So yesterday I’m all, “MUST START NEW YEAR WITH GOOD HABITS,” which obviously leads to drinking an entire bottle of wine AND taking a jog, in that order, because COMPROMISE.
So here’s me all decked out in black spandex, feeling like a bonafide hot chick ninja like you see in movies (except my legs are chafing, I’m sweating like a pregnant wildebeest, and my pony tail makes me look like a wet rat because despite having tried for thirty some odd years, to this day I haven’t figured out how to do one of those careless cool girl buns that are all, “oh this? yawn, I just threw it up”).
I’m not 14 seconds into my dorky speed walk, when I hear this clickety clacking coming from behind me, like I’m about to get run over by a military sergeant…or maybe the entire squadron. (Squadron, great word.)
So as me and my slick backed rat tail whip around to see who’s approaching, you know what I see?
Not a sergeant. Not a Clydesdale. Not a WWF wrestler. But a mother on a mission.
And not just any mother, but a mother pushing a stroller. Although perhaps “pushing” isn’t the right word—brief reflective pause—“bulldozing that shit along the side of a bumpy, mountainous jungle road with no sidewalk and zero regard for pedestrians” is probably more appropriate.
Now, mind you. As I tell this story, I’m in the beachy rainforest of Costa Rica, where I live from time to time when I actually can stand the humidity, bugs, and asinine power outages.
So I’m all, “Is grease lightning over here really about to pass me? With a stroller? On this road?” At which point I berated myself to walk faster, because let's face it: This is embarrassing.
And there I am, literally walking as fast as I can, FULL SPEED, when mom-of-steel totally glides on by me without missing a beat, on the left side, on the road with no sidewalk and Latino drivers without mufflers zooming by her, while pushing a stroller.
Which would have been bad enough, if, ten minutes later, I hadn’t made the right onto the hilly mountain road that takes you down to the beach, where I see that Vin Diesel had also turned down that road. Which happens to be situated on a damn near 90 degree angle. Which happens to be a real bitch to walk. I assume she must be staying in one of the hotels further down the road, and probably had no choice but to hoof it on back.
Because then we both awkwardly come to the next Y in the road (with me, señorita sweats a lot, trailing behind this woman in a way that’s like, “We’re the only two people on this entire road and I’m definitely walking way too close behind you for comfort”), where there are two options: Go right on the hard top, or go left on this rocky decline of a dirt road that’s meant for things like four wheelers, monster trucks and verifiable mountain men…but probably not strollers. (Side note: Ludacris and his fiancée just spent Christmas week staying at this house on this road, and yes, I missed him, and yes, I hate myself. SHOULD HAVE BEEN TAKING YOUR CUTESY LITTLE WALKS THEN, ASH.)
So I proceed to watch her finagle this, without being able to believe my own eyes, because Vin Diesel apparently isn’t taking any prisoners today—off she veers onto the dirt road, hurling down the side of this mountain, off-roading this stroller, one-handing the thing like it’s a sport. I mean, this dirt road is so steep that I even recently saw an SUV, in 4 wheel drive, get stuck going back up it…not because it was wet or muddy, but because it was THAT ROCKY, the thing couldn’t get enough traction.
I immediately dart my eyes to the wheels of this stroller, expecting them to be some kind of heavy-duty rubber that’s especially made for, I don’t know, carting your babies down non-traditional terrains. Sure enough, no such thing. Plain as day baby stroller wheels in action.
So this is the moment when I start to feel like a real loser, you know?
Not only does she pass me on the main road, whilst pushing a stroller, but then proceeds to prove that I LITERALLY HAVE NO EXCUSE IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD FOR BASICALLY NOT HIKING MOUNT EVEREST OR SOMETHING. Because she’s now that person I will continue to guilt myself with for all of 2015, in the back of my head, every single time I don’t want to go outside: Well stroller derby makes it happen—wah, wah wah—I have no excuse. Ever again.
Nevertheless, bitch proceeds to make it all the way to the bottom, where the dirt road finally levels out and opens up into a big, wide sandy beach, where she then goes on to push that stroller right on down the entire length of the beach, triceps bulging, and baby bouncing along…like it ain’t no thang.
This, people, is dedication.
I gotta say: While that might not sound appealing, it's a great testament to how people who want things get it done. They do it. Rain or shine. Baby or no baby. Sidewalk or no sidewalk. Spectators or not.
She didn’t give one flying fuck that I was awkwardly trailing behind her, watching her stumble and brace and fly and haul. She didn’t care that the people hiking back up the mountain were looking at her like she had gone mad. And she didn't let the fact that people don’t conventionally push strollers down rocky roaded beachside mountains…stop her from doing just that.
And as we come into this new year, I want to encourage you to take a page out of stroller derby's book, and stop promising yourself all sorts of corny, cliché things (like that you'll finally start taking the road less, ahem, traveled)
…and actually do the damn thing.
Worst case scenario? You’ll give a baby brain damage.
But best case?
-Write that book
-Start that side business
-Build that new app
-Raise your hourly rate by $100 bucks
-Go with your heart
-Do what you *really* want
-Market yourself your way
-Figure out if this is what you want…or not
-Honor your instincts
-Launch that website
-Decide you’ll never do _____ again
-Rewrite your sales page
-Put that email sequence in place
-Dye your hair, for the love of christ
-Make more “you” time
-And generally take the really ridiculous, incredibly pressure some burden off yourself to do things a certain way, just because some person in some book once said that’s how you should do it.
The woman with the stroller was doing what she had to do to make it work…for her.
And therein lies the key to almost everything, I suspect.