Wednesday, Sept. 26, 2007
Dear Diary:

I'm going in to Montreal early on Friday so I can spend some time with the daughter before we do the Jog for the Jugs on Sunday. Today was my last day at my gym.

The usual suspects were there, the folks whose lives have woven into mine over years of familiarity. We all did our workouts, shared bits of our days and plans, and mourned the changes to come.

It felt sad and wrong to take my lock off the locker I've owned forever, to pull out my various fitness bits and pieces, stuff them into a bag. I went to the file box and grabbed the thick, battered folder that holds years and years of workouts. And just like that, seven years that greatly changed my life ended.

I arranged to get together for a post workout lunch with a group of women I've come to love through the gym. We brought potluck, ate around a picnic table. We basked in the insane beauty of a surprisingly warm autumn, the mountains around us taking on their fall glory. We laughed, joked, reminisced and promised to keep in touch.

There was pie. Peanut butter pie with dark chocolate topping and a crushed chocolate cookie crust. Normally pie heals all wounds (and I think I speak for us all when I say that chocolate makes everything better) but even the mighty powers of pie and chocolate weren't big enough for this.

I know. I'm as stunned by that as you are.

There were a few tears as we hugged good-bye because we all know that the odds of actually keeping in touch ... well, those odds aren't so high. I live an hour from most of them, across a border. But at least we got a proper good-bye.

I keep telling myself that change is good, that it's not a bad thing to shake things up. I start at the small Canadian gym bright and early Monday. It will be ... odd. But then, so am I, so perhaps we are made for each other, this new gym and I.

Time will tell, eh?

--Marn

P.S.--When I checked the donation page, there was $490 given to the Jog for the Jugs. The spousal unit and I had agreed that we'd donate 10% of what my three loyal readers did by Sept. 26, so I just threw $50 into the pot, which means together we've raised $540 to help the fight against breast cancer. You guys are the best!

Somehow I've been branded a spammer by DiaryLand, so I can't reply to your entry comments. I have a help ticket in, hopefully that will be cleaned up.

These Generous Souls recently sponsored me to Run the 2007 Jog for the Jugs In Montreal. Not only are they immortalized in the Bazonga Boosters Hall of Fame, hey, they get to post the shockingly garish graphic below on their web sites. I can feel your envy from here.


Boob oop de doop eh

Purple Chai for her mom Shirl
The Spousal Unit
Lily B.
Ms. Shilly Shallier
Gloria Hill
Anne S. in memory of Susan Davis, a second mother to her
Joe
Brian in memory of his grandma Arlene Noble and aunt Karen Roberts, a 13 year survivor
Bev in honour of her baby's first mammogram.
M.R. Cooper to honour sister-in-law Kaydee Cooper
Nacwolin in honour of her friend, Ruth, a breast cancer survivor
Bluesleepy in honour of her grandmother, Mary Post, a breast cancer survivor
***Dave in honour of his mom, Gloria Hill
Skibigsky in honour of three generations--Bessie Duckett, Neva Shively and Patricia Marshall
Joe
Huntington

Mileage on the Marnometer: 348.29 miles Ten percent there rubber duck. Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.Half way there

Going Nowhere Collaboration

Goal for 2007: 500 miles


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She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

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2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.