Running on…

Off and on over the past few years, I’ve attempted to become a runner. With varying degrees of intensity. My sister has also become a runner, but she’s for real, yo. She runs miles and miles.

I haven’t gone running in a long time. I do yoga pretty much daily and I haul around a 500 pound toddler, so I like to think that I’m not totally out of shape.

This weekend, the Coca Cola 10k happened.

I was inspired. Maybe a little depressed because there were children I could have birthed streaking right past me.

So, Josh and I have decided to embark on a runnerly journey, and it starts this week.

It starts this week because on Saturday, I’m pretty sure we are going to do the Gumtree 10k in Tupelo. I fully realize that I will walk the majority of the race, but I’m good with that. It’s a start.

Greasy redneck bliss

This weekend there was a fair in town.

Now, let me make some statements here:

I never went to many fairs as a kid. We generally sidestepped most yearly community things like that, and I never understood why. As a teenager I went on my own or with friends, but I was always more engrossed in whatever teenage soap opera drama was happening or if I looked fat in my grunge clothing to care about the festivities.

As a result of my inexperience with rickety traveling fair carnival rides, I’m a bit wary of the contraptions.

Josh is adamantly anti-fair-ride, which is fine with me.

So as I said, there was a fair/BBQ fest/concert times in downtown this past weekend. We had tickets. So we went.

We went, first, on Friday night – Lucy had never been in that sort of environment so we were a bit timid (considering she screamed like a banshee all through Max’s flag football game last week, I didn’t have much hope). She had a great time, though, and only got a little clingy when we went past the stage area. I can’t say that I blame her – we’ve sheltered her from country music so far.

We made one pass through the carnival area, and it was enough.

I don’t think I realize often enough the vast array of human quirks that can be found even in small town America, but it doesn’t take much to remind.

Strolling through a crowd of people pressing in on you from every side, only to realize, oh, pardon me madam, did you know that your bare belly roll just grazed my arm?

This is a beautiful photo of a carnival. It's not what ours looked like at all.

There was also one woman who proudly paraded around in purple leggings that she mistakenly thought were opaque enough to pass as pants. Not so, my friend.

Then on Saturday, the evening’s headliner was Paul Thorn, who I had never really heard of. It sounded like a good chance for a date night, though, so we booked Granna the babysitter and we set off.

We arrived during the opening acts. I really thought I had a high threshold for redneckery, but I was very much mistaken. The gentleman onstage twanged and warbled his way through three whole songs before Josh and I agreed with a record few amount of words that we needed to leave.

Perhaps this means I fail as a Mississippi girl. Paul Thorn, I’m sorry I could not bear to wait for you through the chortling and cowboy hats. I’ve heard it was a good show.

What did Josh and I do? We ate cheesecake and watched the Alabama-Florida game. Somehow I think we won out over the funnel cakes and mall bangs.