Superman

I day dream when I run. I’ll write whole books in my head. Plan my Christmas shopping. Imagine my life in every direction it could have gone if I hadn’t said that thing, gone to that bar, met that person.

I’m completely oblivious to the world around me. Instead of headphones I use sunglasses–even in the haze of early morning, it keeps people from making eye contact, so I can pound the pavement in peace, get that one hour truly to myself. It’s meditation. Running is a very spiritual thing. It’s a  lot like prayer. Or therapy.

Forty minutes in on my Sunday morning run I was flying, the cold weather propelling me faster than I’ve gone in a long time, feeling great, my mind both full and clear, I picked up the pace. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a familiar state on a license plate.

Breaking my concentration, I took a mental note to remember the address so John could come investigate to see if he knew who from Nebraska was staying in our neighborhood.

Then I was flying. Arms outstretched, one, two, three feet in the air! I soared towards the bushes. To whoever was watching from their window that early, it was less like a girl in flight and more a three part stumble, caught only by a drawn out slide on my left knee.

On the ground, I looked around me. No one. Thank goodness. I slowly pushed myself back up and stumbled backwards. My knee and my phone (used as my timer, since the watch wasn’t charged) had taken most of the fall. But the only evidence on my phone was a tiny crack in the case and a handful of grass wedged into the bottom.

I turned around and started walking. My knee throbbed. I looked down, a chunk of  last year’s birthday-present-Lulu-Lemon-cold-weather-reversible running pants flapped loosely to the left, the purple inside now brown with blood.

My other knee was scraped, but the pants survived. My hands, protected by the thumbholes in my shirt, were stained by the dirt.

I walked a few steps and realized I was fine. Then I saw a car coming.

Last week I was at Trader Joes picking up juicing supplies. To prep for the wedding, John has decided to juice every morning. And I get to make him that juice.

The aftermath of scrambling to make juice for John before he leaves for work.

I picked up the supplies–spinach, kale, green apples, bananas, cilantro, celery, coconut water and a special treat for being such an excellent fiancé, an overstuffed hummus and veggie wrap. I dropped the groceries in the trunk, closed the lid and went to open my driver door.

The key was gone.

I looked in my purse. I looked under the car. I looked in my purse again.

None of the doors were open. Punishement for having an old manual locked car. I was out.

After a few panicked minutes I called our insurance company. The lady on the other end was extremely supportive and assured me that people lock their keys in their car all the time (oh, I realize) and that someone would be there in less than 45 minutes to unlock it.

I took my position on the hood of my car. the parking lot was packed with pre-thanksgiving chefs loading up for the holiday. Shoppers glared at me as they drove by my full spot. I looked away. Forty five minutes passed. I was starving. And freezing. Charleston was COLD last week. And I wasn’t dressed for it.

Shivering, I changed positions to the driver side. A lady getting into her car paused.

‘Are ou ok?’ she said, hesitantly.

‘J-j-j-just m-m-my k-eys. L-o-ocked.’ My face was frozen. She got in her car and left.

An hour. I called the company. ‘He’s only 4 miles away’ the lady said cheerfully from her warm office.

Another half hour. I was livid. And humiliated. There is nowhere to wait at Trader Joes. Except inside, and I was already drawing attention from the employees, the last thing I wanted was for them to see me back IN the store.

I called again. ‘He’ll be about 20 minutes,’ a different lady said, less cheerfully.

I lost it. ‘T-t-that’s w-w-w-what you sa-a-a-a-aid twenty minutes ago’ I accused. And hung up.

Anonther twenty minutes. My phone rang. It was the actual worker. He said he had heard that I didn’t believe he was coming. Obviously, since he wasn’t there. He reassured me, but said it would be another half and hour OR SO. Because they kept getting calls more important than mine. Yes, he said that.

Furious I repositioned myself on my trunk. A few more people glared. A man asked if I was ok. Yes. I said angrily, I was now a fully frozen snowman.

The guy finally came and it took approximately 38 seconds for him to open my car. And for me to get my key out of the trunk where it had fallen.

On the heels of my humiliating Trader Joes experience I wasn’t about to be a victim on the side of the road again. So I pulled my tights up over my bloody knee to mask the hole and started jogging home. I smiled and waved to the other early morning joggers and walkers so they wouldn’t think I had just fallen and was injured.

John was up when I got home. He looked at me from the couch and shook his head.

‘Why do you always do this stuff when I’m not there to see it?!’

The only redeeming factor of my week (besides the Thanksgiving-for-two-without-too-many-leftovers that I think I did pretty well) was on Saturday night, out watching the Mizzou game (ok, everyone else was watching the Gamecock’s game), when John looked at me in a panic.

‘Did I give you the keys?’

This time, the guy was there within 45 minutes to unlock it.

Delicious Tday Dinner and wine from Amigoni Urban Winery (where we might have the wedding).