Something so awful happened to me yesterday. I can hardly talk about it. But I can definitely blog about it.
I was all set for my run home from work. I was pumped– I had my best sports bra on, I’d hydrated all afternoon and my shoes were laced up. The spring evening beckoned me. This is gonna best run in the history of recreational running.
I flicked off the light and grabbed my phone and queued up my best playlist. My stride was loose and confident. I dodged the commuters taking the train (lazy asses) and made my way to Milwaukee Avenue.
Oh, sweet tea on a window sill, y’all, my battery went dead. D-E-A-D. I had the phone by the charger for the previous 9 hours, but didn’t take that final– and crucial– step of plugging it in.
You know what that means? I was alone with my thoughts for the rest of the run. 37 minutes of “me” time totally fucked up by the stream of chatter in my head.
I stopped at a red light. I said to myself, “Christie Prefontaine, You’ve gotta get a grip. You can’t be alone with your thoughts or the sound of your thighs rubbing together during the rest of this run. Think of something else. Invent something. Cure something. Draft a constitution for a small island nation. GIVE YOUR BRAIN AN ASSIGNMENT.”
When I get all yell-y like that I tend to do what that voice is saying. I pouted for a few more blocks and considered stealing this short woman’s iPhone as she plodded along in front of me.
Then, it hit me. I would think of ways to make some money.
Here’s my best idea: I rent Oprah’s old studio and host a talk show. My style would be something like Gordon Ramsey meets Suze Orman. Confrontational. No nonsense. Savvy. Other than having to get a shorter, blonder hair style, it’s pretty much just me.
My first guests would be Adele and Governor Chris Christie. I’d be en fuego that first night. My house band would be bluegrass-and-MC-Hammer mash-ups. It’d be confusing but it would also sort of work.
When Adele comes out, I’d be all Where have you been? You drop the hottest album ever in the history of vocal cords and then you disappear? I’d be hostile in a tough love-y sort of way. I would get up in her face. She’d try to talk in that adorable English accent and I’d be out of my chair screaming, “DON’T TELL ME MOTHERHOOD HAS YOU BUSY! That’s crap. Get to your next album, you British millennial.” But then I’d turn all sweet like Ellen DeGeneres and ask her questions about her eye make up and why Boden clothes don’t fit ladies with big breasts. We’d end on a high note and she’d love my “brash American style.”
With Governor Christie I could be more ruthless. Let’s face it, if he’s had gastric by-pass he can handle me. I’d be all up in this face, asking the hard questions that the American people– my viewers– want to know. “Gastric bypass? What ever happened to healthy living? Can poor people get gastric bypass? Do you support healthcare that would allow poor people who similarly suffer from obesity to have the surgery? Why was it a secret?”
My tag line would be “GIVE ME ANSWERS!”
If my run had been longer, I would have more sample guest scenarios for you. You should thank your stars I only have the lung capacity for 4.5 miles.
The key takeaway from this whole situation: Always charge your phone so you don’t have to resort to your own thoughts during a run.