Train Guy

It is no secret that I work with some very strange people - and that I wouldn't have it any other way.  Recently, there were four of us women at lunch and the conversation turned, as conversations will, to men.  The youngest in the group is recently married.  One is divorced and the other two of us have always been single.  Through a convoluted discussion thread, we ended up with a female lunch bunch challenge.  All of us were to find husbands within the next 60 days.  (The fact that we weren't sure we actually wanted husbands was set aside as irrelevant.). Upon reflection (yes, this was a work lunch; we were sober; there could be reflection), it occurred to me that there was an obvious  flaw with this plan.  We've all dated, had relationships, one of us had even been married and divorced ... there was no reason on earth to assume that any of us is any good at choosing someone for ourselves.  So I threw out the idea that we should each find someone for our friends.  And in the final few minutes of our lunch hour, it was decided that the lone married woman should find a husband for the three of us.  After all, she seems to have chosen a truly good guy - she clearly has better taste than we do.

Next, I was chosen as the likeliest first candidate, largely because I was about to leave on vacation and might meet men in the course of my travels or in the other city.  In particular, they had high hopes that I would meet someone on the 18 hour train ride - maybe in the dining car.  Having done several long train rides where I've met a variety of interesting people (but no one with relationship-potential),  I was skeptical but willing to keep an open mind.

Alas, when I got on the train I discovered that this was unlike any train I'd taken before.  One large difference is that there was NO dining car; you were expected to eat in your roomette.  I alerted my friends to this turn of events and proceeded with my vacation.

Had a great time in Chicago and met some lovely people - waiter, bartenders, ticket sellers, even a real estate agent (female) - but not an eligible man in the bunch.  So I boarded the train for home, aware that I had flunked Finding a Man on Vacation.

I entered my roomette and settled down with a magazine.  Protocol is that one leaves one's door open initially as the porter will come to introduce himself, answer any questions, and, on this train, take your dinner order.  Five minutes later, a very cute (in a young Davy Jones/Herman of Herman's Hermit's type of way) man stops at my door and announces, "I'm so glad I decided to do this!  I'm thrilled that I chose to take the train and have an adventure!"  I smiled, said I'd taken the train many times and was sure he'd enjoy it ... and he walked in, sat down opposite me, and began to chat.

And he chatted.  And chatted.  And chatted.  He chatted through dinner (he asked that his be brought to my room), he chatted up to the moment when I announced that I was going to bed, and he finally went and found his own room.  Ten minutes after I arose the next morning, he was back.

I'll admit that for the first few hours, this was rather fun.  He was, as I've said, attractive, and also bright and had had an interesting life.  I can certainly speak to the latter as I feel that I now know every minute detail of said life!  But going into the second day, the appeal of this encounter began to wane.  I listen to people for a living and he wasn't even paying me.  Plus I'd brought a huge stack of magazines I'd not had time to read and now I was seriously behind.

Thoughts began to swirl in my head.  If I told him (even nicely) to go away, was I letting down the team?  What if he turned out to be perfect for one of my lunch bunch fellow-challengees?  I wasn't *really* looking for a husband, but what if I'd sent this out into the universe and now I was obligated to take what it sent me?  Was I just being overly picky?  Anti-social?  Sane?  And if I didn't send him away, was I supposed to keep him?  Like a puppy one picks up on the side of the road who needs a home?  I didn't even know if he'd had his shots!

In the end, I realized that what I did know - that the train's very late arrival meant that he was going to to miss his connection and he might have to stick around the town where I live - possibly overnight - and that I wasn't ready to get even a cardboard carrier and a cheap leash and be his foster friend - meant that I had to save myself.  Twenty minutes before we were due to arrive (and two hours before we did), I made a flimsy excuse to get him to leave.  And that was that.  Since he lives hundreds of miles from me, I didn't hesitate when he asked for my phone number (don't I ever learn?).  I even made it clear that I don't like to talk on the phone, but he could text me.

Only he doesn't like to text.  He likes to talk.  (Like I haven't figured that one out!). So he calls every other day.  (I don't pick up, but, still!!!!)

So that's it, lunch bunch.  I'm bowing out of the challenge.  I'm admitting that I could probably actually find a husband (or at least a boyfriend), if I looked around for one, but that I actually DO learn from the past.  I've learned that when my instincts say "Too much work!!", or "Run for the hills!", I need to heed them.  I've leaned that a 50 year-old man who looks like a 25 year-old pop star just might have the face that matches his maturity level. And I've learned that, protocol be damned, next time I'm closing the train door and making the porter knock!  

Stress Test

My cardiologist recently decided that I should undergo a stress test.  I hadn't had one in over a decade, I've been experiencing some shortness of breath upon exertion, and I do have a cardiac problem, so it seemed like a reasonable thing to ask.  Until I got the details.

Mind you, I'd had a colonoscopy a few months earlier, so I was less than enthusiastic about anything that required more than simply showing up.  But I'd agreed, so I wrote down what I was to do.  No food for two hours before the test (it was at 2:30, so I could eat lunch at 1200 if I finished in a half-hour), no caffeine for twelve hours before the test (WHAT??  This I did not sign up for.  I had to get through a morning of seeing patients without anything to keep me awake??  [This is not a judgment on my patients; I am hyper-somniac, so staying awake can be difficult no matter how interesting a case]), wear exercise clothes (what are they??  Somehow I didn't think my pole dancing clothes would be appropriate but I have nothing else ... a friend loaned me some in the end).  

By this time, I was ready to call the whole thing off, but I've learned that doing such things only prolongs the problem.  I'd have to do this at some point, so it might as well be this point.

Fast-forward:  Stress test over, results good.  Yes, it was miserable.  When I lived in NYC, I thought nothing of walking 3 miles at a brisk pace.  Then I moved to New Orleans where no one moves briskly; the humidity is like a permeable wall that one can only slog through.  And now I live in DC, where, in spite of the fact that a metro exists, I still have to own a car, which means I use it and don't get much exercise. 

But this got me thinking.  My goal is to buy property in Europe and live there about half the year.  I don't want a car there, and it's unlikely I'll be able to afford property in a city large enough to have a subway which means walking (or even biking - but that's a terror for another day), presumably pretty much everywhere, unless there is a bus that goes exactly where I want to go when I want to go.  There are reasons why this is enticing - when I lived in NY, I loved walking everywhere.  You see so much more and you're more likely to meet people when you're out and about on foot. It's exercise without exercising, and when I was walking everywhere, I rarely had to think about what or how much I was eating.

On reflection, however, there were reasons why this was not enticing.  First, walking during the day does expose one to sunlight, my sworn enemy, and, depending on the season and locale, it can be uncomfortable.  But the biggest problem is the problem described above.  For over a year, I've not been able to walk far at all (and forget steps or hills!) without feeling that my lungs are going to explode and I'm going to drop dead in the middle of the sidewalk.  Those idyllic jaunts I've been picturing could just as well be walks of torture and painful agony.

I do remember that when I first moved to NY, walking a half-mile was extremely unpleasant - I had to build up to striding all over the city, miles-be-damned.  But the 3/4 mile I'd been walking twice each day (to/from my car and office) had not been getting easier.  What to do??

Yes, I knew the answer. I looked everywhere for a different answer, but there seem to be no magic pills, no get-stronger-sitting-on-the-couch methods available.  I had to exercise.  Worse, this all became clear just as the pandemic (and lockdown) started, so I couldn't go back to pole dancing (which, to be fair, hadn't done a lot for endurance, although it benefited my body in numerous other ways).  I had to actually do something that FELT like exercise!

I whined.  I whinged.  I pouted.  (Luckily, no humans could see me and the cats ignore this behavior as long as it doesn't interfere with mealtime.). And I got off the couch.  YouTube is a wonderful thing.  People post all sorts of helpful (okay, not always) videos teaching you to do all sorts of things - things you might not have even known you wanted to do.  In spite of the fact that I have all the grace of a hungry hyena ripping apart a meal, I do love to dance, so I decided this was where I needed to start.  I found a group exercising to 'an 80's mix' - songs I'd never heard, of course, but that was hardly the point.  I started with an 8-minute workout and was so proud of myself when I got all the way through it - huffing and puffing and barely making it to the couch after.  Slowly, very slowly, I added on.  A disco video at 10 minutes, Zumba for Seniors (who cares if I was watching octogenarians - you start where you have to), and eventually walking videos.  They're my least favorite but seem to have the most benefits, so I've stuck with them.  The one-mile walk was a killer, but now I'm up to three.  And, though it adds nothing to my cardio endurance, as long as I survive at least 40 minutes of heartbeat-elevating movement, I allow myself to learn tap-dancing moves (something that I've wanted to do for years).

I'm finally at the point where I think I can go to Europe and wander about without humiliating myself.  And maybe - just maybe - enjoy walking around a village or to and from the local market.  As long as there's a couch at the end of the day.