Skate Skate Glide

I was about four years old when I strapped on my first pair of roller skates. They were the type that you clipped on right over your shoes. It wasn’t long before I had a pair of white boot skates with metal wheels. Next came the sneaker skates. They were blue with yellow stripes. Very awesome. My friend Denise was the first in our six year old posse to have sneaker skates. She accused me of being a copycat when I got mine just a day or two after (in hindsight our mothers probably went shopping and bought them together). In second grade, when Denise and I got the skates many of us know and love today, boot shaped with plastic wheels, my friend Jenna encouraged me to call Denise a copycat. I didn’t. I was a much better person at age seven than I am today.

I originally skated around my neighborhood but it wasn’t long before I started to frequent Skatetown near the Newland Street projects, behind the old Stuarts shopping center. Skatetown went through a few name changes. They eventually settled on Rollerworld and you will hear many of us, former regulars, call it as such. Between grades three through six I spent a lot of time at Rollerworld. I was there almost every weekend for years skating around that rink, chomping on my Hubba Bubba, getting in the zone.  I loved skating, we all did. It was the eighties for goodness sake! How many times did you watch Olivia Newton-John in Xanadu or Scott Baio & our beloved Marsha Brady (Maureen McCormick) in Skatetown? Actually, don’t answer that!

I know what you’re thinking. Skating since age four, that’s impressive. I mean we all know that practice makes perfect and to be practicing my skating moves since age four- Hot Damn! I must be amazing. Of course for the ordinary person this would be so. But we all know if there’s one thing I am not, it’s ordinary.

As an adult I have been on rollerskates a handful of times. There was the time I took my Girl Scout troop to the rink in Amherst. I was a senior in college and my friends Renate and Sue came along. We were all a little concerned since we hadn’t been on skates since we were kids. Sue and Renate strapped on their skates and took off like a pair of Olivia Newton-Johns. It took me five good minutes (and three bad ones) to stand up. My legs were shaking so hard  that my knees were literally knocking together.  I sat back down, scooted on my butt to the rink area and hugged that wall like there was no tomorrow. I tried letting go, took out a pair of girl scouts, flew into another wall, took off my skates and consoled myself with six-hour old French fries from the refreshments stand.

Mike and I bought rollerblades in our early twenties. This was an attempt to harness the roller skating prowess from the 80s and get some serious exercise outdoors. I cannot even look at a photo of a pair of rollerblades without my tailbone throbbing. Operation Rollerbade was only successful in helping Mike manage his bladder control, as he nearly peed his pants from laughing anytime he looked at me on my blades.

So what happened, you ask. How did I go from a semi-pro skater to this? Have you ever played back scenes in your head and seen them in a new light? The truth is I never really got better with my skating. I was awful at age four, and continued to practice a below par posture, cadence, routine etc. I skated the same way for years and eventually perfected a terrible, terrible skating methodology. Now, some people say children are mean. I am here to say that isn’t so. No one ever made fun of me (to my face anyway), my friends still invited me out to skate each weekend, and I had fun. When I was out there I would imagine myself a graceful Maureen McCormick. In reality I looked like Goofy a la Disney on Ice.

Last year Madison and Max wanted to learn how to skate. Though, I had retired my skates and the old moves, I figured why not. We went out to Sk8town in Port Orchard and I spent the afternoon hugging the wall. It wasn’t so bad really. The worst part of the skating rink is the physical design. There’s a whole lot of wall to cuddle, but there are two huge gaps where people can come in and out onto the rink. This meant letting go of the wall twice and just free falling. Literally. After about 90 minutes and 27 laps I began to trust myself. I grabbed a piece of gum from my purse (trident, my hubba bubba days are over) and got away from the wall. I was doing my thing, getting into my rhythm (skate, skate, glide, skate, skate, glide) blowing bubbles with my gum, mouthing the words to Rob Base’s It takes Two. It was fantastic. Of course you know what’s coming. I wiped out in a beautiful, dramatic, ground shaking way. I believe I somehow threw myself up into the air about ten feet before landing with a thud that rocked the house. Guess what? I got up and kept skating.

A year passed skate-free, but we have recently found ourselves back at the rink twice in the past month. Madison and Max are still learning. I can let them blog about their own experiences. It’s not my place to speak for them. I go out there holding the wall for a few songs; come off the wall, but not too far away, for the next few. I pop in my gum and get into my zone-skate, skate, glide, skate, skate, glide. It takes me three times as long to get around the rink as it does anyone else. Last Sunday, there was a grandmother who strapped on her skates and pushed her grandbaby around the rink in a jogging stroller. This is not a fabrication. It really happened! I’m not going to lie, I was outraged. Passed by a granny pushing a stroller on the skating rink floor. Really? How is this even a thing?

I still find the gaps in the wall frightening. I am not even holding on to the wall, but it still scares me. I think it is because people are getting on and off. I have no idea their level of experience as they enter and they trust that I can stop myself or get out of the way if need be. It’s just not so. I’ve had a couple of really close calls and have almost taken out my share of five year olds. I often find myself sweating out on the rink. I don’t think it’s cardio; I think it’s fear of killing a small child or an experienced granny.

I’ve been skating on and off for 36 years. I don’t know why I can’t manage to get any better.  I feel like it’s almost time to find a new rink. It’s endearing to see a forty year old who looks like she just put on skates for the first time. The folks at Sk8town think, “Good for her!” Soon though, they will recognize me, perhaps call me by name. They will notice that I’m not improving, that I continue to skate at my slower-than-granny pace. They will see that I can’t start my routine without hugging the wall for three songs before I take off. They will stand with their arms crossed and they will say “Skate, skate, glide” under their breath as they watch my rhythm. After the rink closes they will debrief about their day over stale nachos and a Rockstar. “What’s up with that forty year old?” one will ask. “Why does she do it?” Another will wonder aloud. They probably won't be able to answer, I've wondered this myself. Why do I do it?

Because it's fun.

Another Running Essay-Why I did the Dirty Girl Dirty Dude Diehard Challenge

Back in ancient times (read 1991), when I was a dorm dweller at UMASS, I was always the last to bed. I would stay up regularly until 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning. I couldn’t go to sleep until the last book was shut, the last Beastie Boys CD was quieted, the last bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 was polished off, and the last boy was kicked out of the ladies restroom.  Back in those days, my condition was undiagnosed. Now we know it by its scientific name-FOMO.

FOMO as defined by the American Academy of SocialMediocracy is the fear of missing out. This, a condition I could have written the book on (and might still), is the reason I joined this challenge. My life has changed a lot since last spring. I got a new job, I turned forty, I had a friendship break-up, I gained ten pounds, I unknowingly grew a handlebar mustache, I was called ma’am and middle aged more times than I will ever admit to, I quickly made friends and just as quickly had to ask them to take a back burner to my overstuffed life. I had to start cutting back on my commitments; I could no longer attend my beloved Monday night speedwork classes. Saturday mornings became hit or miss, too. Hoka nights came and went, and my friends started swinging from ceilings and climbing up poles. The Dirties, (as I have cleverly nicknamed this beloved brood) were having fun and living their lives-without me! The audacity!!  Then along came the challenge, I wasn’t going to let another Dirty Girl and Dude event go on without this lass. So I shaved my mustache, texted my mother-I mean Susan Olive, grabbed a points’ sheet from Alexa and got started.

I really don’t believe in extrinsic rewards and incentives for motivation. I don’t use them in my teaching or my parenting. Having said that, I did track my points and I turned them in three out of four months. I got points for falling, crying, and bleeding. I got points for eating well, for drinking water, for crafting presents and for running hills. I got two random prizes along the way- a beautiful medal hanger to display my many heavy duty, much deserved, sparkling medals(not that I care about them, you know I’m not into extrinsic rewards!) and I got a lunch bag that says “Pow!”, which I use every day.

 All of these things have helped me bridge my busy life with the lives of my friends. “So, Marcy, get any blood points lately?” “Hey, Dawn, want an apple from my cool POW lunch bag?” “Gee Lori B, I cried three times this week.”  Sometimes I might even do a little bragging or teasing, “By the way David, did you see that horse crap I just stepped in?” “Sorry, Lori, brown sugar is not a whole food.” Without this challenge, I may have missed out on being able to share these seemingly mundane snippets. Before the challenge I’d run through a puddle and think “I wish I could tell someone I just ran through a puddle, but no one would appreciate that.” But now, I can post it on facebook and have 16 likes within the hour. And pathetic or not, there are days when I just really need those sixteen likes.

As someone living with the condition of FOMO, there have been times when I have wanted to drop off the Facebook grid. This is the dark side of FOMO. I have noticed that sometimes instead of feeling happy and excited when I see posts of my friends having fun together, I have felt envious and sad. Why wasn’t I invited, have they forgotten about me, do they still think I am fun? Participating in the challenge is my way of saying “pssst I am still here, I am still pretty dang fun and oh btw, I have the FB selfies to prove it.”

This year has been busy and full of challenges. If every mistake is a lesson, I am learning a ton. I continue to struggle with balancing my life and with saying no to projects. This challenge was yet another commitment that I took on at a time when I didn’t think I should possibly do another thing. However, I don’t think it added to my feelings of being overwhelmed and overscheduled. It gave me motivation to go for a run and to stick with my routine, even when it was windy or rainy or dark.

 A lot of people have really good, honorable motives for taking on the challenge. Maybe doing it because of FOMO isn’t the most admirable reason, but it’s my reason. I know that in life we have to make choices. Sometimes there are so many things we want, but we have to choose wisely. I think participating in this challenge was a wise one. I am grateful I did it. And on that note, I am heading to bed as I have a serious case of Fear Of Missing Out (on a good night’s sleep).

Love Letter

I miss you readers! I am working on my time management and plan to give you attention soon. In the meantime, here's a quick little piece you might enjoy.
This is in response to a challenge given to our running group. We were supposed to write a love letter to a body part that we simply don't love. I had a few parts in mind, but settled on this one.

I apologize for the things I said today in the dressing room. I realize now, it’s not you, it’s me. Let’s face it, you have been trying to communicate and I have been ignoring you. You let me know your needs with an array of sounds, growls, gurgles, groans even. You tell me when you need something and when you have had your share. Still, I ignore you. I do what I want to do, when I want to do it and then have the audacity to blame you when my jeans don’t fit, or when a dress... looks too snug. You puff out if I’ve had too much salt and you jiggle if I have had too much sugar. And still every morning, you try your best to flatten out and to show me that with a little willpower and exercise what we might look like together, you and me.

You, you carried my two beautiful children. Nestled them snuggly and protected them. You stretched for them, making more room and leaving bright pink streaks, signs of your new residents. I remember the joy of putting my hand on you and feeling little feet and powerful kicks. Strangers and friends alike were once so drawn to you as you proudly sported the new lives forming within. Is there anything more beautiful than a belly full of baby?

But here we are, years later and I have forgotten to appreciate you. You are one of the first to show me when I am not taking care of myself. Stress likes to settle with you. Carbs like it there, too. You have tried to communicate with me, sometimes subtly and sometimes loudly howling in the middle of a morning meeting. I have only resented you, berated you, tried to hide you, smothered you with spanx and cursed you when bathing suit season rolled around.

I’d like to say let’s start again. Clean slate. I’m going to just look at you with admiration. I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep. Relationships can be tricky. I’m going to try to listen better and appreciate you more. I’m going to try.

While I have been away

Forgive me. It's been over two months since my last blog....
I'll be back soon though.
If you really miss me, or if you love running, or both, check out my latest project. An 11 post blog dedicated to one race. I feared it, I conquered it. I loved it.

http://aimeerunshermouth.blogspot.com/

And the Survey Says..

When I was young  I thought it would be fun for my family to go onto the Family Feud. I often would sit around at my Nana’s when a group was gathered and strategically plan who should actually go (you could only pick five family members) and where each family member should stand. It was rare, but not out of the question, for a six year old girl to be on a family’s team. The rarity of this didn’t discourage me. I knew my combination of wits, sass and cuteness would win over any skeptical viewers at home.  I mean, my goodness, it’s not like it was Jeopardy or something. Even at the age of six I knew enough to be able to take a good guess at what the 100 people in the studio audience would answer for questions. For instance “We’ve polled 100 people in our studio audience and asked them what is the first thing they do in the morning.” “Eat breakfast.” Hmm, “Eat breakfast. Survey Says?...Eat breakfast, that’s our number one answer. My word! And you’re only six years old? How did you come up with that?”

Of course there were some drawbacks to going on the Family Feud in the late 1970s. First of all, there was Richard Dawson. While I think my Nana and my Auntie Arlene would do some fake swooning over him, I couldn’t really deal with the possibility that he would make me kiss him. Sure, he was a former member of Hogan’s Heroes. And sure, I enjoyed his wit on The Match Game(yes at six years old I did enjoy the Match Game, what’s it to ya?). And sure millions of other ladies kissed him, but yuck. I wasn’t quite up for it. Also, Family Feud was filmed in Burbank California, I lived in Malden, Massachusetts. Even for a great people organizer like young Aimee Decker, getting the whole crew out to Burbank seemed a bit much for a six year old to orchestrate. And for what? Auntie Sue all but admitted that she would ditch Richard Dawson for Bob Barker any day. I couldn’t get all the way to Cali only to find Auntie bidding $1.00 on an orange plaid couch on the Price is Right.

But, how I loved those Family Feud surveys….

Which three hundred words later brings me to the point of this blog. Surveys! About ten years ago Mike and I were convinced by a rather talented salesman that we needed a new freezer. I had immediate buyer’s remorse, but Mike never did. The freezer sat in our tiny Connecticut house taking up about 500 of the 550 square feet of living space. My friend Renate had come for a visit and pointed out the bright side. “You have this giant white magnetic freezer in your house. It’s like a blank palette.” (we were in an artistic phase, Renate and I). That was just the right thing to say to me. What does this have to do with surveys you might wonder?

We’ve had some changes at school and in a lot of ways it’s like the freezer. The changes seemed big and overwhelming at times, but as a staff we decided we could look at it like an empty palette. (Well we never put that into those exact words, because I never shared my freezer analogy. Who has time for pep talks and analogies?! We’ve got a palette to fill).  It was really important that everyone’s voice was heard and so enters our friend Survey Monkey. Survey Monkey is a free tool that allows you to create surveys and email them to the people you need to question.  Here’s a sampling of some of the surveys I have created,   “Shoes or slippers”, “Yea Another Survey”, “HMS Holidaze Fun Party,” etc. And yes, those are clever titles, thanks for noticing.

Over the past five months the survey situation has become a bit of a joke around the water cooler. Well, we don’t have a water cooler as we took a survey about it and agreed that 1. We can’t afford one and 2. We think it’s not the most environmentally conscious thing to do. We drink from the tap. However, we find other areas around school to mock our own survey use. We may be a little excessive with our surveys, but without them we’d have to start making fun of each other and that's not very Montessori of us.

Seriously though, the surveys are as one teacher put it “our little experiment with democracy.”  We want everyone to have a voice and speak their mind, but some people aren’t comfortable just saying what they feel. They are worried it will offend others, or be held against them, or that what they have to say isn’t important. And though we all are very supportive of each other, it’s a process. The surveys seem like a good step in a process with the eventual goal that people will be comfortable speaking their minds.

Right now we have three surveys going, two are about our upcoming holiday party and one is about a calendar date change. As the designer of each survey I try to balance professionalism with having some fun. For instance, the gift exchange question has several options including white elephant, yankee swap, secret santa and no gift exchange. I know that people who don’t like gift exchanges REALLY feel strongly about that, so I went ahead and made that choice say “Please! No gift exchange-ugh!” But when I go back and analyze the survey results I get offended. Like “Wow! They did not have to be that adamant about it. Geez.”

 Similarly, I gave another option in our party survey that I really don’t like and it is the one that will most likely win. I’m all hot and bothered by it, too. Then I remember I put that option there in the first place. I also remember that this party is about us, not about me. Furthermore, I can take the survey from several different devices in my home and get the results I want! Ha! Just kidding. I am only kidding. Now someone will probably put out a survey as to whether or not they believe that I was just kidding here.

Our business manager asked me today if we would be using Elfster if the Secret Santa option wins. (Elfster another website that brings me great joy, is designed especially for the Secret Santa players of the world. It’s so great, it draws names for you, stores wishlists and lets you leave hints.) Anyway she asked if we would draw names via Elfster or if we would just do them manually, like pull them out of a hat. She then, of course, joked that we should take a survey as to whether or not we should use Elfster. Har Har Har.

There’s so much talk about communication nowadays and people’s struggles with face to face conversations, discussions and relationships. I have some really strong feelings about this and am sometimes concerned that I am perpetuating this unhealthy barrier system by not saving things for discussion at a staff meeting. Logistically, however, tools like online surveys are great ways to make sure everyone gets input and the results are all gathered in one place. They are also great when decisions need to be made in a timely matter. I guess like most things (with the exclusion of cookies, Brady Bunch episodes, and Matt Damon), surveys should be used in moderation.  What do you think? Click on the link below and let me know!

Take the survey at ww.iamtotallykiddingdontclickhere.comm

Back on the Chain Gang

“You couldn’t cross the street by yourself until you were twelve,” my aunt likes to remind me each time I see her. “And you couldn’t use a goddamned can opener either.” I’d like to say she is exaggerating even though these seem to be her fondest memories of me. I know for a fact that I was crossing the street before age 12 (maybe even before eleven and a half), but the can opener, well, that might be true. I don’t know how old I was, but I do know that my neighbor Noelle and I got into such an intense fight about the can opener that I left her house. She wanted me to open a can of tuna for lunch and I protested that I couldn’t use a can opener; she thought I was just being lazy (who can’t use a can opener?). I believe we eventually made up, and we are facebook friends now, but my inability to do some of life’s simplest little actions can perplex some people and by some people I mean everyone, including me.

I’d like to blame my parents, as most forty year olds with any kind of issue do, but at some point I guess I have to admit I’ve grown up, so obviously the appropriate person to blame would be my husband. Fine, fine it doesn’t matter who is blamed for my deficiencies, as long as it’s not me. These little deficits of mine aren’t much in the whole scheme of things, but when you are sitting in a pool of your own sweat with a small Allen wrench in one hand and tufts of the hair you've been pulling out of your head  in the other you think “if I was anyone other than Aimee, this wouldn’t be happening.” Well actually you wouldn’t think that, I would think that because I’m me, and you, luckily, are not.

Today, without going into too much detail (frankly, I did go into too much detail about this in my first version of this blog and it didn’t work, so I’m going to take 882 words and put it into three  or four sentences), yes today I found myself at 6:30 in the evening in a struggle with our front door at school. The problem that should have been fixed with an Allen wrench and about two seconds of patience turned into a sweat inducing, hair pulling, tear evoking scene. At some point I called Mike and told him I was just going to sleep at the school because, though I have seen several people do it before, I couldn’t shut the door. Mike laughed, he thought I was kidding. I absolutely wasn’t kidding.

Yesterday, after the untimely death of our dear toaster, I learned from a coworker how to broil my English muffin in the oven. YESTERDAY! If this is not astonishing let me say it again and I will put all important words in caps so you can understand the ridiculousness of this. YESTERDAY I LEARNED THAT YOU CAN BROIL AN ENGLISH MUFFIN IN THE OVEN. YESTERDAY I LEARNED THAT YOU HAVE TO SET YOUR OVEN TO BROIL AND PUT THE PART YOU WANT TOASTED FACING THE HEATING ELEMENT SO THAT IT GETS BROILED. Ah geez.

The other day Mike and I spent a couple of hours planting laurels around one of our playgrounds at school. Mike and I had a 4:1 planting ratio. For every four laurels he planted I’d have one done. Shoveling is not my forte. I’d put one foot on the shovel to help get the job done, then the other foot and sometimes I’d manage to stay upright, but usually I’d teeter off the shovel. The whole time I was shoveling I was thinking “wow I hope I’m never put on a chain gang or something. I’d never make it.” This was truly my thought process, not “hmm I wonder if there’s a different technique,” or “hmm maybe I should ask for help” or even “hmmm I think I better just walk away from this job.” No I was thinking “Better stay out of jail so I don’t end up digging holes for the rest of my life.” Who thinks these things? And why would a chain gang be digging holes? And if they’re not digging holes what are they doing? Gonna have to google that later.

All I know is this. This evening when I was trying to help one of the toddlers with an eight piece puzzle, I put the elephant’s leg in the wrong spot. I then pretended like I did it on purpose. How low can I stoop?

This week has been a rough week as far as coming to terms with my inability to do things that most people can do by let’s say age six, fine five. As a general rule I like to blame what I can on being a lefty and living in a righty’s world. That might explain my trouble with tools and appliances, but can’t really explain away the broiling situation. I may have to go back to blaming my parents after all.

Perhaps I am one of those creative geniuses that can’t be bothered by the little things in life. Sure she doesn’t know how to tie her shoe, but she can stand on her head and recite the 50 states while painting the ceiling of our local church with nothing but pudding-covered feet. Or granted we had to fly her dad in from Boston to cut her steak for her, but man that girl can throw a mean party. Or wow she still can’t open a bottle of wine with a corkscrew, nor can she open my kid’s thermos at lunch (EVER) but hot dang can she ever put together some senseless blogs.

 

Author’s note: I can actually cut steak and tie shoes. Just sayin’

Inside Club Loco-Proceed with Caution

 Everyone who was anyone was there. They nonchalantly cruised down the back alley dressed in long trench coats and sunglasses. They played it cool as they each ducked into the back room at Club Loco. As they took off their fedoras, or shrugged off their fake minks, they scoped out the room. All the usual players were there. Guilt, Ego (and her side kick Smooth talker), Anxiety, Impatience and slumped in a corner- Reason. Reason had been working round the clock on several other projects, and though Anxiety was often on those projects as well, Reason seemed to be the only one with bags under her eyes.  

“Alright,” declared Ego as she folded her long thin legs underneath her. She licked her gleaming white teeth, tossed her long golden locks and using her perfectly manicured fingers started pointing to people in the room. “Impatience, what are your thoughts?”

“I think we should do it. Listen, we have been sitting on the couch for three weeks! Three weeks! Do you know how long that is? We are lucky that Anxiety over there is working overtime lately or we’d be as round as a donut by now. Look we rested, we iced, we even stretched; we feel pretty good let’s do it already!”

“Not to mention,” began Guilt as she twisted one of her tight gray curls around her index finger, “We made a commitment to a friend to run. We can’t just leave our friends on the curb. If we commit to running thirteen miles, we run thirteen miles. That’s what friends do. Who can call themselves a friend if they bail out at the last moment?”

Reason made the mistake of opening her mouth, but before she could say anything Ego cut in. “Look at you, you’re a mess Reason. Your hair’s disheveled, your sweatpants are ratty, your face is blotchy and you have something green stuck between your two front teeth. You’re making us look like we’re sixty!”

Smooth Talker piped in then, “Reason, what Ego means is that you have been so darn busy lately, you deserve a break. Why don’t you go take a nap or something? It would do us all some good if you could just loosen up a bit.”

At that moment there was a bold knock on the door. Anxiety’s cousin Fear came sweeping  into the room.

“Absolutely not! We are absolutely not running a half marathon in our condition. Our ankle is just barely healed and we haven’t been training. We could cause permanent damage!”

“And then we wouldn’t be able to run for months,” Reason took this moment to align herself with Fear. Usually she worked to keep Fear at bay, but this time she saw an advantage in this. Unfortunately, Guilt had the same idea and sidled up to Fear with Smooth Talker fast on her heels.

“What if we didn’t run and our friend got mad at us?” Guilt whispered to Fear. Smooth Talker followed Guilt’s lead. “You don’t want to lose a friend over a silly marathon do you?” She asked as she massaged Fear’s shoulders. We’re better than that. We don’t bail on our friends.”

“And we have been bailing on her a lot lately,” Guilt piped in.

Fear began to waiver. The only thing worse than physical pain was emotional pain. What if their friend really did get upset?

Reason stood up and shouted “This is ridiculous! First of all we know our friend better than that. Yes, she might be disappointed, but she won’t be mad. We are putting ourselves at risk here. We are smarter than this. We know better. I don’t think we should do this.”

Ego looked up from filing her nails and with a disinterested sigh she patted the empty spot next to her and invited Reason over. The plush velvet couch was too much for a tired Reason. Though she was apprehensive, she decided the rational thing would be to listen to Ego’s argument.

“We know that rest and recovery are important in training. So let’s consider this injury of ours the rest and recovery. We feel good now. Our body is conditioned for this. Sure, it’s been a few weeks since we ran, but we spent months and months running before this. Maybe we overdid it, but now we are smarter. Anyway people do this all the time. And they’re fine. So now here we are rested and ready to go.”

“Well, maybe we should run it by our physical therapist or our coach,” Reason countered.

“Look we don’t have time for this, okay? Let’s go run this and if we don’t feel great while we are out there we will just quit,” Impatience was already putting her trench coat back on and headed for the back alley.  “End of conversation,” she noted and she slammed the door behind her.

On the morning of the Half Marathon the usual players met at the start line. On the outside they looked like Reason, but on the inside they were powered by Ego. Another player joined the race. Distraction. She was one of Ego’s favorite companions, especially on race day. When Ego felt down, Distraction would work her magic and before they knew it, the event was over.

After the race Ego was in her glory. Even Reason had to admit that everything went well. They were joined by some others including Joy and Hunger. Fear, Anxiety and Guilt must have had a prior engagement because they were nowhere in sight.  For a few blissful hours, Reason, Ego, Distraction and Joy existed in harmony. As the day went on, however, Guilt, Anxiety and Fear returned. Everyone noticed a heavy presence of Anxiety.

 “Something’s not right.” She noted.

 “We’re fine,” Ego countered, but some of her aura had lost its luster. She went to bed early and without much of her usual fanfare.

The day after the race Fear and Anxiety were on high alert.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” Guilt scolded the others.

Reason ran her fingers through her hair and sighed, “We might need an X-ray.”

“You’re being overly dramatic,” Ego mumbled through a mouthful of Advil.

“We don’t have time to get an X-ray.” Impatience noted.

“What are we going to do?” Worried Anxiety.

“What are we going to do,” Echoed Fear.

“Write a consequence essay, put our foot on ice, go to sleep and hope that tomorrow all will be well.”
But who said that? Only tomorrow will tell.