Confessions of a Gym Rat

I am a gym rat. Always have been, always will be. I get asked all of the time how I can do it, how I can get up at 5 a.m. for boot camp, how I can train and complete a marathon, how I can find the time to do it, and what motivates me. To be quite honest, I really don’t know what motivates me exactly. I like being fit. I like being able to wear cute clothes. I like setting the bar a little higher just to see if I can do it. I like having a lot of energy. But mostly I think I’m addicted to endorphins and cute clothes, though. Hey, I’m being honest. Oh, and there’s the food thing. You can't like eating like I do and be a size 4. Gotta burn off that roasted duck and Crème Brulee somehow.

Also, I have an analytical job that requires me to be still. Sometimes I can’t shut my brain off after work. Hitting the gym allows me to find that off switch a little easier. And then I can find a place in my brain to do my passion which is writing. See, it all blends together perfectly.

When I was in secondary school I participated in every sport I could: volleyball, track, cross country, and basketball. During the summers I was on the softball team, played tennis, and swam. In college I didn’t get to participate on any teams mainly because I was already a mom and a military wife with a lot of volunteer duties. That in and of itself was a workout, but I still was able to go to the gym and swim. Plus our family hiked and canoed. My kids could tell a few horror stories about THAT, canoe trips where we got lost in bayous in Louisiana, hiking trips through rivers and boulders. Those are stories for another blog post, however. . . .or maybe for them to tell there therapists.

I loved going to the gym on military bases. I’d work out in the weight room with all of the young recruits. A lot of times I’d be the only woman in there and my son would call me a buff chick. His respect for me was major motivation. There’s a respect in the weight room, too. Everybody watches everyone and there is a healthy competition for form and reps, but a silent respect for each other that we are up and making something happen. No excuses! Of course, I never had to wait for the weights I wanted. They were pumping 50 pounders while I was doing the 15s, but hey, I’m a girl. It’s what I can do.

Then there was the time my husband and I decided to hike the Oregon section of the Pacific Coast Trail. Now remember, I was the girl in the weight room with the 15 pound weights, okay. Well, my pack was 50 pounds. I was throwing up by the end of the first day, had bruised toes by the end of the second day, and ended up leaving the trail on day 5 missing 7 toenails and my dignity. Guess I should have trained with a 50 pound pack, or smacked my husband for thinking we should have equally balanced packs. God, he is 180 pounds, I’m 130 pounds. At least he could have rationed them out accordingly. My toenails grew back and they are painted pink right now mainly because they are still bruised from my last race. Toenails are for sissies.

Once I became an empty nester, though, my gym rat persona came back big time. I have a lot more free time to fill however I want. I have friends who are marathoners and tri-athletes. We spend time talking about the best running shoes, where the next races are, how many miles we put in this week, and where the cutest workout clothes are (try Lucy’s in Bridgeport!). It’s awesome to have that connection with these amazing women! Who knew that being a gym rat was a girly thing to do?

We call it pounding pavement. The rhythm of my pace, the sounds of my breaths and the music in my iPod are exhilarating. Plus I live in a beautiful, BEAUTIFUL place. I come up over hills and can see Mt Jefferson in his entire splendor, come around the bend upon deer feeding in McDonald forest, or meet another person with some cute puppy dogs. It’s all fodder for writing later, and it is all motivation to keep going. Who knows what’s around the next bend or over the next hill. I so gotta know.

You know, I may actually do it for the race t-shirts, the carb loading, and the cheesy medals.

NAH . . . it’s for the cute clothes. I’m such a girl.

My Life on Facebook

Okay, I guess I need to write about Facebook. It’s a part of my life. I’m not addicted, but I’m really enjoying connecting with so many people. I’m closing in on 400 FB friends and I so enjoy chatting with them all. I’ve reconnected with people I’ve lost touch with after high school and college, I work through FB with my writing friends and my church friends, find out about blues events which I love, as well as things going on at Oregon State University. . . And the best part is that I’ve made new friends through FB. One of my FB friends called it “the new front porch” and I think that describes FB well. I can sit on my back porch and visit with anyone one around the world while they sit on their porch. We may not be able to share lemonade, but we can share ideas, pictures, jabs and encourgement just the same. And I love it!


I’ve read that if FB were a country, it would the 4th largest country in the world. I believe it. People need people. (crap, I’m channeling Barbara Streisand.) We need to invest in each other and have that investment back. People I would have never met are now good friends. I’m having conversations with people I’ve lost contact with for 30 years as if we just saw each other yesterday.. . .except now they are grandparents. Funny, they sound the same as the day we graduated.
Wonder if I do?


Anyway, there are many people in my life that think FB is a waste of time. I so disagree. I have FB friends from every generation, political and religious viewpoint, from so many walks of life and backgrounds, plus the groups!!! I’m part of a FB writing group not to mention that my church is on FB 100%. I would have to say that FB has been a blessing to me. I mean, really, how can one say no to new groups, new friends, and new connections with old friends? We may only chat and message through FB, but we have a connection and encourage each other. How can that be bad?


And, I know I’m preaching to the choir. If you are reading this then it is most likely through FB notes and not my blog. But I’m thinking we all need to spread the word. Connect, dammit! Connect with those lost friends, with those friends you don’t know exist yet. Just connect and invest, dammit.


Um, sorry for the swear words Pastor James. I’ll put extra in the collection plate this Sunday.

Turning 50

Today is my birthday. I am 50. There’s been a lot of teasing lately about mid-life crisis. I’m sure buying a new red Mustang convertible had something to do with that. My life has changed a lot in the last few years. I went from being a soccer mom, to an empty-nester in a blink of an eye. The goal of parenting is to work yourself out of a job. And I did that. It was hard at first, but I love the change and the freedom it has given me. My children are my friends, now. And what’s really weird is people actually know my name. I used to be Jessica’s mom, or Daniel’s mom. Now I’m just Linda. Sweet!

Another change is at work. It used to be work was way down on the list of important things. It was what I did so that I could send my kids to college. But now it is something I do that really fulfills me. Who knew work could be personally rewarding. I love crunching numbers with the most awesome team of accountants and analysts. Many of them have become friends, too.

The most important change, though, is that I don’t feel like I’m hiding anymore. I don’t know why I felt I had to hide, or apologize for everything, but I feel so much more secure in who I am. I still have a heart, but I know longer wear it on my sleeve. I’ve learned to say no to things I don’t want to do. Negative people I keep at an arms length now when before I would kowtow to them. Guess what? It didn’t make them less negative, only more. Joy is something that just happens to me everyday. A dear friend asked me today what I see when I look in the mirror. I answered “I see happy” and I am.

There is no mid-crisis in turning 50 for me. It’s all mid-life CLARITY!!! I feel like singing “I can see clearly now the rain is gone.”

And since the rain is gone, I’m gonna go hop in my new red convertible Mustang and go shopping.

Homeless Man

He used to be a strapping young man
with dreams and plans for the future
dreams of being a test pilot or a football star
like every other young adult
now decades later he sits on the corner
of the busy parking lot
wearing regurgitated clothing
looking like he himself is the result of
having been spit out of life’s mouth the way
a tobacco user spews his chew
next to him is a big dirty blonde dog
his head lies on the man’s thigh
thankful to have a companion
oblivious to his predicament
the man’s grimy hand rests on the dog’s shoulder
as if reassuring him they will have a meal today
they don’t let dogs into the shelter at night
he’d rather have his best friend than a warm bed
a hot meal and a shower
their bond made stronger by the struggle

Closed doors ~ Open windows

I had a change in my life last spring that caused me some pain. A friendship ended and it hurt at first. I felt lonely, disappointed and confused. As the weeks went by I started noticing how I had changed to fit into this friend’s world. To be honest, I didn’t even realize I had done that. Sometimes we need a shake up in our lives to sort out the good from the bad, the things we should keep and the things we need to get rid of fast!


Time has a way of healing hurts. And, as the saying goes, when God closes a door, he opens a window. Well, I’m here to report to you that I’m so glad that door closed even though it hurt at the time. God has not only opened up windows for me, but doors and the sunroof and my heart. I have been blessed with many new friendships in that past several months. These are people that would not have fit into my friend’s world and I would have missed them. I’ve reconnected with many of my high school friends which has been a major blessing (love you guys). I’ve found a circle of marathon friends that encourage me (you all rock). I’m part of a church planting team that has been another major blessing to me (yippee). The break upinspired me to start investing in my writing more and that has opened many doors for me along with many new friendships - What passionate people. None of these things would have happened if that friendship had survived.


Is it weird to want to thank someone for dumping you?

I love weeds!

I was in the garden today trying to pull weeds. I used every ounce of strength in my hands and had to resort to tools to get those suckers out roots and all. They were tenacious, willing to live and to fight me with every capillary they had. But, then I went to dead head my geraniums. Those wimps were ready to come up roots and with the slightest pull. WHY? Why do we insist on calling pretty yellow dandelions weeds and why aren’t they acceptable? And why are geraniums considered a pretty flower when they require so much work to keep them blooming? Dandelions LOVE blooming. I like that about them. They are happy and yellow and want to thrive. What’s not to like?

Then it made me start thinking about people. Are some people considered weeds? Are some people treasured more, the flowers in our world? I think some of the people our society treasures require a whole lot more than some of the weeds in our society. And who actually contributes to our community? I mean really? Not to dis anyone, but what does Paris Hilton contribute besides economically by shopping compared to the laborer who works 12 hour days tending a field?

The other day I was asked by a homeless woman for bus change. I hate change. My first response was that I didn’t have any change because I normally don’t really have any on me.. . .I dump it in the console of my car, but then I remembered - recently I had gathered up all of the change in my car and put it in a little wallet. I figured I’d use it for coffee money or something, but I wanted it all in one place so it wasn’t in my way anymore. Change just gets in the way, doesn’t it? The little wallet was sitting on my front seat when this lady approached me. I picked up the wallet and handed to her. There was enough money in there for bus fare, several days worth of coffee and a scone or two, and I’m sure a few meals at the local McDonalds. I dump all of my change for the last 2 months in my console. The wallet was worth even more than its contents, though, but I’m sure she didn’t care about that. I didn’t care at the time about that either. I cared more about this woman. The look on her face when I handed her the wallet was the best thing ever. Talk about a connection, I think that was one that made my week.

This woman would probably be considered a weed. She isn’t a Paris kind of person. . . the type of people our society considers a flower not that there is anything wrong with Paris. There was no glamour in this woman, no little dog in her bag (she didn’t have a bag) and I’m pretty sure her clothes didn’t have any names on the labels unless they were written in laundry marker. There was nothing in this woman except a simple request person to person. I liked her. She said she liked my car. I’m glad she took the wallet full of change I gave her, and I’m glad God made me pick it all up and put it in the wallet the days just before. It felt like it was one of those “meant to be” moments.

I don’t know where this woman went on the bus, but I sure hope that whoever tends the garden she lives in never tries to dig her up. I think she will bloom no matter what, and I like that in a person.

I'm still a Kansas girl!

Being a Kansan, I hear "You're not in Kansas anymore" all of the time. Other responses I get when I say I’m from Kansas are “Do you know Dorothy?” or “Hey, my uncle lives in Tonganoxie. Do you know him?” or “God, how on earth did you end up in Oregon.”

I know better than to say I’m grew up in Leavenworth. OMG – the comments then get really old. “What were you in for?” “Do you like life outside the wall?” “Oh, so you know how to make license plates.” Yeah, yeah, yeah. . . try to think up something new, folks.


But today I got a box in the mail. I didn’t order anything, then I saw it was from a gift shop in Leavenworth. So I ripped it open knowing it had to be something delicious and fabulous from my mom. She has a great sense of humor and she has great tastes. Mix those two together, and it means wonderful surprises! I love my mom.


Box is open and I saw the back of what I knew was a door mat. I squealed with delight. I knew whatever it was on the front was going to be something else. . .and I was right. But first I read the note. It said:


Linda, Right after I read your comment that you felt like a true “Oregonian” when walking in the rain without an umbrella, I saw this door mat and thought of you – so bought it. Consider it an “unbirthday” gift.

Be sure to read the note on the back. It is funny!! Love, Mom.



I then looked at the front of the door mat and it read “You are not in Kansas anymore”. And it is printed on a yellow brick pattern. So CUTE!


Okay, first lets go back to the note. If anyone else would have said to me “I saw this door mat and thought of you” I would most likely not be excited. To be equated to a door mat does not fit my persona, well, I sure hope it doesn’t. But being that it was said from my mom, I knew it was going to be something special. Mom, you can equate door mats with your favorite youngest child anytime.


Okay, are you ready for the note on the back of the mat? Here it is:


Do not use mat as a projectile. Sudden acceleration to dangerous speeds may cause injury. When using mat, follow directions: Put your right foot in, put your right foot out, put your right foot in and shake it all about. This mat is not designed to sustain gross weight exceeding 12,000 lbs. If mat begins to smoke, immediately seek shelter and cover head. Caution: If coffee spills on mat, assume that it is very hot. This mat is not intended to be used as a placemat. Small food particles trapped in fibers may attract rodents and other vermin. Do not glue mat to porous surfaces, such as pregnant women, pets and heavy machinery. When not in use, mat should be kept out of reach of children diagnosed with CFED (compulsive fiber eating disorder) Do not taunt mat. Failure to comply relieves the makers of this doormat of any and all liability.


I loved this. How perfect for today’s society of senseless lawsuits. This company understands that nonsense, but yet still had to do a disclaimer. They did it perfectly. “assume the coffee is hot” Really? Coffee is hot? Who knew?


Anyway, it is a lovely gift, not just the mat, but being thought of in such a special way, and then the gift of laughter. No one can give a better gift than love and laughter.


Now excuse me while I go wipe my feet just like my mom taught me.

THANKS, MOM! I love it!!!