Too Much Time On My Hands

("Too Much Tim on My Hands" by Styx, Paradise Theater)

I’ve awoken each of the past 7 days with nowhere to be. No run to get in. No need to check the weather to see if I can squeeze in 5 or 7 miles. Basically, no running schedule whatsoever.

It’s kinda nice.

Except I also feel a little lost. I’m not anchored to anything. I can play with the kids. There’s time to do that. I don’t. But I could if I wanted too.

I am determined to wait 2 weeks before taking my next run. I have ants in the pants but I’m forcing myself to do it. I keep telling myself it’s the best thing for me but I can’t help obsessing over the marathon results and the 5k for which I want to get busy training.

Also, I have way too much time to think of Styx and how to incorporate them into a post. I’m not that into Styx. In fact, a quick perusal of my CD collection shows that I don’t even own one of their albums. Yet, I seem to know all of their songs by heart. Maybe it’s because their cheesiest recording years coincided with my music-awakening adolescent years. Who hasn’t done “the robot” to Mr. Roboto? (broken elbow action and all)

Who has even noticed the sidebar (look right) listing my PR’s under the very clever reference to Styx’s Best of Times? C’mon, people. It’s been there for years (or year + anyhow)

Damn, if I like ‘em so much, I guess I should buy an album at least. Dennis DeYoung’s hair ain’t gonna perm by itself.

70's chic at its finest

So, what to do with myself?

I’ve gone through all of the junk in my race goodie bag. Most of it went in the trash. Some of it will be used. And some of it saved only to go in the trash 14 years from now when I next look at it.

So…fingers drumming, fingers drumming….what to do?

It took me 3 days to finally start feeling like I earned the race medal. I have a weird love/hate thing with those medals. If I had a great race, the medal seems like a sweet trophy. If not, the medal feels like a scarlet letter emblazoned on my chest as a mark of shame.

Yes, I wear my medals. Everywhere.

I don’t like to be obnoxious about it but, hey, they give you a little strap to wear around your neck for a reason right?

So, I wake up, put on my medal, and go about my day. Sure, it gets in the way sometimes. I bent down to give my daughter a hug (actually, I was picking up the newspaper but she thought it was a hug so what are you going to do?) and the darn thing whacked her in the mouth and chipped her tooth. Don’t worry. It didn’t scratch the paint off of it. A quick scolding later, I plopped back into my chair with my medal and newspaper (and rapid fire volume increase on the TV what with all the crying and all).

My neighbor was out cutting his lawn and I was able to angle the reflection of the sun off the medal and directly into his eyes. Fifteen minutes later when he finally realized the source, he wandered over to say hello. I pretended not to notice his approach.

“So, you ran the Boston Marathon?”

“Oh,uh, yeah, how did you know?”

“Well, you were standing on the edge of your deck working that medal around your neck back and forth getting the sun in my eyes. You might have noticed that it caused me to mow down my rose bush.”

“Oh, I forgot I was wearing it. Silly me.”

“Well, congratulations, I guess. I’m going to go back and cut my lawn now and try to resuscitate my rose bush. Are we good here now?”

“Not sure what you mean but…thanks.”

“Yeah, well….by the way, what time did you get?”

Pfffffffffffttt. (Air escaping the balloon.) I immediately feel the need to jump into Time Justification defcon 1. Ugh.

My local newspaper had the audacity (+1) to publish the list of Boston Marathon finishers from the area without my permission. Now, I’m getting emails from folks I barely know congratulating me on my time. This presents a bit of a quandary. Not sure I know them well enough to plead my case that, really, I can do even better. Honest. I really, really can.

The only thing to do is send them a note back thanking them with a simple reply:

“Domo Arigato”.