tuesday night workouts

On Tuesdays, I drive across the city for my workout.
I started doing this because working out with friends makes the torture a little less torturous.
And because I needed one more good, hard, structured workout in my week, to go with the runnning and the trapeze.
It's a circus-oriented conditioning class. Some acro, lots of core work, lots of functional strength and body weight exercise.

It kicks my butt. Sometimes literally.
But there's always a lot of laughter, and naming of exercises (benches of death, captain morgans).

The participants change a bit from week to week -- never more than 5 of us, so we get focused attention.

And awesome assisted stretching at the end.

I leave feeling like I could do it all over again,

Thankful for the company, the conditioning, and the endorphins.

older, wiser, and more bad-ass

For those of you who might have missed it, Jote started this "30 days of Gratitude" thing in 2009.

Jote's the kinda gal whose good ideas spread like wildfire. Last year, more than a handful of us picked up the idea, and I know that this year, the community of people looking at their lives and seeing all the amazing things to be grateful for has spread immensely. People acknowledging their siblings, their spouses, their kids, the right timing of a cup of coffee, their gyms, their running buddies.

We've all got a lot to be grateful for.

And many reasons to be grateful to Jote for inspiring this introspection.

I know that a number of the folks doing gratitude blogging in December are part of Jote's Austin community of mamas and friends.

And I'm loving seeing those people, and how they connect with Jote.

She and I were college friends. Knew each other in those malleable years, while we were still figuring out who we were and what we wanted. Drinking White Russians, watching football, taking long walks through farmland and thinking we were prepared because we'd brought a small water bottle and a single powerbar between us. Bitching about boys -- we probably called them men, but really, we were all just kids then.  Dressing to the nines, and then spitting as we walked to a college dance, one each on W's arms, leading him to declare "You can dress 'em up, but you can't take 'em out".

Growing up, together and apart.

I went to graduate school. Jote fell in love (Hi, Matt!).
I missed her wedding, because I couldn't afford a ticket to Austin on my wimpy graduate student stipend. We talked on the phone. Intermittently.

But life happens, and when you're not in the same city, or the same community of people, it's easy to let things lapse more than they should.

I saw Jote when "The Teen" was a toddler; connecting with her when El Bandito and I were in Texas for another friend's wedding. By then, it had been 5 or 6 years, but it was still like catching up with an old friend.

More time passed, and the contact became more sporadic. An email bounced. We lost  the immediacy that forges bonds. I still think of her every July.

And then, I found her blog. I remember reading through it going, YES, JOTE. This is the girl I knew, turned into a woman I *want* to know. And being thrilled when she replied to an email. She's Jote. She's awesome. She's a rock star in her own inimitable way.

Sometime in the last year, I sent her an email telling her how glad I was she was part of my life again. She replied "it's like we're having the same conversation, only wiser and more bad-ass". Amen, lady, amen.

So, Jote, thank you for so much. For the reminder to be grateful. For your part in my freaking awesome life. For being older, wiser, and more bad-ass. For still touching a chord in my soul, all these years later. For being an awesome mother, for raising kids I'd love to know. For still sharing my love of coffee, tasty drinks, yeast on popcorn, and artichokes. For the tofu recipe that's become a staple in our household -- and known simply as "Jote's Tofu".  For taking gorgeous pictures and including me in your distant life.

I hope that some day, we can have a cup of coffee or a glass of wine. A walk together. In the meantime...

Lady, you rock. I hope today, and every day, you're showered with the love, affection, and gratitude you deserve from all angles. Happy December, darlin' gal. Together and apart, we're older, wiser, and more bad-ass. You called it.

the right words

on my run today, just as I was hitting a low point (or a high point, since it was an uphill I didn't really want to be on), I saw graffiti* scrawled on a sidewalk.

Try Hard.
Do Well.

They were words I needed right then.

Or finding a poem (via a Poetry Friday link from another woman gratitude-blogging) that spoke to me.

I don't always have the right words, especially to offer in times of grief or sorrow, or in times of joy. But I love it when I find them.

Or when they find me.

Be kind.

Try Hard.
Do Well.

Thanks, random paint marker person.


*I actually suspect, from its location by a school, that this was sanctioned "graffiti"

circus

it's no secret I'm addicted to the trapeze.
to the challenges, and the athleticism, and slowly gaining artistry as well.

and I'm grateful for all that. I said it last year, and it still holds true.

but also, for watching circus. For seeing the incredible things people can do with their bodies and their art. For seeing the physical and emotional dedication.

for watching a friend perform her swinging trapeze act for the first time.

for watching the spectacle that a Cirque du Soleil show is.  A different level, and yet nearer than one might think.

for the creativity and energy and enthusiasm.

For the friends circus has brought me. For the casual acquaintances whose smiles still brighten my day. For this community. For the joy on a kid's face watching the clowns and the aerialists and the gasps of astonishment.

a friday night dinner with friends

laughing.
drinking funny pink cocktails.
three people scooting around each other in a small kitchen, chopping mint and slicing mushrooms.
good wine.
sitting down to eat with stories and chatter.
leaving before the evening really ends, to go pick up another friend from the airport.

a good friday night.

Synonym Toast and Acrobats

Describing how grateful I am for my marriage, for El Bandito, for this sustaining relationship? Impossible. And yet important. Today is El Bandito's birthday, so a short list of gratitude that doesn't begin to cover it:

For 18 years of inside jokes, the title among them. Of finishing each other's sentences. Croutons. Interrupting Donut! and a ridiculous slew more.

For making me laugh so hard I can't breathe, even though almost every time that happens I say I hate you (I don't, really).

Locks of Love, Ponte Vecchio, 2003

For being there when I am "old and busted" and when I am "new hotness", though the casual observer might not know the difference.

For supporting me. In so many, many ways.  The early morning coffee. The patience when I schedule our lives around my workouts. For doing the dishes while I'm doing my shoulder exercises again,

For putting my shoes and coat away, even when I intend to grab 'em momentarily and get confused at their absence.

For documenting our lives in such an amazing way, the places we go, the people we're with. It's an overwhelming number of photos. But man, it's a wonderful collection (even if I have yet to figure out how to navigate them.)

For the weekends wandering new cities, or our own.  For stops for chocolate truffles and coffee. For being willing to adventure with me, no set destination. 

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)

Excerpted from e.e. cummings. Somewhere I have never travelled.

It's a start. Even though there's so much more. For tonight, Happy Birthday, El Bandito. You rock my world.

a boy. his skateboard.

There's a boy who lives in the apartments at the corner.

Often, when I'm coming home from work, or heading out for my run (or sometimes, like tonight, on the return from my run, in the dark hours of the evening), he's outside.

With his skateboard. and the most improvised of obstacles and fake pipes.

He's getting better. He's out there almost every evening. A boy, his skateboard.

And when he lands a new trick, he's got a gorgeous grin.

Tonight, he wiped out just as I was approaching, on the cooldown from a really good run.  Picked himself up, grabbed his deck, and said "I thought I was going to get it this time".

Next time, kiddo.

I don't know what it is about kids and skateboards -- probably childhood nostalgia as much as anything -- but this kid makes me smile every damn time I see him. 

A boy. A skateboard. A shooting star. It was a good night for a run.