MAMACADABRA

If you’re interested in knowing what I will be doing for the next 75 days…this is pretty much it (although somehow I doubt there will be Spanish subtitles running underneath me…the meat locker workouts, however, are totally part of my plan).

I’m going to make this story short. Two girlfriends and I went to see Beyonce last Thursday but first we stopped for dinner. I ordered a bottle of wine, and the lovely waitress said “I’m going to need to card the two of YOU” pointing to my two girlfriends, excluding only me. I was hella pissed. So, in true Carrie form (or probably more accurate…in true Carrie’s mom form), I said “I’m sorry…do you know how rude that is?! If you need to card two of three women, just card all three instead of excluding one leaving them to feel terrible.” She laughed (which made me feel even more violent) and said “okay, okay, can I see your ID?” I curtly said “no.” And yes, again in true Carrie (Carrie’s mom) form, when the manager asked how our meal had been, I explained that most female servers would know to card all three and that I was totally offended by our waitress. She agreed and comped our dessert. Which…for the record…will not nearly cover the Botox I’m now even more obsessed about having done.

Okay, fine, so it happened. But then I got to Beyonce, and of course, I felt ancient because we were surrounded by 19 year olds. I looked at the pictures my girlfriends and I took on our iPhones and saw a million things I didn’t like. My hairstyle, my hair color, the wrinkle in between my eyebrows, and more. As the night wore on I realized that her comment had affected me much more than I would ever expect it to. I’m not prone to letting off-hand comments made by lovely waitresses idiots even come close to affect how I feel about myself. It’s not my gig. But for some reason that comment, made at that moment, on that night…it really threw me for a loop.

Friday morning? I was still totally bummed out. Instead of plotting evil revenge I entered into a lottery to run a local ten mile race (a reasonable alternative, no?). Not expecting to get in, I did not spend the weekend planning my training schedule. I did not avoid family trips to Cold Stone. In fact, I spent the weekend relaxing with my littlest little girl who was out for the count with a nasty ear infection, and by Sunday night my gloom had been cured.

Monday morning I started getting a little excited about the potential ten miler. I downloaded a training app just in case, researched the new running shoes I will desperately need, and I started thinking about what my next couple of months would look like should I get into the race.

I also got inspired to make a drastic (this is my word…I’d venture to guess that people around me wouldn’t think it drastic) hair change and scheduled an appointment for next week.

Then I did some thinking about the weight loss adventure I was on last summer. It worked wonders but I don’t think my head was in the right place to do it successfully or long term. I might be in the right place now. While I’m ready to take it on, I also know that if I decide I need to step away from the “plan” from time to time, it will be just fine (apparently the world doesn’t end).

I went to bed last night feeling good about the things I was thinking about doing. Soon enough I was day dreaming about going back to the restaurant, getting the same waitress, and in true Pretty Woman form, I could say “remember last year when you didn’t card me? Big mistake. Huge.”

Ahem.

Today was the day my girlfriends and I would learn if we got into the race. I had already come up with a Plan B, to run a different race taking place a mere three weeks after the one we were hoping to get into. I knew, though, that getting into this one would kick my a-s into gear quick. I would already be a week late in starting the training program I’d downloaded. There could be no lollygagging.

Every email that came in today made me jumpy. FB was blowing up with other people waiting to hear if they’d been selected to run. And finally, at 10:51am, I learned that we’d gotten in. YES! My excitement was quickly replaced with serious dread. Holy sh-t…I haven’t run regularly in months. HOLY SH-T…I am a week behind in training. HOLY SH-T…what if it’s as horrible as the marathon I ran seven years ago. And, seriously holy sh-t, how is that already seven years ago?! Jesus. I am old.

But we’re all in. Which means that I too need to be all in. This afternoon I’ve been doing some thinking. Truth is, regardless of the power I gave that waitress last week in making me feel old (and less than), my life is pretty bitchin’. In fact, I’ll steal words from one of my fave Beyonce songs, I’m pretty much schoolin’ life right now. My husband and I are having so much fun being married to each other, my little girls are amazing little people who are well on their way to becoming strong/bright/successful/kind women who will light up the lives of all of the people around them, my group of girlfriends are second to none, I’m surrounded by wicked awesome people most of the time, I have the opportunity to do things that I love, and I feel like I’m on the verge of something huge. And most of all? I’m at peace with who I am. Just as much today as I will be on October 6th when I’ve completed my ten miles (with Marilyn Monroe hair). Nothing can touch that.

For the next 75 days I will train, and I will get new hair, and I will spray tan, and I will get back on my weight loss adventure bandwagon, and before you know it I’ll be talking about the possibility of doing a half marathon at the end of October (I’ve already started whispering about this a little bit…I know…I’m certifiable).

Take that dumb waitress!

TODAY: What if in the next 75 days I make-up my very own Rocky montage and I do my best to keep schoolin’ life?