A Marathon Day

My limbs feel like soggy spaghetti. Trust me to try and pack everything in on the first day that looks like spring. I am pooped after my marathon day.

At 7 am I was writing in my journal. I wrote for almost an hour. At 8 am I was diving into the pool. I swam for an hour. When I left the pool I took another hour to visit the Farmer’s Market, then went to Staples to purchase more refills for my pen and browse through other gel pens on the market.

I drove right by the grocery store and I had full intention of picking up a few items, (I haven’t been shopping since Andree left), but somehow I just couldn’t convince myself to do it. I came home and wrote for another hour instead. Much better use of my time.

By then the sun was shining from up high in the sky and it was warming up nice so I decided to take my bike for a spin. Just last week I had it in the bike shop for an overhaul and tune up. Today seemed like the perfect day to try it out.

When I got home I was ready to grab some lunch. I rummaged through the kitchen and soon found myself wishing I had gone shopping. I did find a can of chicken rice soup. That with a grilled cheese I thought would do just fine.

Can someone tell me why people insist on putting carrots in chicken soup? If I wanted carrot soup or vegetable soup, or any other kind of soup, that’s what I would have bought. What I wanted was, chicken soup! I read the label again. Chicken with White and Wild Rice. It didn’t say anything about carrots.

That’s why I hate shopping. Too damn many choices and I never end up with the right thing when I get home. My idea of time well spent is not standing in the middle of a grocery aisle, starring at 57 different versions of chicken soup trying to find the real McCoy. It’s like playing charades with tin cans.

After writing, riding and lunch, I was to meet a friend for a walk at Mission Creek Park. It was 1:30 when we took off down the trails and made our way up and down the hills. It was 4 pm when we returned to our cars. We didn’t power walk but we walked at a fair pace and never stopped. It was wonderful to be walking in the bush, breathing fresh air and soaking in the afternoon sun. I loved it. It felt like coming home.

By the time I got back to the house and got out of my car, I decided it would be a good idea to soak my wobbly spaghetti legs in a hot bath. While I was in the water, the phone rang. I always bring the phone in the bathroom when I go for a bath because even if it doesn’t ring all day, sure as hell, it's going to ring when I’m in the tub.

Ten minutes into my bath, the phone rings. It’s my sister asking if I would like to come for supper. “Hmmm….,” I said, “let me think.” And with only enough time to blink an eye, added, “Yes, I’d love to, but I can only stay for an hour or so, then I have to come home and write.” Now I'm back home and I’m not only done writing, I’m done in.

One thing’s for sure. After this writing, swimming, shopping, biking, walking, marathon day, the only muscle I plan to move are the ones needed to follow the words across the page of my book while I tilt my chair and lean back.