Park date

So, Stroller Strides.  I've been going for something like three weeks now?  Maybe this is the fourth week?  It's not bad.  I'm toying with the idea of becoming an instructor, or maybe a group-fitness instructor in general, seeing as how my favorite way to pass my days is by working out.  At first there was some mental drama, as I needed to have a sponsor to even think about being an instructor (work out, outside, with child, get paid, awesome?) and there were three consecutive days where I was convinced I was a shoe-in, and then I was convinced everyone was a bitch and I hated it, and then Oh, Okay, I had a sponsor.

It's messing with my running a bit, to be honest.  I'm not getting the miles in that I used to, and it's working about a gajillion other leg muscles that running does not, which leaves my legs uber tired and not up to snuff on pace.  I know that I will get past the soreness soon, and once Bug starts preschool again (hallelujah, that's tomorrow) I can work in more weekday miles during the day.

Let's get back to the Strides, shall we?  Yesterday was a bad day.  It seemed that everything that annoys me about the group was happening all on the same day, at the same goddamn time.  Let's review:

• While the folks are friendly, no one is handing out phone numbers, and I often find myself standing alone after class, while everyone else breaks off into their little two and three groups to gossip about husbands.  At first I stood off to the side trying to nose my way in to conversations, and then I just gave up.  Even though I've been coming consistently (like 4-5 days a week?) for a month, I'm still considered a rookie.  These women have been coming for years, and apparently you have to earn your way into a legit friendship.  Maybe I'll get invited to a conversation in another six months, and given a phone number in eight.  As a result, I generally run ahead of everyone during the workouts, which probably is worsening the whole situation.  
• I still don't like women 15 years my senior with a child the same age as mine, who dress themselves in workout gear like they're 5 years my junior.  OK, there may be one woman in particular I'm thinking of.  We'll call her Sylvia.  Sylvia has just become an instructor, and according to my Sponsor, it took her like two years to get there (I guess she had to get through about 40 pounds first, which, whatever, that's fine).
• The uncertainty about teaching that I mentioned above.

There is one mom in particular I have been trying to befriend from Day 1.  She runs, and could probably out-sprint me without children.  The only reason I think I run faster than her during class is because a) she's pushing a double and b) I don't think she's trying all that hard.  But I cannot get her to open up to me.  It drives me nuts.  We'll call her MOTB (Mom of the Boys).  

Yesterday was a smaller class than normal, with a substitute teacher I don't love.  Both Sylvia and MOTB were there.  As we're warming up, MOTB asks Sylvia about her car.  She responds that she still doesn't have it back after it was rear-ended.  "Is that a rental then?" MOTB asks.  "No, that's just another one of ours," Sylvia responds.  It's a gorgeous red sporty-tire Mini Cooper.  Strike 1.  (Ed. note: I love those cars, which is the insult, but the injury is still that I would probably give a kidney right now to have a second vehicle of any make or model).  

We take off toward the first station.  Sylvia is in front of me, boxing me out of the sidewalk.  I eventually pass her once we get up the hill by the fountain.  All of a sudden she calls out from behind me that my "leash is down" (the strap on the jogging stroller).  I thank her and stop to get it, but am convinced her voodoo has made it fall down.  I'm still in front.  We round the big tree by the zoo, and she calls out again that my "tires look a bit light on air!"  I know she's being friendly again, but I can't help but be annoyed.  She has a throaty, almost smoker-like voice, and she's overly-enthusiastic about everything.  Gah.  

We meet back at the fountain.  MOTB, Sylvia and I are all grouped together at one station.  After we do our one-legged squats, we sprint around the fountain.  Sylvia and MOTB have been laughing and talking this whole time like sorority sisters.  They sprint ahead of me and every jiggle of Sylvia's lumpy ass is laughing at me.  I fail to pass either of them.

At our next station, MOTB is asking Sylvia more about teaching.  This goads me.  I don't know why.  It's not like I have failed at doing it myself.  I haven't even tried!  Her ass is so lumpy, though.

I swear when we get to push-ups she is totally coming down lower than I am.  This whole morning's workout is going to be a complete loss.

Deflated tires and all (which make it feel like you're pushing your 40 pounds through sand), I make sure I am in front of them the rest of the morning, even if that means I take off before everyone else does.  Hearing them talk to each other behind me is somehow better than watching it all happen in front of me.  

At the end of the workout, pleasantries are exchanged.  No one has a negative agenda (obviously) except for me.  I try and talk to MOTB during abs about her husband coming back next week, but the conversation ends after only a few exchanges.  

After class Bug and I went to Old Navy, to see if I could get some free hangers (I got a tip that they give them away, and called the store a few days ago asking and was told, "yes.").  I'm selling some of Bug's things at one of those huge consignment sales this weekend and I need hangers.  We get to the store, and go inside where it's mostly dead.  The cashier calls for someone else to help me.  She's about to put the hangers into the bag when all of a sudden she stops and turns around and says to me, "actually, we need these for Clearance.  Sorry."  

I explode, modified for my two-year-old's ears.  I got a bit of The Voice.  I told her that I had called ahead and they told me I could have some, so... basically you have ugly hair and you're full of shit.  I am sweating like a wooly mammoth (hey, I was at class!) and I smell like one, too, so put some of those goddamn hangers in the bag and no one gets hurt.

I think she gave me 15.  

And then we came home.  Fin.

Today's class was better.  Sponsor was teaching class, and neither Sylvia nor MOTB were present.  I even got a phone number.  Fist-pump.

Labor Day weekend was great - Matt was off ALL THREE DAYS.  Wow.  (Trivia Fact: We got engaged six years ago on Labor Day weekend). We didn't do much, which was great (tourists being in full force) but we did manage to hit up the beach on Monday.  North Island (the base on Coronado) has a private beach which is beautiful, has parking, and is generally less crazy than the public beach on Coronado.

That swim top came all the way from Australia, so you know it's good.

Get ready for it...

There it is.  It took her about 15 minutes (and about 37 waves) but eventually she enjoyed it immensely.

Mom, stop holding me so tightly.  You're going to leave marks. 

This picture does not do justice to the genuine AWE, SHOCK AND GIDDINESS that she experienced when Matt took the bucket off and revealed the bucket-shaped sand.  

It was at this point that I wished we a) owned a beach umbrella and b) that I had brought a book for myself.