Think narrow, winding roads bumper to bumper with thousands of mini-vans; a cluster of families parked in every crevice the snow plow has carved out, each with a father's butt protruding into traffic as he bends over adjusting the chains on the back tires of his front-wheel drive; gloved hands and beanied heads of all shapes and sizes spill out of the windows and doors, sliding on on the snow berms into oncoming traffic, tossing snowballs at grandmas toddling on the ice in dark dresses and heeled dress shoes, heads wrapped in colorful scarves.
These visitors set up camp for the day on the roadside, and they sled and frolic and pee in the great outdoors, side by side, packed in like spectators with stadium seating. The rest of us shimmy our ways around them as we try to go about our daily lives.
Staying sane is the goal today. I make it into the gym early enough, before the onslaught of tourists arrives. After I finish my chest workout though, I linger too long. I perch myself on the treadmill and run a few miles. My view is the highway and gym parking lot, nothing to see on a normal day, but this is the weekend between Christmas and New Year's, AND we have lots of fresh snow. The highway looks like the 5 Freeway at 8:00 AM on a weekday--no one is moving.
The gym parking lot quickly becomes a hot spot. By the time I am done with my business, throngs of multi-generational family units are having tailgate parties, double parking, slipping and sliding, throwing snow, laughing, and yelling in shrill foreign languages. Within a short span of time, the place is wall to wall humans. I am in awe of the sheer volume of bodies occupying space.
Exiting the gym will take some serious perseverance. I pack my gear up, pull on my jacket and tell myself I will be kind. I will be patient. I should admire these people for making an effort--they could be sitting in front of a television with a bag of chips. I walk out the door and to the back of my truck, tap a young man on the shoulder and motion for him to move his grandma out of the way so I can back up. He has kind eyes, and puts his arm around her shoulder to guide her away from my vehicle.
Before I can get in the truck and pull on my seat belt, the space vacated by the kind young man and his grandma is filled with more people. I turn over the engine and rev it to indicate my intentions and the crowd slowly parts. I inch my way in reverse, hoping not to squash a wayward toddler, then slowly, in starts and stops, inch past a sea of over-insulated, crazed Weebles. My disappearing patience is the only thing moving at a measurable speed.
The two mile journey home takes over 30 minutes; I creep along--one sluggish blood cell struggling through a clogged artery. Once in my house, I remain seated on the couch in my coat and boots, stunned. I am Ralphie Parker after his mom pulls him off Scott Farkus in the movie A Christmas Story. I have a vague recollection of the string of obscenities that I uttered in the last half hour, but I am otherwise numb.
Post-gym exhaustion. And it wasn't the workout this time.
3 comments:
30 minutes? Holy cow.
I believe it, though. I left RS to head back to Mom and Dad's at about 9:30 last night; the view from the Rim of the cars sitting on 330 was nothing short of impressive and intimidating.
Way to get home, Ralphie :)
As a fellow Running Springs resident, I have had the same response to the hoard of visitors....moving like molasses in December....over our normally quiet patch of earth. Curiously, similar mental processes have occurred in myself: initial compassion and appreciation of diversity and determination of the visitors spiraling into panic at the density of human flesh talking, breathing,consuming and excreting in such intimate proximity to ourselves.
Thanks,
"CC"
I was thinking about you today as i jogged to Carlsbad to pick up the car. Blues Traveler was playing on the ipod and it made me think of Mammoth RB trip.
When the dimples get you down...think spray tan! Just don't pick anything that turns you orange!:) Jenn
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