Best advice I can give to myself at this moment?

Walk away.

Just. Walk. Away.

Pretty much all through my public education experience, I detested gym class, recess, physical activity in general. Imagine the clutziest, most awkward, skinny girl you can imagine (don't forget the glasses and braces!), and you're pretty close to me.

*shudder*

The memories!

Ick.

Anyway, in junior high, I had, like all my classmates, gym class three times a week. The best time to have gym class was, of course, first period. Having it first period meant I could sleep until 7:40, roll out of bed, pull on my gym clothes, and walk to school which was all of 80 yards from my back door.

After gym class, I would take my shower (and I was the only girl who actually showered after gym class, complete with soap, shampoo and a towel that actually had to dry something), and head to class.

Maximum sleep. Efficient schedule.

One particular day, I had my gym shoes in hand and wandered over to the gym. I went to tie my shoes, they were like the early Nike shoes: dark blue with a white shwoosh, when I noticed something in the laces. Puzzled, I loosened the laces to look better.

Inside the tongue, between the laces was some crap I couldn't identify. It was light in color, maybe tan, soft, relatively odorless. I had absolutely no idea what the stuff was, but I couldn't tie my shoes with it in there, so I asked my teacher if I could go clean my shoes, and left to do so.

Oh, darn, I missed the first part of class while I washed out my shoes.

And I had to wash them out fully. Once I opened the laces, I realized the stuff was all over them, and even down to the toes. What the heck was this stuff? It was all over these shoes.

Puzzled, I went to gym class, wet shoes and all.

Fast forward 12+ years.

My mother, my little brother and I are sitting around talking about who knows what. At some point, we started talking about major illnesses and the like. Which, of course, turns the conversation to nausea and vomitting. Who knows why, that's just what we were talking about.

My little brother then turned to me and said, "Yeah, like that time I threw up into your gym shoes."

Blink.

Blink. Blink.

"You what?"

"Yeah, your blue Nikes. I tried to clean it up. Not sure how well I did though."

Mom was looking back and forth between the two of us.

"That was vomit?"

"Huh? I thought you knew."

"Oh, gross!"

For over a decade I had absolutely no idea what the heck that stuff was in my shoes. I cleaned it up and went on with life, only to find out many, many years later what the heck it was.

I had run in my brother's vomit.

From a post on rec.sport.disc, via Google Groups:

Note to self: two Clif shots, each of 100 calories each, do not replace a full lunch on track workout days.

Second note to self: one should clue in that if said one tries to put her sports bra on backwards, perhaps a nap would be better than a track workout.

With that said, what was I thinking? "I'm happy my fitness is coming back." Must have been the Snack of Champions™.

Today's track workout kicked my ass. It consisted of:

ladders	The usual 12 different ladders
5-10-5	Working mostly on form, start at a center cone, sprint 5 yards to the next cone, turn sprint back 10 yards, turn then sprint back 5 yards to the beginning cone
single leg bounding	going for maximum distance, 5 with left leg then 5 with right leg
ice skaters x20	(as quick and explosively as you can)
sprints	50m, 100m, 200m, 400m, 400m, 200m, 100m, 50m (catch your breath after running a sprint, then do the next one, i.e. go at your own pace but run hard when you are running)
sideways shuffle	x20
two leg bounding	go for maximum distance, 10 jumps
rest 5 minutes
repeat	go back to the single leg bounding and do it all a second time
mile jog
abs
lunges	10 lunges, 10 lunge jumps, 10 lunges; repeat

I was nothing if not consistent in the 200s. I ran 45-46 second 200s every time. Which is such a blow to the confidence. I could run them in 26 in college. Sigh. My 400 times were 1:46, which also sucks big time. Of course, when I ran the 64 second 400, I had to do it only once.

My hamstring is hurting again, too. I really need to let that thing heal already.

Sigh.

What is it with Smith boys? I'd really like to know. Because as far as I can tell, Smith boys are all blessed with dynamic personalities (and a hint of insanity, which we'll call the Smith Factor).

Andy Smith falls smack dab in the middle of my Smith men data points (which currently consist of Mark, Kyle, and Kevin). I'm not sure if the Smith insanity extends to the Smith women, so Heidi is currently safe. Maybe the Smith Factor follows the men's side of the family, as the stupidity gene follows the men's side of the (admittedly fictional) Simpsons.

Certain people in this world have a dynamic personality that a simply attracts people to them (like moths to bright lights, if a cliche is needed). Bharat has one; so does Ariel (geez, does Ariel have one). Kim Wasson's 12 year old daughter, Ceili, is the only female I've met that has one. Mark Smith has one, too.

And so does Andy.

I'm not sure if the dynamic personality is necessarily based on the ability to lead, though that I'm sure it is factor. Being inspiring is definitely a factor. A positive outlook on life (the world is a good place, the glass is half full) is another factor. I'm struggling to define exactly what it is, I've never been able to explain it well.

In the end, it's just damn attractive.

Mike tells me I'm not supposed to admit that. Kris might agree.

As a woman working in technology, apparently admitting attraction is bad, bad, bad. Maybe as a woman, I'm not supposed to admit that at all, I don't know. Given Andy says any edits I make show up in the various RSS readers (Who reads this site anyway? You're all crazy! This is for me, dammit!), once I post that, it's out there.

Still.