31 candles
PEOPLE!
It is my birthday.
For the past few months, inspired largely by my the desire to not be huffing and puffing my way through my Friday evening softball sessions, I have acquired some really fabulous habits (an addiction to running on the elliptical at the Y, uber-healthy eating, tracking my activity and food intake) and dropped some not so fabulous habits (eating out for lunch, consuming too many lattes, indulging in junk food, boozing, talking myself out of working out).
The results are pretty spectacular. I’m in the shape of my life, and I am positively chomping at the bit to take the field the moment the snow melts off the infield.
In the polar opposite of the spirit of Lent (which, as a Catholic like Miguel Cabrera I am celebrating), here’s a list of things I don’t want to give up.
What I want for Opening Day:
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1. New cleats. Mine have seen the beginning and end of 8 or 9 seasons now, which is at least 7 more than I expected to get when I bought them at Dunham’s for like 20 bucks to replace the Nikes that had replaced the white Reeboks that got me through high school. Something like these beauties would do nicely. |
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2. A bat. My coach says my power will be unreal when I’m swinging a bat that’s got some pop to it. Now, people, I am 5 foot 2. According to various lame charts and whatnot on the interwebs, I am supposed to be slinging a hammer more appropriate for a toddler than Albert Pujols. But I didn’t earn the nickname Ryan Howard from my favorite teammate by slugging with a small, or even proportioned, bat. I’ll take this in a 34 inch, 28 ounce, please. |
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3. Sweet, throwback high knee socks. I’m a little obsessed with the high-knee socks and of course, I love Brandon Inge. This year, how about switching out my normal navy and black for something a little more … 70s? |
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4. Something to wear while watching the Tigers all summer long. |
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5. A new tattoo. I pitched (har-de-har) my husband on the idea of a Joel Zumaya-esque ripple of flames somewhere on my midsection. I tried convincing him it would be a voodoo/Santeria-esque positive talisman that would keep Zumaya healthy and send the Tigers back to the Series, this time to win. He wasn’t a fan. But then again, he is traveling for work. . . |
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6. Another year as effing stellar as this one. It might be a little odd for a 30+ married mother working in politics and living in a Big Ten university town to spend her weekends training for beer league ball&,dash;but it’s another, blessed thing entirely to have the family and friends to support such zany wishes, and awesome editors willing to toss you a little freelance work to offset the fees. |
Happy birthday to me, pals. I’m skipping the cupcakes and hitting the trails, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Happy Birthday to You, Pal.
If your new sox and shooz aren’t Nike’s, your politics will knock one out of the park, too.
It is a delight to apply the so-called real world to something I think understand better, such as beisbol. Beisbol been berry, berry good to me. Be berry berry good to You, too, today!
Pretty sure whatever I don’t make myself puts me in bed with bad policies — but, hey, I like to think I make up for it by not being a terrible person :)
Angela, I have to tell you that reading this today helped me find the extra motivation to stick to my own self inflicted training schedule and I ran my 10K this afternoon. Thanks for being awesome!
Lindsey
Oh, Lindsey, that’s the best compliment ever! Thanks :) I’m so flattered to be a source of motivation!
Yeah that\’s what I\’m tkialng about baby–nice work!