Warning: Only Vaguely Tangentially Running-Related Post
When more conventional people learn that Jonathan and I work together all day, their unimaginative response is usually something along the lines of, “Ugh. How can you stand spending all that time together? I’d kill my <wife/husband/girlfriend/boyfriend> if I had to see <her/him/it> all day long.”
I find this kind of attitude unfathomable. The fact of the matter is, I love the fact that we are together for the vast majority of the time. For one thing, we don’t need cell phones. That saves at least $60 a month. Plus we really like each other.
Years ago, before I convinced Jonathan to torpedo whatever meager professional prospects he had in favor of going the self-employment route with me, I hated the way we lived. We got up at an unholy hour, fought over the bathroom, ironed things, went on some miserable commute to jobs we didn’t like, worked into the evening, commuted home, wolfed down either a substandard dinner (remember the horrible vomit-in-a-jar product Chicken Tonight, the one with about 8,000 milligrams of sodium per serving? We ate a lot of that) or something that took so long to cook that we were eating at 9:30 PM, spent a few waking hours with each other zoned out in front of the television, then collapsed and did it all over again.
It was terrible. It was, alas, how many, many people live. I couldn’t accept it. Now things are different and better.
Although we’re in the same room for hours a day, we can go for many of those hours not interacting except to request that the other person make tea or see if the cat wants to come in or find out what UPS just dropped on the doorstep.
We go together to the gym for cross-training, although we don’t train together much, except for the pool. I always enjoy the drive there and back together; sometimes we talk a lot and sometimes we don’t talk at all. Today we went on a half hour run. Although once we’re both running normally again, we won’t run together much anymore. Our paces are usually different plus I worry that I’m too distracted a running partner, and I like the alone time. But while it’s a struggle I like having a running compadre.
Are we freaks to enjoy one another’s company to such a great extent? I don’t think so. I think we’re incredibly lucky. One reason is because we get to engage in dialogue like this on a daily basis. I’d be forced to have amusing conversations with myself if we didn’t. Jonathan would probably forget how to speak altogether.
“Your quads are getting really muscular.”
“What? How can you tell? You’re in back of me.”
“I can see them flaring out when you walk.”
“I have bell-bottomed quads.”
“Can you take out chicken thighs to defrost while you’re downstairs?”
“One or two?”
“One or two what?”
“Is a package of chicken for one of us?”
“No. One package is one meal.”
“One person’s meal?”
“No. One meal for both of us! Jesus.”
“That’s a cute sweater. You should wear it more often.”
“Does it make you want to have sex with me?”
Concluding a work-related mater in the evening…
“Okay, that’s all I needed. You can go downstairs and start drinking or whatever you were planning on doing now.”
[Other person takes a sip of original commenter’s beer.]
“Not my beer! I said ‘go’ and drink. Not ‘stay and drink my drink.'”
“I have on my to do list ‘clean out gutters.'”
“Darling, I have just one criterion for when to clean out the gutters. And that is when the leaves have stopped falling.”
“I notice that you often call me ‘darling’ when you’re about to say something stroppy.”
If you’ve met either of us for more than 15 minutes, it’s pretty easy to guess who’s who in these bits of dialogue. Which is why I didn’t bother labeling them.
Obligatory tangential running comment: we ran 3 miles today at a glacial (10:30-11:00) pace. On pavement. I had some adductor and hamstring pain toward the end, but it went away within a half an hour post-run. Jonathan’s foot is in better shape than my pelvis is, so he can run for an hour. I am hoping to be up to an hour, on pavement, about a week from now. But he can feel scar tissue in his foot and thinks he needs to go back to Ortho 1 to get it broken up. Big drag. Y dinero grande.
I felt like crap on the run, but I think that’s owing to eating pizza, PMS and having done weightwork and a significant bike workout yesterday afternoon. I also just feel huge these days — not fat, but muscular. That’s because I am. I still have my stubborn layer of fat, but underneath it is concrete. The concrete is expanding. Nothing fits anymore, not even my sports bras, such is my aggressively spreading girth of musculature. It’s annoying to haul around. I think I should seek work as a bouncer or mob enforcer.