I Shuffle When I Shuffle

I’m trying to decide the speed of the past week or so. In some ways, it appears that adjectives like zip, fly and expeditious (I admit I used the thesaurus on the last one, but it sure sounds mighty impressive.) fit my life. When examining the quantity or quality of my accomplishments for the world, community, family or self, the grand total would be zilch. That investigative result sounds like the time is speeding at break neck levels. However, when I crosscheck that with other facts, like the quantity and quality of my whining about poor health, discomfort, immoral scales and obesity, the speed slams into reverse. Either consideration breaks down into minimal blogging.

Now that it is 2011, I can proudly yet cautiously declare that I have moved into the age of the, umm, 90’s. I previously have looked at primarily the younger generation as opting to ignore much of nature’s finest by continually having earphones almost superglued in place. The consistency of music, movies, friends voices and beyond blocks out a more simple existence. Quiet time vanished into technological needs to stay abreast of everything. As I take walks through our neighborhood, I love to decipher the various bird songs and wonder about the communication line for our spoiled pups rather than blocking out that reality.

Meeting the physical and emotional attributes of a triathlete, I determined I needed some sort of listening device to increase my coolness factor while I was peddling away on my recumbent bike. I had already fashioned a method to wetting my shirt without the awareness of others to mirror a sweaty, perspiring body after a healthy workout. I wear the required sweatpants and shirt with my hair at an appropriate disheveled level. I took the big step and ordered a Shuffle in a cute blue. My supposed goal was to provide white noise in a gym echoing with basketballs, loud music and the grunts of guys using weights higher than my six pounders.

Guffaws would be volumes louder if they heard my song selections, but I do look the part. I’m actually ahead of schedule in all three areas of my lazyman triathlon, but I have come to crawling through the parking lot to reach my vehicle thereby eliminating any cool factors. My body creaks and whines a lot louder, and I have yet to hear anyone refer to me as buff. I have four and a half weeks to go! This stubborn, old lady is determined if nothing else. (Bob calls it stubborn instead.)

So, I dash off this post before my daily trek to the Y. I’ll listen to the tunes of Harry Chapin, Three Dog Night, Amy Grant, Carol King and Jim Croce to name just a few. (At least it isn’t Lawrence Welk, Mitch Miller or Les Brown Band of Renown. Boy, that’s kind of scary that I came up with those that easily.) I’ll walk that track and then blend into the other adults swimming laps in the pool with grace or at least minimal splashing. I’m determined to get healthier, in large part for two of the most handsome grandsons in the world. Wish me luck.

Benefit of Having a Body with Chronic Pain:

• I have lots of time off to go to that Y. Since not many others are around. I can take my 7.3 minutes to swim a half lap.