I just told some random dudes that I’m not strong.
I don’t even know how it really happened.
One minute I’m watching them struggle to carry a box. The next minute I hear someone saying, “Want some help? I mean, I’m not strong or anything, but I can offer moral support.”
Wait. That sounded like my voice. Was that me? Did I really just say those words?
I’m not strong…
Saturday Rogue and I ran (and walked) up 3,000 feet for 11 miles.
Sunday part of the Crew and I hiked another 1,700 feet for 3 miles.
Tuesday Rogue and I ran almost 1,000 feet in 5 1/2 miles after avoiding being kidnapped by a trucker and turned into his skin suits.
Side note, we weren’t ever in any actual danger. But you’d think that an 18 wheeler struggling up Fishburn Parkway where it obviously doesn’t belong, honking, and finally slowing to a stop next to us might have caused Rogue to be a little cautious.
No. She walked right on over to the cab like she was bout to find her new romance. But she backed off when she saw it was a chick. (Damn right she backed off.)
Lost Trucker Chick: “Is there a rest stop up here?”
Me: “Well, yeah. But that might be a little misleading…”
Lost Trucker Chick: “I thought it seemed weird. My GPS said something about a Mill and a Star.”
Me: “Yeah, that’s not for you.”
Lost Trucker Chick: “Is there a place I can turn around up here?”
Rogue (finally emerging from whatever sad trucker fantasy she was in): “Well, you could just go straight. And take the Parkway.”
Lost Trucker Chick: “Is the Parkway like a highway that’ll take me to 81?”
Rogue: “… sure.”
We’re super helpful.
Anyway. Back to my point.
Yesterday I worked 4 different jobs before Rogue, Endong, and I met up for Magical Roanoke Yoga in Vinton.
And if you’re meeting Endong for something and there’s 15 minutes to kill before said something starts, he’s gonna make you do training circuits with the medicine ball. So we were pretty burpeed and squatted and push upped in before heading into yoga where I’m pretty sure Magic Yogess intentionally forced us to use our quads and triceps a little more than my quads and triceps may have liked. Because she saw us out there warming up.
And because she knows her audience. She’s gonna nurture you while also working the hell outta you if you’re one of us. And by us I mean the crazies that crave the things that are way too hard.
And the week’s not even over yet.
So my point is, I am strong.
I mean, I’m not Schwarzenegger or anything. But I can lift some shit.
I could’ve easily managed the pansy box those two dudes were struggling with.
But my need to make them feel all manly and validated was automatic. Like, I couldn’t even stop it because I didn’t even know it was happening.
And I’m trying to understand how it happened when I spend a good portion of my non-work time doing badass shit with badass people, particularly dudes that would probably have made me carry the box to begin with because they’re not falling for the “help me, I’m not strong” bullshit. I mean, they’d help if I had my hands full. They’re nice humans. But they’re also gonna assume I can until I say I can’t. And even then, they’re probably still gonna tell me I can, so stop whining about it and just do it.
And I certainly didn’t learn this response from my mother who, while she partners strongly with my father, sure as hell never needed a man to do anything for her.
I’ll just blame society. That seems right.
So, if you’re ever struggling to carry something and my response to seeing this is to say that I’m not strong, go ahead and just drop whatever it is right in front of me and walk away.
Ain’t nobody got time for that bullshit.