I do it, and I do it big. Here's to not forgetting about it.

Posts tagged ‘pedicure’

Marathon Test: Pre-race report 

6 days ago, I made a playlist for my last long run of my marathon training. My idea was to choose one type of music per mile. Typically, I choose what I want to run to strategically anyhow, but for long distances I put it on shuffle so whatever comes, comes! I thought it fitting to name the playlist “Marathon Test.” 

My test playlist was going fabulously well! 7 miles…no. 7.68 miles in. Bob Marley is playing. I was loving the run and the next thing I knew, boom. I was yelling on my way to the ground. My foot had caught a raised part in the sidewalk and I fell. HARD. 


Naturally, my first concern was my musician’s hands. Aside from the nasty abrasion, they were fine. However, when I tried to get up, I realized I couldn’t put pressure on my right hand because my shoulder was killing me. “Faaaaantastic. My race is in a week and I just may have put it in jeopardy.”

I spent the week icing it and spending quality time with the chiropractor. Fast forward to today and I am in Jacksonville, where I can now put on a shirt without grimacing! God is good, indeed. He is also hilarious because my period came this week, just as it had for my 70.3 two years ago. Between imagining what it would be like to cross the finish line, normal hormonal swings, the end of the quarter at work, and my concern for my shoulder, I have been an emotional hot mess. It is really important to me that I finish, not just because I want to finish everything I start but because I want to get this out of the way before preparing my body for a Little Joanie! I don’t know if I can handle marathon training taking over my life again any time soon, regardless of how I finish. 

I haven’t been feeling particularly confident, as my training was far from perfect. I wasn’t even in the mood to get my nails done and eyebrows waxed, a vital pre goal race tradition. While I am not a superstitious person, it felt like a bad idea to forego my prettification. My nail tech, Alexa, asked me what brought me to the shop. “I’m running my first marathon!” She paused and then replied, “Awesome. You’ve got strong legs,” as she massaged them for me. Another lady at the shop, several minutes later, said the same thing. “Your legs look strong.” 

As I pondered their words, I continued work on my playlist. I was about to change the title from Marathon Test to something else, but it dawned on me that my race tomorrow is, in fact, the ultimate test. Did I put in sufficient time training? Will I have the will to continue as the race progresses? Is my body strong or are these women looking for a tip? 

May I awaken tomorrow to discover the truth, knowing I will be accompanied by the perfect color for my sure to be tired feet.

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See all this melanin? I STILL got pre-checked by TSA. Racism must be dead: Part Two

So, I went to Jamaica and ran. The trip was exciting to me from the get go, y’all. I looked at my boarding pass and saw something I had never seen before: Pre-checked by TSA! Pre. That seems important. As I walked toward security, I noticed that there was the line for the proletariat and the line for pre-checked. Friggin’ sweet. I was through the line within moments instead of wondering if I was going to make my flight. Ah, the good life.

If this can happen to me, it can happen to anyone, right? I mean, I AM darker than a brown paper bag. If you see “Lady J” on a flight manifest you probably won’t think ter…see. I don’t even want to finish the word because I want to be pre-checked again. I know y’all are watching, WordPress. Of COURSE the government doesn’t screen people based on race, sex, or religious affiliation. Because people are fair everywhere, right? Especially those with power.

I found it ironic that soon after I was in the air, I watched the video of Eric Garner’s death in sheer horror. Apparently, selling loose cigarettes warrants paying with your life. I say this is ironic because I know with great certainty that like my amazing TSA pre-check, that would not happen to just anyone. There are classes in this country that are simply more privileged than others. Who is the most uncomfortable with this? The privileged.

It’s like the feeling I got today when I was getting my nails did at the salon. My tech and I come from VERY different backgrounds. I am definitely more Hilary Banks than Florida Evans and the tech was talking about not having earned her GED. I don’t want to pat myself on the back for not having pat myself on the back, but I will say this – I understand that many things were in place for me to be able to achieve what I have. The vast majority of those things were completely out of my control – the family I was born into as well as the way my parents raised me. Yes, I absolutely have free will and I’ve made some pretty good choices. The environment was set up for me to do so. It is by God’s grace that I am where I am. If tech were to say to me, “Lady J. I could be where you are if I had had the opportunities you did,” what could I say? “Probably.” You know what I wouldn’t say? “Where you are is your fault.” I don’t have enough knowledge to say that. However, I DO know enough to know that I, Joan, am incredibly blessed.

Why is it that many who purport to follow Christ have such a problem admitting they benefit from things over which they have no control? I thought when you accept Jesus into your heart you acknowledge that there’s no way you could receive grace and mercy by your own doing. You know why some people were less disturbed by the video of Eric Garner’s death? Imma tell you why. Because some people KNOW it will never be them or their child whom the police would kill like that. And it’s not because no one else’s child is above selling loose cigarettes.

Those of you who insist you have everything that you do because you’ve pulled yourselves up by your own bootstraps seem to take for granted that you were given shoes in the first place. Not everyone gets Pre-Checked, y’all.

And perfect eyelashes, apparently.

And perfect eyelashes, apparently.

 

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