Worked until 4:30, then got in my car to go to the gym. My emotions are close to the surface, what with the whole dead mom thing, but I'm listening to some good music and I'm almost at the gym when
My first thought is, "God cannot be telling me not to work out." My second thought is, "I sure am glad my insurance is paid up."
Then I get out of the car to survey the damage. Except there is none. At least not on the Jeep. Her car, on the other hand, looks like it has an accordion for a hood.
We exchange information and head out on our merry way. No harm, no foul, as far as I'm concerned, and I know how to reach her, in case something comes to light at some future time as a result of taking it in the rear.
Anyhoo, so I head to the gym, and I make it in time to take the Hip-Hop Cardio class.
Consider my ass kicked. Seriously, nothing like an aging white woman with questionable rhythm trying to keep up with a bunch of 18-year-olds. But did I care? Nope. Because it was fun, and Sharon's an awesome instructor, and dammit, nothing's gonna get between me and my good time.
Except maybe the fact that I twisted the hell out of my knee. My bad knee. The one that hurts really bad right now? Yeah, that'd be the one. But I made it through, and danced anyway.
After class, I caught up with John, my friend from the water circuit class who also does the dance cardio classes. We had a great talk, and he sort of big brothered me - make sure you replace the calories you burned, etc. Then I passed Sharon, the instructor, in the hall, and I thanked her for a great class. She is an amazing woman, able to make every student in her class feel like the most important person she will talk to the entire day. It's a gift, and it's just who she is. She gave me a hug - a big, sweaty hug - and told me I was an angel to her.
The whole story came pouring out of me - losing Mom four years ago, losing Christopher two years ago, losing my mind not long after that. In the middle of this, John came out of the locker room and found the two of us in tears in the hall, and next thing you know he's crying, too, and we're just this trio of lunatics hanging out by the basketball courts crying and laughing and trying not to cause a scene.
And on the way home, it began to hit me. (Not quite as dramatically as the Dodge Stratus hit me on the way to the gym, mind you.) This person I'm becoming takes better care of herself, but connects with people the same way she always has. She still has heart-to-heart talks, they just happen on the treadmill or in the hall by the basketball court as often as they do in the kitchen or snuggled on the sofa. I'm letting go of the crap, and I'm keeping the good stuff.
I'm glad you are part of the good stuff.