6:10 am. 70° F. Humidity: 100%. Thick. A mood dampener.
After an unexpected, unexplainable and unacceptable two-pound jump last week, Gadget Man replaced the seven-year old bathroom scale. I don’t need to wait three seconds of interminable flashing to see my test scores. If you aren’t getting results, replace the equipment. Pull the band-aid off and hit me.
The new scale is sweet. I step on the scale and it snaps to attention. No waiting, no flashing, no bad scores. This morning, this incredible technology signalled that I was a mere one pound higher than the challenge target, with another month to go. Now we’re talking.
Yet, what a miserable journey this has been. Rationing ice cream. Mouth salivating for pasta. A 3-cookie daily portion limit. People, this is not living. And the real question is whether this is sustainable.
This morning, I’m determined to drive this weight down. Way down below target to give me cushion. In one run.
My head is saying: 10 miles.
My body: Groaning.
Susan and Zeke (dog) are sitting on the porch as I hook up my GPS. I look up. “Let’s go Zeke.” Expensive-Hungarian-bird-hunting-dog-acquired-to-run-with-Head-of-Household scurries behind his keeper. Tail between his legs. “No way. No way I’m going with him.” You are likely tired about hearing that Zeke won’t run. I can assure you – your level of fatigue doesn’t approach my level of agitation. So we repeat. And I’m confident, we will repeat.
I mumble something undecipherable under my breath as I walk out to the road. Susan wishes me a good run. I stare at Zeke. Could he be smiling? Do Dogs smile?
I’m two miles out. I’ve been fiddling with my new Gadget most of the way. Wireless and cordless ear buds. Amazing technology. One small problem. They won’t stay in my ears. A slight head turn left or right and they begin to slide down the ear canal. Maddening. Run 100 feet. Slide. Hand goes up to tuck the ear bud back in. Run another 100 feet. It slides. Hand-up to tuck. 100 more feet. Right hand-up. 100 feet. Left hand-up. Legs chopping up and down. Arms up and down. ESPN has this show in sloooowwwww motion and you can see the runner’s legs and arms completely out of sync. I’m frustrated. Breathing heavy. I yank the ear buds out of my ears and drop them in my running pouch. ENOUGH!
Another expensive impulse purchase that will occupy the night stand in the junkyard of electronic must-haves. I post my Amazon Review to warn others. And later wonder if I should have included footnotes with disclosures to the other readers:
- I don’t read instructions. Ever. The likelihood is high that the fault rests entirely with the operator and not the equipment.
- My children say that my head size is disproportionately large. This product is designated for users that have a head size two standard deviations from the mean. My head size being at the end of a long tail is likely responsible for the malfunction.
- I profusely sweat from my ears. I’m not sure if this is normal. And I’ve noticed that this has been a growing problem since reaching middle-age. (Who knew?) A 5-inch galvanized nail hammered through my ear drum would have difficulty staying in place.
I wondered if I could sell them on EBay to salvage something from this miss. Hmmmmm. Would you buy your sweat infused, crusty ear buds?
Ah, for God’s sake, just let it go.
Distance: I’m not saying. Let’s just say far short of the 10 mile target.
Time: Too freakin’ long.
Credit: Earbuds Photograph: PC Magazine.
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