It's days like this...
Yesterday I got up at 7AM (reminder: yesterday was Saturday) to put on comfy clothes and head to Times Square for the Revlon Run/Walk for Women's Cancer.
I was proud of myself just for getting up and out of the house by 8.
Now, I have never done anything like this before. The one "March" I went to in Washington had no actual Marching involved, we sat on some big square near the White House while people talked. But this was to involve actual Walking, from Times Square to somewhere in the Park.
I felt compelled to do this. Last winter my favorite Aunt had a mastectomy. She was diagnosed and treated very quickly, but it was scary. She is fine now, and I've seen her since twice in fancy outfits - you would never know she has a prosthesis. She is still the fine-ass lady she always was, making her husband glow with pride. But I know what she and her kids went through, and what I felt being aware of it. Of all the people on my Mom's side of my Family, next to my Grandma, I'm closest to her and her daughters. The thought of losing her... I am just so thankful they caught it wen they did.
So. I was motivated. So I get on the train. Nobody I know is also doing this. I found out about it from my church's 20's and 30's group. None of them were doing it. So here I am by myself, going to try something new, something important, something I can feel good about.
Story1) Subway Bimbos
I saw them climbing the stairs to the subway platform. Bouncing nimbly up the stairs. They were both wearing black knee-length stretchy pants, little socks and very fashionable tennis shoes with stretchy, v-neck, 3/4 sleeve tops in bright colors. One had a low ponytail, one had chin-legth curls. Perfect little manicured hands, minimal makeup, and perfect 22-year old bodies. They chatted and giggled, bopping about the platform. Commenting on all the other women (many of whom already had numbers pinned to ther shirts) on the train headed to Times Square. "Look at us all, united." "Sisters," one said. It was cute. But not. The smugness in their voices grated on me. Like they were validating the coolness of this activity by how many others were also doing it. Of course they sat next to me. I was wearing black Yoga pants, little socks, and reasonably hip tennis shoes (yay!), but I had a plain t-shirt on with a demin jacket (it was chilly) and a tiny purse slung over my shoulder (WRONG). How do I do anything without a small bag? I don't own a fanny pack. I'm not a runner. But I was told by the woman who pitched this to the 20's and 30's group that that didn't matter. So here I am, on a train full of runners, none of whom have jackets or bags. (Where do they keep their keys? metrocards? ID?)
Anyway, back to the bimbos.