8:03am?  Wait.  Right.  Daylight Savings Time just went down. 

When I first moved to Indiana from Ohio back in 1997, I felt like Eddie Murphy must have felt when he went to Queens in Coming To America.  Really?  What do you mean they don’t sell beer in gas stations, have drive-thrus where you can buy a six-pack and a Slim Jim, or change their clocks in “this part” of the State?  That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.  I just had to take my car to some creepy Breaking Bad-like emissions station place so I could pass a goofy test before I plunk down $450 bucks for ONE license plate, and now you’re telling me they don’t Fall back or Spring forward here either? 

Turns out that be careful what you wish for thing is sometimes true.  They may have been onto something.

After 20 miles on the iced over greenway yesterday, I could have not lost that hour of sleep and been pretty appreciative.  We haven’t been able to run on the greenway in months, so to see our old friend brought an instant smile to our faces.  “Hey…I remember you…let’s do this thing.” 

It was a decent run, despite almost cracking my tail no less than 6 times.  When you can actually see the ice gleaming up ahead, you can run around it; it’s those covered by pretty, white, innocent and pure-looking snow parts that can potentially wreak havoc.  Alas, we avoided any graceful falls, stopped at mile 10 to make a new belt adjustment (having Sponge Bob hips is not useful at times like this) and ran back in negative split style.  20 miles by 9:15am is a good start to any Saturday.

“Hey, Liv, be ready by 11:00, we’re going out for a while.”
“Why and who’s we?”
<ugh>
“Am I seriously like chopped liver?  I know darn well you’re not doing anything right now; I also know that you were awake pretending to be asleep when I got back from running and opened your door to check on you; and I also know that on occasion, I can be fun.  So get your butt IN THE CAR by 11:00 or you’re not doing anything tonight.  Capish?”
<her “ugh”>

So we ran errands and whaaaa?!  Actually talked?  Ok, I am liking this Saturday so far.

But then, of course, it came to a screeching halt because she was texting away during our “bonding time” making side plans to go work out.  Two things:  she knows I’ll never tell her no to working out with friends and I.hate.texting.  So, so, much lately.

Ok, no problem.  I got two decent hours in with my getting-ready-to-leave-the-nest kid, so I’m good.  Ah!  I will go grocery shopping while wearing an incognito hat and pretend to be totally zoned out, and then I will go get a long overdue massage.  It’s still early, so this will totally work.

Good plan except the only place that had any Saturday openings (schedule ahead, schedule ahead, got it) was Massage Envy.  I’m not a huge fan of that place, primarily because it’s like a Costco.  They try to strong arm you into a membership right after massaging your own normally strong arm into a relaxed state of oblivion.  I hate feeling the guilt of “yeah, you just did something super nice for me – which I paid for, but that aside – and now I’m not going to agree to this sales ploy.”

Yesterday, however, I was not a fan of that place for different reasons.  Firstly, as I’m sitting in the “relaxation room” (Woodhouse has cornered the market in Fort Wayne on this kind of room… schedule ahead, schedule ahead, got it) I see the Massage Envy Times or whatever home grown magazine they have sitting there, begging me to read it.  “How to Plan the Perfect Date” is headlining the cover, along with two beautiful, clearly in love about to go hiking, picnicking, and whatever-elsing individuals.  Just as I am about to lean forward and grab it out of pure curiosity under the justified heading of one giant educational endeavor, I hear my name.

<Chris, can you just work on the upper right shoulder and that knot/Gibraltar rock thing the entire time?>

Reason number two I was a non-fan yesterday:  it was only a 30 minute massage.  That’s all they could squeeze in given my lack of scheduling abilities.  But because they are so thoughtful, they give you 5 minutes to undress and 5 minutes to get redressed, so really, it’s a 20 minute massage.  As we walked down the hallway, I assured him I would not need 10 full minutes to accomplish those tasks, so let’s shoot for the 26-minute massage package.  That’s 3 minutes short of 4 miles on a good day.

He agrees and just as I was starting to relax, it was over.  Just like that.  In the blink of an eye.  I have no idea what even happened but it went something like…it started, it was amazing, and then it was over.

I laid there, with my head in that circular placeholder thing which leaves the sweet ring around the face reminder that you are supposed to feel better!  Only I didn’t.  It wasn’t long enough.  And I felt cheated by time once again.

Living by the watch when you’re running is one thing.  You get to the checkpoints and you look.  Ok, I’m on pace.  I’m doing this.  I’m gonna get there.  Or sometimes, you’re way behind and no matter how hard you push, you can’t get there.

The older I get I’m realizing (as obvious as it is) there is not one thing any of us can do to stop it, to slow it down, or even go back.  Time goes on whether or not you want your kid to grow up, to hit a certain milestone age, to make a song stop playing, or to get the cookies out of the oven before they burn.

There is zero way to stop time in this life, but if there was, I’d read that article for sure. 

Whoop…time to get ready for church so we’re not late.  I got this morning’s prayers all lined up.

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