I write some amazing stuff when I run. Some people listen to music as they run. Others listen to podcasts. In fact, I think most people distract themselves from the misery that is exercise by traveling into the pictures that enter their heads by way of tiny buds in their ears. Me? I've seen too many episodes of Criminal Minds. No earphones for me. My distractions are all words, which could explain the fact that I may never run again. And the good writing usually leaves my head as soon as get home. Probably due to the extreme loss of oxygen in and around my brain cells. Except that the good stuff also leaves my head as soon as I step out of the shower or turn off the car engine.

But today some of the musings that bounced around in my noggin as I ran stayed long enough for me to put them on (virtual) paper.  Here are some of those musings, for your reading pleasure.


If someone could invent a way for me to take my thoughts while running and upload them directly to the internet, I’d be rich. #Isthereanappforthat? Anyone? Anyone? @BillGates? @MarkZuckerberg? @Bueller?


 Is my belly supposed to bounce like this? I have never needed one for my boobs, but a jog bra for my gut would be awesome. Also, I’m pretty sure spandex isn’t supposed to stretch this far. What if it snaps and puts someone’s eye out?


But I trudge on, despite the worry about my barely-holding-it-together pants, my bouncing belly, and my tank top that I have to hold down to keep from riding up over my gut. I have already made it like 100 feet from my front door (mostly downhill), and I know I can make it further. I set my goal on the next light post and hope I don’t die before I get that far. I’m not really meant to be a runner.

Do I have a will? Crap, I don’t have a will. I need to make a will.


Oh please, Syn. You don’t have anything. The kids will have a garage sale, go to Roberto’s with the profits, and toast you with a round of California burritos. They’ll have to pay for the Horchatas out of their own pockets.


A burrito sounds great right now. I think I’ll reward myself with one when I get home. Do I have any avos?


Why did I decide to run on this very prominent street in my own city? People know me here. My former and future students live here. My colleagues live here. I may never work in this town again.


This is why treadmills were invented. So people can run in the privacy of their own home until they get to the point where they aren’t embarrassed to be seen in public. Also, treadmills are a great place to hang laundry.


But seriously, why do people do this more than once?


Is this a New Year’s resolution? Oh no. It can’t be. I don’t make resolutions. I don’t make resolutions because I don’t keep them. I don’t even like working out. I hate eating healthy. And beer is just damn yummy.


Is somebody cooking bacon? That’s not fair.


But I couldn’t help myself today. I have had ten whole days of rest. I actually feel like working out. Well I feel like it today, on this downhill section of my neighborhood, as I hold my gut in my top, turtle my way down the sidewalk, and call it running.



Aren't I supposed to get high soon? Where is this runner's high I have heard so much about? Will I see colors? Will I giggle a lot? Crap. Am I already high and just don't know it? I mean, I'm stumbling and I totally want Doritos.


Maybe New Year’s resolutions happen because so many people have that week off in between Christmas and New Year’s and they get so much rest and so much crap taken care of that by the end of the week they feel as if they can conquer all of the problems in their lives, and so they make a vow to themselves to be healthy and all of that crap and they really really mean it but then the work comes back and the sleep goes by the wayside and the stress comes back and there’s no time to run and there’s no time to plan healthy food to eat and there’s no time or energy to blog or do any of the things they really want to do for themselves.


I say crap a lot.



Am I done yet? Is it over yet? How much farther do I have to go?


But what am I always preaching? You can’t look at the length of the path, Syn. You have to look at the section of the path that is directly under your feet. What can you handle today? What can you do in this minute that might help you get one step closer to your goal, whatever that goal might be?


So maybe that’s my resolution. Maybe I just need to remind myself to look down at my feet more often and decide for myself what I can handle on that part of the path on that day in that minute. I can’t fix anyone else. I can only do what is best in this chunk of my journey.


Home is just around the corner. Should I run the rest? Nah. I’ll just stroll this last leg. Give myself a break. What do I want on my burrito?