Today’s run almost didn’t happen. It snowed yesterday, and while I love running in the snow, I do not like running on ice. Something about falling and breaking my hip is not appealing to me. This morning, I knew to get a run in I’d have to do something I haven’t done in six months – run on the treadmill (somehow I made it through Ironman training with only one trainer ride on the bike and NO treadmill runs). It was 20 degrees outside, I had the fire going, the kids were sleeping and I just about skipped the workout. But, I did not.
When I got on the treadmill the other gym-goers started giving me evil looks because my machine was making all kinds of noise. As if that is my fault. Sorry I didn’t bring my WD40 and wrench with me, folks! In the end it felt really good. I kept the pace easy, especially after reading this article about what the body goes through during an Ironman. Apparently, I aged 20 years. Sweet! I was wondering where all those gray pubic hairs were coming from all the sudden (just kidding).
Moving on to what I really wanted to talk about today. FIMD.
I know I cannot be the only one who has said something then immediately wanted to crawl in a hole and die. For example, have you ever asked a non-pregnant person when they are due? Most of the time the incidents of FIMD are not intentional. They are just due to lack of proper forethought before one spews some inconsiderate word vomit.
So, here is my FIMD for this week (yes, I feel like I do have about one of these a week).
Sam, my son, and I went to the DMV to get plates for his car. It was late in the day, the best time to hang out at the DMV because sometimes the lines are shorter.
The DMV gets a bad rap for having the most depressed and unfriendly workers. But, who can blame them? It would probably be a boring as hell, pain in the ass job. Working with the general public can be like that.
We got called up to the first window, after waiting only 5 minutes. Score! The woman helping us looked like death warmed over. She had bags under her eyes and was about to fall down in her cubicle from boredom or fatigue or both. Clearly it had been a long day for her at the DMV and she was wearing every bit of that long day on her face. As she took our information, I was trying to add a little light into the whole situation. “Wow, you are a fast typer!” I said enthusiastically. She looked up and kind of smirked, “Well, I have done this about a million times already today. I don’t think I’m that fast.” But, I think she, the Fast Typer (FT), liked the compliment.
As she left her desk to get Sam’s plates, I quickly scanned the 500 pictures in her cubicle. They were all of one child, mostly up close photos of a chunky, sweet baby. When the FT returned to her seat, I had made it my goal to make her day just a bit better. “That baby is SO cute! Is she your granddaughter?”
FT replied sternly, “No. She is my daughter. She is five now.”
“Oh,” I say, not really knowing where to go from here (where is that hole to climb into?). Then I just started giggling in all of my stupidity and I mumble something about being sorry and about how old I look. Meanwhile Sam is sitting there, looking down, shaking his head. We barely get out the door when Sam says, “Really, Mom? Hashtag AWKWARD. Nice job making her feel like crap.”
Do you have a FIMD story?
The treadmill: love or hate it? For me, it serves a purpose. I’d rather be outside, but sometimes you have to suck it up.