I Guess I’m Too Old For Harry Potter

I was as thrilled as a little schoolgirl this morning when I stumbled across the box set of Harry Potter novels posted on Varage Sale. In an instant, I’d answered a cool ‘interested’ in the comments section while inside I was screaming “Meeeeeee! I’ll take them! Give them to me!”

Thus and thus, I became proud owner of the Harry Potter books at age 24. When I was a youngster, growing up in a conservative Christian home, all things Harry Potter were forbidden on account of the magic. I agree that magic is a biblically grey area, and if I should have children, I’d probably at least want to read the books with them so we could talk about those things. So, unlike my peers who grew up with Harry, Ron and Hermione, I waited to meet them until last autumn.

I committed to the movies first, and I thoroughly enjoyed them. Never mind that they were ‘kids movies’. Little Harry and his friends were so darn cute, and I especially loved know-it-all Hermione. I’d be the one going ‘Don’t you read?’ too. Later on, as the stakes get higher and the movies become darker in tone, the relationship between Harry and his friends grows even stronger in contrast the evil they face. Yeah, there’s a little bit of harmless romance in the story, but the platonic, brotherly love is what shines in these stories. Love, sacrifice, friendship and loyalty are praised almost above all else.

I’ve been reading a lot of ‘kids books’ lately. I’m plugging away at a seven-in-one volume of the Chronicles of Narnia. Narnia is my lunchtime escape from the perils of work. The imagination is so much fresher than in ‘adult’ books. The good is so much ‘gooder’ and the bad is so much more cut and dry. I guess I’m surrounded by cynicism all day, so reading a kids book is refreshing to the mind.

So I’ve finally got my hands on the Harry Potter series. I’ll be the lone adult on the plane or in the waiting room, reading Harry Potter. So what if I’m too old? 🙂

The Week Without Running

This week I took my second sick day of the year, and the third of my lifetime.  Yes, I consider myself to be indestructible, and when I do get sick I go to work anyway.

Last Saturday I woke up with burning lungs, like the feeling you get after you’ve inhaled caustic cleaner (been there, done that).  “No!” I said, “I can’t be sick.  I have a 5K.”  Cue browsing articles on ‘should you run while sick,’ of which there was no unanimous conclusion.  So, I said ‘to heck with it,’ went to the drugstore and bought the highest-powered lozenges I could find.  Back in the car, I popped one in my mouth.

My tongue went numb.

“What the heck is in these things?”  I flipped over the box.  Hmm, Benzocaine.  Isn’t that what they use to freeze your mouth at the dentist?

Well, you don’t need to feel your tongue to run.  So off I went to the race.

I almost burned out in the last mile.  My lungs hurt so bad, and I had to force my oxygen-deprived muscles to keep firing.  My time was lackluster, but I made it.

Monday, I went running again.  Tuesday I was still sick, and on Wednesday I was dragging myself around work like a zombie.  I decided to call it a day and go to the walk-in clinic.  Chest X-rays and EKG’s and blood work couldn’t tell the doctor what was wrong with me.  “You have a virus,” he said.

I could have told myself that.  At least I wasn’t dying.  I’d already been imagining the end of my running ‘career’ because I had scarring of the lungs, or a hole in my heart, or something (just making up stuff, here).

So this week has been one of extra sleep, extra writing, and extra Harry Potter watching.  After much self-lecturing, I’ve decided I’m sick.  No speed-work midweek.  No long run on the weekend.  I’m getting antsy.  Based on the way my chest feels right now, I might collapse midway.  But it’s autumn in Manitoba, and that means six months of winter are almost here, and if I don’t enjoy the snow-free roads now, I won’t get to!

Argh.

Someone tie me down, or hide my sneakers.