I hate running outside in the -30 degree weather, so I got a membership at the community league in our neighborhood and started swimming in the evenings.  It was a great workout and didn’t require me to wear all of the cold weather gear that I owned.

Then people started asking questions.  “What are you training for?”

My mouth opened and what came out shocked even me.  “Umm…a triathlon.”

Apparently I was ashamed about my desire to wear size 8 pants and completing a triathlon sounded so much better.  Before I knew what was happening, most of my friends and family heard that I was going to compete in a triathlon

I found myself cross training, weight lifting, and completing workouts that involved swimming, biking, AND running.  That’s the thing with words…once they are out there, you can’t get them back.  So I decided to go for it.  After all, how hard could it actually be?  Right?

The big day came in the middle of summer and was sunny and full of promise.  I was grouchy and full of fear.  I braided my hair, donned my Speedo swimsuit and biking/running outfit, and begrudgingly got in the car.

Upon arrival, I encountered hundreds of spandex clad people excitedly jumping around and stretching.  I went directly to the tent to pick up my race package and have a strange man use the biggest sharpie I have ever seen in my life to write my race number, 803, on my calves and arms.

What the heck have I gotten myself into?!

After being branded, we were herded like cattle down to the waterfront where I got news that there were leeches in the lake.  My stomach was already queasy and the toast that I had for breakfast threatened to come up as an unexplainable fear gripped my heart.  I started to look for an escape route, but ducking under the pylons and running at top speed past my husband and best friend would probably be noticed, so I tried to breathe while I waited for the race to start.

Before the swim....oh so nervous!

When the starting gun finally went off, all of the women aged 24 – 29 ran towards the leech infested water like their lives depended on it.  After avoiding being trampled, I jogged cautiously towards the waterfront and dove into the very shallow lake.  The water broiled with body parts and after a near kick to the head and getting a bird’s eye view of a very large armpit, I decided to hold back.  I waited in the ankle deep, leech infested silt for the crazed athletic women to swim by before I started up again.

To my immediate dismay, I couldn’t see a darn thing in the water!  It was like sticking your head into a bowl of chocolate pudding.  Panic set in and I employed the doggie paddle while my mind feverishly worked out a solution.  I started to hear a high-pitched whine and then realized I was the one making the noise.  I was officially hyperventilating and even the doggie paddle was too much.  I didn’t want to be disqualified, so I employed a panic inspired back float.  While looking up into the sky, wondering what the world I was going to do, the heads of two men in a canoe came into my view.

Two Men in a Canoe:  “Miss, are you ok?  Would you like us to help you?”
DL: (awkwardly treading the waist deep water) YES!  But wait!  Does that mean I am disqualified?
Two Men in a Canoe:  Well, yes…but if you’re struggling, perhaps we should take you out.
DL: (tears starting to fill up the goggles) I have worked so hard to get here!!  I have to finish.  I have to keep going.  Can you just row next to me, just to make sure I don’t die?
Two Men in a Canoe: Well…umm, there are a lot more people in the race and we have to watch all of them.  Uhh…we can check on you later though…
DL:  (in a very wobbly voice) Ok….thank you?
Two Men in a Canoe: And by the way, you’re floating off course.  You’re going to want to go that way….

The longest swim of my life ensued.  Battling panic, hyperventilation, and being lapped by a group of men swimmers took every single ounce of energy that I had.  Jon and Nancy were forced to watch a floundering woman use a doggie paddle and back float method to complete a swim that took 6 times longer than it should have.

When I finally emerged victorious from the leech infested, waist deep lake I could barely walk.  There were three canoes with men paddling alongside of me, cheering me on.  It was the most cheerleaders I have ever had for one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.

I hobbled over to the transition area to get ready for the bike.  Most people pull on shorts and get biking.  I plopped to the ground, ate a granola bar, and drank a ton of water.  There was no active recovery happening at this point, just relief that I was still alive.

The very hilly bike ride was surprisingly uneventful.  I made good time and even passed some people.  It felt good to not need any supervision to complete this leg of the race.

I entered the run tired, but the finish line was visible.  I was actually going to live through this adventure!  Much to the surprise of my athletic husband, I took off with a fresh burst of energy.  He was so impressed by my sudden energy that he decided to run alongside of me and interview me on video.  His focus was on me and not the street signs that were on the road.  Suddenly he ran head first into one and went down.  Blood was coming from his temple and the medical team was called.

I just kept running.  I mean, what was I supposed to do?  I had already lost 40 minutes in the swim, I didn’t want to lose more time in the run.  I decided that Jon would understand.

Sore, tired, and somewhat demoralized, but almost done!

He was fine and before I knew it, he was running alongside of me again.

Crossing the finish line was one of the most glorious feelings in the world.  I completed a huge feat and lived.  Sure, there was no one else crossing the finish line with me, but who cares?  I finished.

We enjoyed the rest of the hot summer day and watched the professional tri-athletes complete the course.  None of them used the doggie paddle / back float method to complete the swim.

That evening I used a strong soap to wash the ‘803’ off of my arms and calves.  Within about 30 seconds it became very obvious that I should have applied waterproof sunscreen that morning.  I was VERY burnt.  Did you know that sharpies are a great sunscreen? ‘803” was branded into both of my upper arms and calves.  Due to the way they wrote the numbers it actually looked more like ‘BOB’ than ‘803’.

Sunscreen really is a great invention....

The stiffness in my legs, especially my left leg was intense after the race.  The next morning I could barely walk without screaming in pain.  That wouldn’t have been enough to keep me from work, but I couldn’t even put my left heel on the ground and my calf was the size of a small basketball.

This didn’t seem like normal triathlon wear and tear, so off to the hospital I went.

I hobbled into the ER and waited.  Then I continued to wait 6 hours while random people with very random illnesses came in.  Some even came in with buckets of specimens to show the admitting clerk in an effort to gain quicker access to a doctor.  I just looked away and hoped they would go away.

There was concern that I had a blood clot, so I was sent for an ultrasound.  Have I mentioned that I am ticklish?  Screaming out in painful laughter while an ultrasound tech is shoving an ultrasound wand in your leg joint is apparently frowned upon.  I just couldn’t help it.  It was either laugh or cry, so I opted to laugh and laugh quite loudly.

Due to my big mouth I got crutches and a cast, a torn calf muscle, and a summer of strangers asking me, “Who’s Bob?”.

THIS is not size 8 pants!

Honesty really is the best policy.  Next time someone asks me something, I am going to just tell the truth even if it’s as ridiculous as ‘Size 8 pants”.

The mountains are absolutely gorgeous this time of year, so I was easily convinced to go for a run in them with my friends despite their superior fitness.

Gorgeous town nestled in the foothills.

Halfway through the run, they noticed I was lagging behind.  They slowed down to let me huff and puff my way to them.  At that point I realized, despite the gorgeous view, I had to let them go on without me.

I bravely accepted the key for the condo and headed back the way I came.  My girlfriend let me know the condo was on 6^th and 3^rd.  Ave, Street, Boulevard?  Heck as if I knew or asked for that matter!  So I just kept running…wondering when I needed to turn.

Unfortunately for me, I did not pay attention to the path we took.  I had been enjoying the mountains and river whenever I was able to take full breath in.  After about 20 minutes on the journey back, I found myself on a lonely path with some strange men on it.  My heart jumped into my throat.

To avoid being raped and pillaged while running without a phone, ID, or any sort of defense mechanism; I quickly pulled a switchback.

Now completely lost, the beauty of the mountains mocked me as I ran about wondering where in heavens name I was.  A peppy looking young blonde wandered onto the path, so I asked her for directions.

DL – Hello.  Can you tell me how to get to 6^th and 3^rd?
Peppy Looking Young Blonde – Ummm…no.  I have lived here my whole life, but have no idea where that is.  Is that by the park?
DL – Not too sure.  I am totally lost and just need to get back to the condo before my girlfriends arrive back.  I have the key.
PLYB – I can’t help you.  I don’t know any of the street numbers.

Ok, Canmore is a very small mountain town.  How is it possible that a life long resident wouldn’t know the street numbers of where she lives?

Somewhat frantic at this point, I ran through the trees and into the town only to scare a nice looking couple.  I can only imagine that the frazzled, sweaty, lost DL isn’t a woman you want to encounter on a romantic walk.  They also lived in the town but had no concept of addresses, only landmarks.

I finally used my own navigating skills to get back to the condo using a new route, without the help of any mountain-esque people.  As I turned the corner after my jaunt through most of the town, I saw my girlfriends about 800 meters ahead of me heading down the home stretch to the condo.

Out of breath, tired, and embarrassed, I started to close the gap while they cooled down.  We arrived at nearly the same time.  I was completely worn out while they looked energized and happy.

All I could do was blame the happy, directionally challenged people of the mountains for my tour of the town on my way back to the condo while gasping for air.

Now I know; if you can’t keep up…maybe you shouldn’t go in the first place.  No matter how fantastic the view is!

I immediately fell in love with the feel of hitting a ball 200 yards.  It’s a cheap form of aggression management.  For nine bucks, you get 100 balls to hit into oblivion and no one gets hurt. 

During my third session of nine-dollar aggression management, I hit a ball and made sure to follow through with gusto.  I was trying to get the ball past all the distance markers and be a superstar golfer.  At the end of the swing, I felt all the vertebrae in my back and heard even single one of them as they popped back into place.  For about 2 seconds my body froze into a statue of a golfing woman. 

I kept golfing, despite the large twinges in my back.  After all, I had around 62 more balls to hit as hard as womanly possible.

Then I went back the next day.

Now I can’t do a darn thing and it’s been almost two weeks.

Until you hurt your back, you have no idea how much you use your back in the day.  All I want to do is put my own socks on, be able to sit for more than 45 seconds, and do more than look at things that are on the floor.

I have been relegated to wearing ‘sensible shoes’, which actually means boring.  At work I have been wearing my sports sandals with my suits and dresses.  Even the men have noticed how ridiculous this looks.  I bring along a pair of heels to put on in the boardroom in case a client drops by, but I can’t walk in them without screaming out in pain.  I have come to realize that I don’t have any stylish flat shoes, only fabulous heels.

Today while resting my angry back and trying to avoid emotional eating, I put on my favorite pair of heels.  Just wearing them for a bit made me feel better.  I still can’t put my own socks on, but at least I have some great shoes!

Jeffrey Campbell – you sure know how to make a girl happy! 

A good morning involves strolling out onto a deck in Hawaii with a cappuccino in hand or waking up with the sun streaming down on your face as a gentle breeze wafts through your window while the birds serenade you.

A bad morning involves parking at the YMCA, grabbing your workout gear, locking the door to your car and hopping out quickly, only to realize that your car is rolling backwards towards a BMW.  Not only if it is moving without you in it, its picking up speed at a frightening rate.

At this point in the bad morning, a complete awakening happens.  All of the synapses are firing at once and words you wouldn’t want to repeat start flowing out of your mouth.

I threw down my workout gear and tried to open the car door to no avail.  Somehow I noticed that the back door of the car was unlocked, so I thought about getting in the back and trying to stop the car from there.  Luckily, I realized my lack of solid reasoning before committing to that plan.

I grabbed my purse and dug for my keys while chasing the car down.  The car was moving very quickly at this point.  I hucked my purse down, contents flying everywhere, and unlocked the car door.  I was able to grab the e-brake and bring the car to a stop before my car had an unfortunate meeting with the BMW.

I stuck the keys in and quickly drove it back into the stall it rolled out of so the three cars queued up to park could go by.  With shame and legs that could barely hold me upright, I meekly gathered the contents of my purse strewn about the YMCA parking lot.

Suddenly I was more awake than if I had drank 8 espressos in a row.  It’s not a good way to start the morning, but it’s a sure fire way to wake up in a hurry!

I wear clearance shoes from Winners.

I purchased a great pair of classic black high heels for work from Winners, Anne Klein nonetheless. I loved them and wore them about 3 times a week since they went with everything. One day I noticed that the heel of the shoe was a bit wobbly, but thought nothing of it and continued on my way. A week or so later as I was getting off the elevator at work my right leg seemed quite a bit shorter than my left leg all of the sudden. I thought my heel got stuck in the crack between the elevator and the floor and continued on. Unfortunately, my right leg remained shorter, and then I realized that my shoe broke and the heel was taking a joy ride up and down in the elevator without me.

Do you have any idea how many times you have to push the ‘up’ button before the right elevator comes back? It seemed odd to all the people riding the elevators as well. I kept pushing the ‘up’ button and waiting for an elevator. Then when one arrived, I didn’t want to take it. Many nice people work in my building and they kept holding the elevator doors open for me. After explaining my situation to one of the many nice people, I realized the explanation was weirder than my not riding the elevator, so I kept silent.

Finally, the elevator that was taking part of my shoe on a joy ride arrived. I hobbled in, grabbed my heel. While trying to make a quick retreat, I ran smack into someone trying to use the elevator. I didn’t look up, I just kept going. Looking back, I should have just rode the elevator back to my office, but I was in panic mode. What was I going to do??! Then I remembered…there is a shoe repair place across the street!! In order to keep people from noticing the missing heel, I tip toed on the foot that was missing a heel. If you looked at me, it was an optical illusion – one shoe with a heel, one without! So instead of looking lopsided, I looked like I had a severe limp….you win some and you lose some….

The shoe repair guy fixed them up so they were good as new…until I was running across a busy downtown intersection in the middle of winter to make a light. At first, I thought I stepped in a hole in the street, but then I realized that there probably aren’t 4 holes in a row exactly where I am running and only on my right side. I stopped, quickly looked at my shoe and noticed I was missing quite a bit of it! That heel had fallen off once again! I turned, ran back for the heel, nearly got smooshed by a large delivery truck turning left and ended up in the intersection holding part of my shoe just as the light turned red. Just so you know, there are better ways to stop traffic!

If I weren’t a fate tempter, I would have trashed the shoes the first time they broke, but I got them cobbled together and went on wearing them as though nothing were wrong.

Aren’t we all glad that I don’t participate in death defying activities? It would just be too epic for everyone involved!! But be warned, I have been known to stir my blender while it’s blending…

*Note: I still thoroughly enjoy Winners and hold no ill regard for them…Anne Klein on the other hand, she’s got a thing or two coming from me!

Since I live in the arctic, there is ice everywhere which results in very dangerous running conditions at times – especially up and down hills! Due to the icy conditions of yesterday, our coach planned a workout that involved over 1,000 stairs, after all, the stairs weren’t icy…I managed all the stairs, and felt the very bottom of my lungs for the first time ever in my life. There was also an odd wheezing noise that came out whenever I would reach the top of the Hotel MacDonald stairs.

I usually hate doing the core exercises, but after that work out I was happy to do any exercise that involved lying on the floor! As we were finishing up with the plank, I saw Jon poke his beaming face into the room. He came to pick me up with tickets to go see Stephen and Avi Lewis at the Shaw Conference Centre – which started in 15 minutes! I quickly changed back into my work clothes and off we went to the Shaw. I was exhausted after running up and down the Hotel MacDonald stairs 3 times and the Crowne plaza stairs 5 times, but it isn’t very often that you get to see Stephen and Avi Lewis and ask them any question you want! So off we went in a hurry.

The event started at 7:00 and we didn’t leave the Riverdale Community league until 6:55, so we were obviously quite late. Once we got into the Shaw we started quickly down the escalators. The second set of escalators is ridiculously long and on my decent I somehow tripped and went flying forward and ended up sliding head first, face down on the supremely long escalator – my laptop bag leading the way. Jon noticed that I was no longer standing beside him and grabbed my ankle so I stopping sliding towards certain death. All I could think about was my hair getting sucked down the side of the escalator and ending up at the bottom of the Shaw Conference Centre with the stairs hitting me in the face. At that moment, I recalled a frightening story my grandma had told me about a little boy getting his foot sucked down the side of an escalator while she watched in horror. I sure didn’t want my whole body sucked down the side of the escalator, so I rolled awkwardly toward the middle, still going down head first. I was so tired and frightened that I all I could do was meekly say, “Help, help, help…”

Jon came to my rescue, he jumped over my body that was strewn over most of the escalator and hefted me right side up. He saved me riding the rest of the way down head first and arriving at the bottom like a beached whale in front of important people wearing nice suits. I ripped holes in my best pair of pants and have huge scrapes from the stairs up the whole right side of my body. I look like a red and cream zebra. The worst part is my shins – who knew an escalator could cause so much bruising and such deep cuts?

Once I could breathe normally and realized that I was going to live, I was just glad that we were late. If we had been on time, who knows what tragic thing would have happened? Are you familiar with the domino theory? After all of this, we continued on to the event, ripped pants and all. I am sure I looked quite disheveled. I managed to run up and down 1,000 stairs without tripping, apparently that 1,001st stair is a doozey.

A man came up with the idea of skiing – I am absolutely sure of it. I don’t know many women that would decide to strap long boards to your feet, climb thousands of feet up a sheer mountainside and then slide down as fast as possible while trying to avoid trees, cliffs and other natural speed bumps with only two thin poles to assist you in not dying. I know that many women enjoy this sport – but I don’t think that I am one of them.

A few years ago, my husband and I went on a ski trip with his University to Kicking Horse Resort in Golden, BC to celebrate New Years. It was a last minute addition to our holidays, but it was FREE! I love free things, so I agreed after a few moments of contemplation. Then I promptly went out and purchased snow pants, gloves, ski socks, and a few other cold weather necessities since I start to freeze whenever the temperature drops below -8 Celsius. I realized that I would be spending some quality time face to face with immense amounts of snow, so I decided to be prepared! Any excuse to shop really.

Jon and I heard that snow blades are the way to go – so we each rented a pair on the mountain and strapped them on. Once we were ready to start skiing I immediately had to go to the washroom. I started the hike across the lodge in my ski boots. When you rent your skis for the first time, you should have to participate in a class called, “Walking in You Boots Without Making a Fool of Yourself”. You have absolutely no mobility from your big toe to your mid calf.  It’s extremely difficult to not look ridiculous while walking. I clomped awkwardly and very loudly across the lodge and nearly tumbled down the stairs about three times before I reached the bottom.

Finally Jon and I started skiing…or I thought we did. We started down a hill of about a five-degree incline close to the ski lift. I started to scream and panic. Jon started to sigh. We saw a ski class in action 30 feet up the small slope so I laboriously side stepped close enough to covertly eavesdrop until it became obvious that I was doing everything they were doing only 10 feet behind them. The ski instructor gave me a nasty glare, so I decided it was best to move on.

After a few more times down my ‘practice hill’, we started up the ski lift. Why don’t people explain things to you? Do I look like a woman that knows what she is doing? The ski lift has a safety bar that you are supposed to pull down so that you don’t fall off the lift. How are you supposed to know about this blessed safety feature if no one tells you? Jon and I traveled thousands of feet up the side of a mountain and hung hundreds of feet above the earth wearing slippery pants without the safety bar in place. I clung onto the side rail for dear life and tried not to lose my poles or blades. I even made a comment about how a safety bar would make the ride up the mountain way less stressful. The worst part was when the lift would stop and start to rock back and forth – it felt like we were a mere quick stop away from learning how to ‘heli-ski’, and I definitely didn’t want to learn that on my first real skiing adventure. The last time I ‘skied’ was when I was 14 years old with my youth group at Crystal Mountain. I stuck to the bunny hill and the rope tow. I eventually got up enough nerve to try a hill at the end of the day, but ended up using my skis like a sled and slid down the hill on my butt. Looking back now, I realize that day can’t actually be classified as skiing. Everyone who heard this was my first day of skiing grimaced, shook their heads, and told me that Kicking Horse is an expert mountain.  Then each and everyone one of them wished me luck. Thanks. If there is one thing I am not, it’s an expert at skiing.

Once we managed not to slip off the lift and arrived at the top of the Catamount lift I had a small scale panic attack. I suddenly realized that I had to go down the hill on the boards I had happily strapped to my feet just an hour earlier. I desperately wanted Jon and I to have a happy couple experience, so I tried to smile and to ski across the hill. It took me about 15 minutes of skiing back and forth while trying to keep the panic at bay to make about 300 feet of progress. Jon, my husband from Saskatchewan (the flattest Province in Canada), patiently coached his stricken wife from Washington (a mountainous region in America) on the finer points of how to ski without sliding face first down the mountain. We continued our slow, very painful progress until we reached a part of the run that had a cliff off the left side and a rock wall on the right side with a steep incline. I started to slide quickly towards the cliff, so I desperately turned towards the rock face and went completely out of control. I bailed, went face first into the snow, and nearly ran into the rock with my face. Both of my ski blades flew off and I and started to shake uncontrollably from overwhelming fear.  I then broke down into hysterical sobbing. People we knew skied by and waved happily. Jon and I averted our faces.

My husband convinced me that it was best to keep skiing and that we couldn’t stay at that location indefinitely…no matter how warm my snow pants were. I think what really got me to move was the snowboarders that kept jumping off the cliff above me and landing just inches away from me. There was no safe place on the stupid mountain! After what felt like an eternity, we finally reached a point where we could see the lodge and only had a thousand or so feet to go. Earlier on the mountain I had thought this moment would be a happy one, but unfortunately for me it was a steep section of the mountain and there was nowhere to go but down. I completely lost it.  Tears of terror ran down my face and I started to sob uncontrollably. I decided the best course of action was to take off my skis and slide down the last thousand feet on my butt right underneath the chair lift. After wrapping myself around one of the posts holding up the ski lift, I took off my skis and started to slide down the hill in my slippery pants. Skiers and snowboarders stopped to watch what the crazy, sobbing woman was doing. Fortunately, once again, Jon convinced me to put the skis back on for safety reasons. When I reached the bottom of the hill after 2 hours of painstaking work that would normally take about 30 minutes for an average skier, I just sat there and cried with relief. Jon just sat there bewildered.

We took a lunch break and worked on getting me to be able to breathe normally. Skiers are such friendly people! Normally I would have loved talking to the people that were there from all over the world. One woman asked how the skiing was and I couldn’t help it, I started to cry. She seemed to think that my boots were hurting my feet. I let her think that, it was less shameful than tell her that I was scared to death of the mountain. I decided it was best not to talk to anyone since I couldn’t do it without crying. I just kept my eyes on the ground and tried to overcome my fear.

After another hour or so, I decided to try skiing down the mountain again. After all, I’m not a quitter! This time was better, I didn’t cry (even though I really wanted to), but I still couldn’t stop without falling over. Once again, I guess I need the basics explained to me. Heck as if I know which ski is the downhill ski!! Apparently I had it mixed up which would explain the inability to stop. If you put all your weight on the downhill ski stopping is not an option, you just keep heading down the mountain! How was I supposed to know which ski was the downhill ski? This sporting stuff just does not come naturally to me.

I didn’t want Jon to have a horrible ski experience with me, so I went up a third time. I even remembered to breathe and use the safety bar on the lift. We had an hour to get down the mountain. I thought that this was a reasonable amount of time since the previous time was done in less than 2 hours. Due to my mini panic attacks and falling over it took longer than expected and our departure time was looming. There was a distinct chance that we would miss our bus taking us the 15 kilometers down the mountain back to our hotel. After such an epic day of skiing, the last thing I wanted to do was miss the bus ride to the hotel. We absolutely had to hurry and there was no choice but for me to go as fast as womanly possible down the steep part of the mountain. I nearly took out 3 small children and a snowboarder in my uncontrolled screaming descent down the hill. The screaming notified the more advanced skiers of my arrival and they promptly got out of the way. When I arrived at the bottom of the hill I enthusiastically ripped off my skis and happily gave them back to the rental shop. We caught the bus just as it was ready to leave. I sunk into my seat, glad that I hadn’t died during my first day of real skiing.

Let’s be honest, skiing just isn’t for me.

If these things happen to you, skiing may not the sport for you either:

• You break out into a cold sweat when you start to slide down a miniscule incline that isn’t even part of the actual mountain.
• You ask the ski lift operator at the bottom of the hill if you can take the lift back down if you are too afraid to ski down.
• When someone asks you how your day of skiing is going, you break down sobbing and are unable to form proper sentences.
• Your skiing partner who is as inexperienced as you starts to ski backwards, encouraging you to move towards him down the hill.
• It takes you 5 times longer than the average skier to get down the mountain.
• You find yourself sitting in a snowdrift, praying for the end of the world to come so that you don’t have to finish going down the mountain.
• And finally, the day after skiing the sorest parts of your body are your hands from your death grip on the ski poles.

Just yesterday I had a job interview and was really nervous about the whole event and feeling quite nauseated. I decided to email my husband about it so that he could commiserate with me. In the email I stated that I was so nervous that I that I want to “bark”. I obviously meant to type, “barf”, but “bark” just came out. Can you imagine if I actually barked when I was nervous?!

Frightened Stranger on the Street – “Um…excuse me sir, is…is that woman barking over there?”
My Husband – “Uh, yeah…appears so…”
Frightened Stranger on the Street – “Do you think she’s ok? Perhaps we should call Alberta Hospital and see if anyone has escaped lately. That would be the responsible citizen thing to do, don’t you think?”
My Husband – “Nah, she’s just nervous – she always wants to bark when she gets nervous – it just happens sometimes.”
Frightened Stranger on the Street (backing away slowly) – “I see….”

Another time I was telling my mom about all the things that I was doing and how I couldn’t seem to keep up with the madness in my life. So I announced to her in email, “I am just so busty!!” Obviously, I meant to tell her that I was busy, not make a statement about my bustline. She just told me to get over myself!

Well at least they are humourous and keep people laughing….

In Edmonton there is a wonderful part of the city called Whyte Avenue. Whyte Ave is full of unique shops, interesting homes and great one-of-a-kind places to eat – it’s the epitome of urban living. One winter evening I met a bunch of girls at one of the coffee shops on Whyte to talk about life, marriage and why all women intrinsically need chocolate every day of their life…you know, the important things in life! My husband, Jon, was a student at that time and dropped me off at the coffee shop and went on to Chapters to do some studying while I contemplated the great mysteries of womanity* with my girlfriends. I felt inspired and uplifted as I walked through the snow towards Chapters to find my husband – I felt as though the world was at my fingertips and any problem was not too great for me to conquer! The urban setting, gentling falling snow and people out shopping were extremely picturesque and I just felt happy all over.

I arrived at Chapters and saw my husband in his red winter coat and trendy haircut through the large picture windows. He was leafing through the magazine section, and love for him filled my heart and overflowed onto the sidewalk – I was puddling everywhere. I decided that it would be romantic for me to sneak up and surprise him with a cute little ‘boo!’. So I stealthily snuck into the store, slipping behind magazine racks and other customers. I was so happy that small giggles were escaping from me and people were starting to look my way to see what was so funny. I resolved to control my giddiness and purposely snuck up close to Jon, turned to scare him, only to realize that it wasn’t my husband! Thank goodness I realized that before I scared some strange man to death! My giddiness quickly died and embarrassment known only to me, filled my cheeks and painted them a bright red. I quickly tried to appear as though there was some magazine right in front of my husband’s twin that I desperately needed to read. I think it was a Harley Davidson magazine…at that point, it was the most interesting thing I had ever seen in my whole life and I was officially a biker chick as of that moment!

After desperately trying to appear normal, I calmly replaced the magazine and walked to find my husband. The amount of relief that filled me after not making a fool out of myself was indescribable. I found Jon upstairs in the finance section reading some horrifically boring book about RRSPs or something equally as mind numbing to me. I decided to not mention the near deathly embarrassing event to my husband, there was no need for him to know how ridiculous I am. Some days, I enjoy keeping up the appearance of being normal and fitting into society.

I finally peeled him away from the very dry finance section after mumbling a few “uh huh…”, “sounds intriguing” and “mmm…” types of things to his ecstatic musings on the current financial book in hand. We walked hand in hand to the escalator and smiled…as romantic as this seems, I was only holding his hand so that there wouldn’t be a quick retreat back to the finance section!

Upon our arrival downstairs, we were immediately distracted by the discount books – Jon and I quickly went our separate ways. I browsed each book, got new ideas that I could do at home without purchasing another $4.97 book and felt inspired. I looked up and didn’t see my husband anywhere in sight. I sighed, realizing that the pull of the finance section must have gotten to him. I ran upstairs to peel him away once again, but he was nowhere in sight. I glanced over the railing and saw him in the magazine section. Sighing at my misunderstanding of my husband, I ran downstairs to see if he was ready to go home.

Seeing him reading the magazines, the earlier giddiness I felt in my heart overwhelmed me and I decided to do something completely silly. Jon is an athlete, and I have gone to many of his ball hockey games. When someone scores a goal or does something good they give each other a slap on the bum. All the men seem to really enjoy this…it must be some sort of male bonding ritual. Anyway, I personally had never given a slap on the bum to someone else and decided that today was the day. After all, he seemed to really like it in hockey, so why not at Chapters? I felt somewhat nervous to put my plan into action, but my giddiness overwhelmed me, so I went ahead full steam. I slid up beside Jon, looking straight ahead so not to burst into hysterical giggles, reached out, grabbed his bum and asked, “Want to go home?” I looked at him to see his answer, only to find that I had inadvertently grabbed the strange, looks-like-Jon-but-not-Jon, man’s bum. He was shocked and backed away quickly and answered fearfully, “Uh…not with you!” The poor man’s wife was looking at me with a shocked and somewhat angry expression. I turned away in complete humiliation to see my Jon bent over with hysteria, laughing on the other side of me. Not only did I grab some other man’s bum and proposition him – I did it in front of my husband!

Terror and shame overtook my person. I was so embarrassed that I was unable to talk in a normal voice. I started to scream my rationalization for physically assaulting some strange man in Chapters. “OH MY GRACIOUS!! I AM SO SORRY!!! YOU LOOK JUST LIKE MY HUSBAND! SEE??? HE’S RIGHT THERE, YOU HAVE THE SAME COAT AND HAIR – LOOK!! OH MY, OH MY!!” I frantically looked around for escape, only to notice that the whole store had become strangely silent and everyone was staring at me. Before I knew what was happening, I was sprinting out of the store and running as quickly as womanly possible into the harsh -20 degree winter, only to realize I had no idea where the car was! But I couldn’t stop running, the fear and shame of the situation was chasing me down the street…as was my husband! We were both gasping for breath – him due to the uncontrollable laughter and me due to being out of shape.

At this point, I think that God was laughing even harder than Jon. He must have known that a great part was coming up in my life, popped some popcorn and invited some friends over for the comedy viewing that Thursday evening. Life is meant to be enjoyed and to be lived with full gusto. How often do we fail to laugh at ourselves and enjoy the ridiculous chaos that happens to us? Sometimes it’s all I can do to thank God for my funniness and silliness, otherwise life would be too dull to keep going!

*Womanity – The complexities of the woman condition, which increases 10 fold by families, bad jobs and trying to communicate with men.