After approximately 150 days of wedded bliss, I have realized something incredibly, fearfully crucial:
My husband knows exactly what makes me tick.
Okay, that was common knowledge. Kind of a side effect of being attached to someone's hip for life. In slightly more detail, what I realized stands thus:
My husband knows exactly what makes me tick.
And sometimes he uses it to convince me to do incredibly ridiculous things.
He visited me at work a few weeks ago with a familiar glint in his eye and a familiar smile on his face. Not to sound too newlywedish, but the fact of the matter is that the man has exactly six smiles, and the one slapped across his face was the one reserved specifically for when he's feeling mischievous.
It is a dangerous smile.
It is the smile I see before he does things like tell me he's adopting home brewing as a new hobby.
It is the smile I imagine he had before he threw himself out of a plane while going skydiving in his late teens.
It's a great smile. It always leads to fun.
"I have a new goal, baby!" he says, all energy and enthusiasm as I straighten some board games on a high shelf.
"Oooh, what's that?" I wrestle with a super-sized Monopoly board.
"I want to train to run a marathon."
My eyebrows make a beeline for my hairline as Monopoly lands on the shelf. "A marathon? When?"
"Well, later in the year, not for awhile. I'm not going to kill myself training for something six months away, that's just stupid."
I toss the idea around in my head as I pull some Blockus boards forward on the shelf. It's not completely insane--he is, after all, a police officer and therefore in need of being fit. He has a runner's body, that soccer physique that still drives me nuts almost seven years after I first laid eyes on him. And he definitely has the self discipline, taking into consideration his past fervor while training for Marine Corps Officer Candidate School ("You should see me!" he told me one day over Instant Messenger while I was still in college and we were still only friends, "I'm super jacked!")
I finish my straightening and step down from the chair I'd been standing on, "Well, I think that sounds like a great idea!"
"And, well, I was thinking, we could train together. Run together. And you could do, like, a half marathon or something at the end." He smiles a big, wide smile at me, trying to look encouraging.
My eyebrows shoot up as I tilt my head to the side, "Heck no, if we're running together, I'm not settling for some wussy half marathon. Oh no, no, I'm doing the full thing with you! And I might even beat you!" High talk from the girl who quit the middle school track team because her asthma acted up and she got shin splints a week into the season.
He smiles, "Alright, it was just a thought. I'm really excited though. I'm going to go look at places we can run." He gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'll make dinner too. What do you want?"
"Um..." I was just beginning to realize that I'd walked right into his trap, "I don't know. Something runner-y."
"Alright. See you at home! What time do you get off work? I love you!" And he bounces out the door, exuberant.
And that is how my husband, being fully aware of my competitive nature, convinced me to run a marathon. In 311 days. Holy cow, what have I gotten myself into?
Cindy
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