Stuff It: Yet Another Embarrassing Bike Story

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Bike Adventures8 Comments

I am trying desperately, urgently to lose five pounds.  Five evil pounds with their horrid little claws clinging tenaciously to my buttocks.  I have been duking it out with these last five pounds for months.

Months.  Plural.  As in since October.

So there I was in spin class Monday night, ready to throw down with the Flab Five.  I was wearing a shirt and shorts.  Two pairs of shorts, actually.  Nobody in my spin class wears only Spandex shorts and if you’ve ever been the only one in the room in Spandex, you know it’s a less than comfortable feeling.  But I love me some Spandex.  It wicks, not to mention the joy of extra butt padding.  So I ride with double shorts.

Spin class started just fine.  I was killing it.  My legs were speedy quick and I kept cranking up the tension.  I was in the zone.  I am never in the zone.  I could just see skinnier thighs in my future.

And then I felt something funny in my Spandex.

Something lumpy and soft and a teensy bit scratchy.  Something definitely not the slick, slidy polyester goodness of Spandex.

I didn’t know what to do.

There was no way I was getting off my bike and heading to the bathroom to take care of it.  The bathroom is far away and spin class is only 45 minutes long.  I had those last five pounds in my sight and I was not going to miss a single second of spin class.

But there was no way I was reaching down in there in a roomful of people.  Besides who knows what I would have pulled out.  It could have been something as innocuous as a dryer sheet, but knowing my luck, it more likely would have been my most shamefully tattered pair of undies.

So I decided to ignore it, to put my mental game to the test.  I’ve got mental game to spare.  The foreign object was trapped in my Spandex just below my right hip.  I could deal with that.  I’ve ridden with much worse things many a time.

When we stood up to climb, my quads were shredding the hill.  I kept turning the tension knob up higher and higher.  I was owning the zone.

And then the lumpy thing started to inch its way over and down to, uh, um, a more centralized location.

I was already sweating buckets, but I could feel my face flush even deeper.  As I hammered away on the bike, I whispered a prayer of thanks for having pulled on double shorts.  I loosened up the drawstring on the outer pair to disguise the monkey business that was happening in my nether regions.  I fidgeted to try to get the thing to move back over to a less uncomfortable area.  No dice.  Instead it relocated further South.

I looked down and there was a giant bulge where no woman should have a bulge.  If it were possible to die of embarrassment, I’m sure I would have keeled over on the spot.

Several times I nearly worked up the nerve to reach in and pull out whatever it was that was ailing me.  But the thing about spin class is there really isn’t anywhere to put stuff.  I didn’t have a bag or a purse I could nonchalantly drop said object into.  Even if I’d gone on a rescue mission, I would’ve then had to stop pedaling, unclip from my bike and walk to the trash can in the front of the room to deposit whatever treasure I retrieved from the recesses of my shorts.

Absolutely.  No.  Way.

So for the remainder of the class, I tried not to fidget, lest things shift into a more precarious position.  I tell you, never in my life had spin class felt so long.  Whatever was down there had gone from mildly scratchy to just this side of sandpaper.

When the class was over and I was back in the privacy of my own home, I peeled off my shorts and there crumpled up in a sweaty wad was a sock that had been missing since laundry day.

Yep, I’d stuffed my shorts for spin class.

I feel like there are some jokes ripe for the picking here.  Something about sock monkeys or ‘socking it to you’ or something along those lines, but the truth is on Monday night I gained an iota of respect for anyone who can walk around for more than five minutes with a sock in their pants.  My hat is off to them.

Apparently my socks are, too.

Thankful Thursday #2

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Thankful Thursdays3 Comments

This week I’m thankful for…

  • my grandmother’s nativity set.  It’s carved from olive trees harvested in Bethlehem.
  • playtime with my nephew
  • Christmas ornaments from all the places Terry and I have traveled
  • Terry’s vanilla pancakes on a Sunday morning
  • Advent
  • Christmas carols during Sunday morning church service
  • Knowing I pushed as hard as I could in spin class.
  • Sitting by the light of the Christmas tree
  • peppermint hot chocolate
  • online Christmas shopping
  • walking the neighborhood in the misty air

Top 10 Christmas Carols

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Christmas, Teacher Tales13 Comments
Image from seeingredaz.wordpress.com

A few years ago, one of my students made me a CD of Christmas carols and other holiday songs.  He picked the songs out with his family and it is a gorgeous, GORGEOUS compilation of songs.

Today the pouring rain trapped my little ones inside and they were sort of antsy.  And by ‘sort of antsy’ I mean, out of their minds antsy.  We did all the regular things to combat being stuck inside like lots of singing and dancing, but still their little bodies were wiggling and squiggling all over the place.

Until I put on that CD.

They were mesmerized, soothed even, by the music.  I played it quietly in the background and they settled in and even sang along.  It was like we’d taken a collective deep breath.  I looked around the room at my smiling, working, humming, singing little ones had one of those blessed teaching moments where I just stood still for a second and enjoyed being in their presence.

And so, I’m thinking maybe your life is busy like mine.  Maybe you are antsy about some things and are about to wiggle right out of your skin.  Maybe you need a moment of tranquility to stop and enjoy your life and the presence of those blessed to be in it with you.  Maybe you’re like me, in need of a song to soothe your soul, to acquaint you with all that is good and pure and holy.

Here are my 10 favorites this year:

10. River by Sarah McLachlan. I wish I had a river I could skate away on.  Alas, ice skates+me=one very bad idea.  So I’ll just have to listen to the song and dream.

9. The Holly and the Ivy by the Virginia Girls Choir and Ana Hernandez This one reminds me of high school choir, of singing at the Madrigal Dinner.  The members of the Virginia Girls Choir sing with such purity and innocence that it leaves me in awe.

8. The Night Before Christmas by Brandon Heath I love, love, love this one.  I usually have to listen to it several times in a row before I can move on to the next song.  So when you download this one and have to play it over and over again until your family throws things at you to make you stop, just remember I warned you.

7. Ring the Bells by Travis Cottrell featuring Natalie Grant Remember when I said you’d want to play that last one over and over again?  Well, multiply that by 100 for this one.  If you’re feeling blue, this song is the cure.

6. Christmastime is Here by Vince Guaraldi Trio Just put on some feetsy pajamas and snuggle up under a blanket.  This one is an express train back to childhood.  Sit back and enjoy the ride.

5. Silent Night by Yo-Yo Ma I do not know how Yo-Yo Ma makes such rich sounds come out of his cello, but you will love this one by the lights of the tree.  You will love it in your car.  You will love it pouring out of your earbuds in the grocery store as the children behind you in line cry and scream.  You will smile at those children, even if they are your own children.  That’s how great this song is.

4. What Child is This by Andrea Bocelli with Mary J. Blige Okay, get close because I’m going to tell you a little secret.  I don’t even like this song. I’ll probably get one of my Christian cards taken away for saying that, but I don’t like this song.  At least I didn’t like it until I heard this version of it.  Mary J. Blige will break your heart with her raw emotion and then Andrea Bocelli will put it back together again.

3. Winter Snow by Chris Tomlin featuring Audrey Assad From the piano solo at the beginning to Audrey Assad’s earthy voice to the harmonies with Chris Tomlin, this song just wraps its arms around you.  If you need to be reminded of the gentleness of God, take a moment to close your eyes and let yourself fall in love with this song.

2. Breath of Heaven (Mary’s Song) by Amy Grant As a kid I used to wonder what Mary was thinking with the Son of God, you know, gestating inside her and all of that.  Did she ever think maybe God should have picked someone else?  Did she ever feel alone because she was the chosen one?  This song is sung from Mary’s perspective and I love it because I think maybe Mary wasn’t so different from you and I.  Maybe sometimes she doubted herself, felt alone, and needed the very breath of heaven to help her keep it all together.

1. O Holy Night by Celine Dion Admittedly, I’m not a Celine Dion fan, but that girl can sing and when she sings my most favorite of all Christmas carols, everything else fades away.  This one gives me goosebumps and makes me cry every single time.  It’s Terry’s favorite, too, and let me tell you, when we sing this one in church we are a sight to behold, blubbering and singing and wiping our noses and dabbing at our eyes.  So grab a box of tissue and enjoy my most favorite of all Christmas carols:

Five Golden Rings

On By Alicia McCauleyIn Christmas, Letters to GrammaLeave a comment

Dear Gramma,

The other day when my little ones were lining up to go to lunch, I asked if they wanted to sing a Christmas song on the way to the cafeteria.  We sang Jingle Bells and then one of my little ones asked if we could sing “that one about the 12 things”.

My voice caught in my throat and not a single word cracked out.

I stood thinking about singing The 12 Days of Christmas at your house and always hoping, wishing, crossing my fingers that I would get the card that said “Five Golden Rings”.  It was my favorite line.  I could only imagine enough golden rings to slide on all the fingers of one hand.  I remember you singing that line in your best warbling Baptist church vibrato.  Your singing voice always made me giggle.

As I stood there watching my little ones pull their jackets on and grab their lunch boxes, I spun the gold ring on my right hand, the one my mom gave me from your trip to Greece together.  It is carved with the Greek symbol for eternity.  We walked to lunch singing and when we got to the part about the golden rings, I sang through the lump in my throat my voice trembling each time until I got to those four calling birds.

Christmas is a hard time to be apart from you.  The tree, the music, the decorations, the food-it all reminds me of you.  Those memories are so sweet.  And I’m thankful for all of them.  I just wish you were here to make more.

But then I turn the ring on my finger and remember that this season, when I am singing of the Christ come to Earth, you are singing with Him for eternity, singing in your best Baptist church vibrato.

I can’t think of a sound I’d like to hear more.

Come sing to me in my dreams, Gramma.  Come sing to me about the Christ come to Earth.  Sing to me about eternity.  Sing to me about Heaven where five golden rings are a mere drop in the bucket.

Love,

Alicia

Memory of Rain

On By Alicia McCauleyIn The Junk Drawer3 Comments

Over at 1000 Awesome Things I read a great post on the joy of getting caught in the rain and I couldn’t help but think of the day Terry and I got caught in the rain in Cancun last July.

It began as a drizzle, plinking on the marble that surrounded the pool.  We were laying on one of those canopied poolside beds reading our books in the heavy summer air.  I thought the rain would relieve the humidity, but Cancun still breathed down on us.

We didn’t care about the rain or the humidity.  We relaxed and watched the drizzle become a steady rain.  And then the steady rain broke open into a deluge.  Never in my life have I seen rain like that!  We set our open books on our stomachs and watched the rain fill the walkways.

Our canopy leaked, gently at first, a drop here, a drop there.  And then the rain came in sheets, rivulets becoming pools where we sat.  It soaked through our towels, our clothes, our books.  It soaked through everything.

We watched others create makeshift umbrellas from towels and shirts as they ran for refuge at the thatched roof bars.  But not us.

Terry and I have been caught in the rain on our bicycles and we’ve learned that there is a saturation point, a point at which clothing, hair, skin is so sodden with water that it simply cannot contain another drop.  And we had reached that point.  So there was only one reasonable thing to do.

We stripped down to our bathing suits and jumped in the pool.

We were the only two swimming as the rain pelted the surface of the pool, but did not touch our bodies underneath.  We laughed and I kissed Terry, sucking the rain off his bottom lip.  The pool water was so warm, warmer even than the sultry air.

After our swim we dashed back to our canopy, gathered up our wet things, and sat down at an umbrella covered table at an outdoor café.  The waiters cowered in their white uniforms under the awnings, waiting for the downpour to stop.  We giggled at the people dodging from awning to awning trying to stay dry.

But this rain allowed no survivors.

The water puddled up over ankles and the waiters used giant squeegees to usher the water from the marbled paths back into the flowerbeds over and over again.  Men turned Coca Cola crates upside down and stood on them to save their leather shoes.  Terry and I ate lunch, my wet hair dripping on the table.

We walked back to our room in the rain and my arms and legs prickled with goosebumps.  Back in our room we sank into a hot bubble bath.  This is the part of the story where I fast forward.

Ahem.

Later that night I toweled off my wet hair until it sprung up in huge soft curls around my face.  No straight hair allowed in Cancun air.  I wrapped myself in a bathrobe and Terry and I pulled out our books and read some more while the rain pattered a percussion on our patio.

The rain had soaked through all 560 pages of The Poisonwood Bible and the pages crinkled up into waves.  Days later when all the pages were dry, the book was so fat with memories of the rain that it couldn’t even begin to close.  That book will never be the same.

And neither will I.

I, too, am fat with memories of that blessed rainy day.