Today, I was reminded of two things that make me crabby. Real crabby. Now, Marty would argue that a few more things than two make me crabby; and she's most likely correct. I tend to think far too highly of myself.
So, the first thing that will make me crabby is golfing. I went golfing today. I went golfing to join the BNI group I'm in on its monthly social activity. I really like the people in my BNI group. They are really great people. So, last week, I decided that, inspite of my hatred for golfing, I would really like to spend time with my friends from BNI, and could tolerate 2 hours of golfing.
I did have a great time with my friends at BNI. I played with Sandra, Heather and Matt and got to learn a little more about each of them. But oh, at what cost. Two hours, nine holes.
Why do I dislike golf so much? It's slow, it's long, it's hot. I hit a ball - it rarely goes where I wish and the amount of time and effort it would take (not to mention money) to get that ball to go where I want it to, is limitless. I do not have limitless time, effort or money. So, I hit a ball. I walk to where that ball is, rather than where it should be, and I hit it again to another place where it shouldn't be. After about 3 of these hits, I'm about as frustrated as when I watch Levi attempt to pour out milk from a full, plastic, gallon milk container into a Dixie cup. It's a slow-motion wreck in the making.
The problem is that improvement in golf is so subjective. "Stand with legs apart." "No, legs together." "Elbows bent." "Elbows straighter." "Twist at the hip." "Keep hips straight." And which ever technique I use to actually end up hitting the ball, sometimes it's a dead-on hit and sometimes it slices right into the trees. Crabby source #1. On to #2.
The second thing that makes me crabby is walking around the block. Marty loves this. I do not. Now, I have schemed on numerous occasions of attempting to run around our 1.2 mile block for 12 or 24 hours, just to see how far I could go on a closed loop. But ask me to walk around the block and I get hives. Occasionally, I accept the hives and go walking, usually to placate Marth.
Tonight was such a night. Toddlers in strollers, Sadie in a stroller and off we went. We had a good time. The boys love pushing the toddlers by catapulting them in such a way that they go rolling down the road ahead of us and then roll down into the ditch. We all watch with anticipation to see if the stroller will tip over. The toddler in the stroller does as well - but for different reasons!
I really don't know why I dislike walking around the block. It's not that I dislike walking. In the 50 miles that I've run at Leadville, I walked at least 15 of those miles. Of the 92.75 at FANS, I must have walked 40 of those miles. It doesn't really matter as long as I suffer every once in a while in order to give Marty some company.
Tonight's walk was blessed by a treat when we got home: a young buck in the front yard. We were able to feed it from our hands, pet it and rub its antlers. Not much to be crabby about anymore.