There once was a period of great drought, but soon— it happened. Like clowns spilling out of a circus car, there they were.
Exhibit #1: Jack, the running coach
Jack was one of my running coaches during my marathon training (please see below for dramatic recounts). He was nice, maybe even a little bit cute. In fact, I never thought of him as anything but Coach Jack, until that faithful day in March.
(Photo from 'Thomas Hawk' via Flickr)
It was an email I will never forget, but couldn’t delete fast enough—yes, you read correctly, an EMAIL. We finished training for our race in January, but to selfishly keep up my muscle tone, I had kept in touch with the running group which Jack led.
In the email he asked if he could take me out for dinner. At first, I thought nothing of it—he just wants to catch up, I thought. I hadn’t been to the running group in awhile due to my busy schedule at work, so he probably just wanted to see how life post-race was going. WRONG.
I agreed, still thinking nothing of it. Then came the next email…dun dun dun…he wanted to pick me up. Uh oh. This was a date.
I was going on a date with my running coach, who had seen me at my worst. He’d heard me whine, seen me sweaty and without makeup (gross), and listened to me cry and complain for five months straight. I guess I just never saw it coming—I thought of Jack as more of a father figure. A dad who just put up with all the crazy things I did and said. The more I thought about it, the more it freaked me out.
As the weekend grew closer, I grew more anxious. But my friends calmed me down reminding me that it was just a date—I didn’t have to marry him. So, I formulated a plan, mapped it all out and got ready for my big night.
THE PLAN:
1. Give the ‘friend’ vibe
2. Offer no physical contact (not even a handshake or a ‘half hug’; we don’t want to send off the wrong message here)
3. Avoid eye contact outside of conversation
4. Go dutch
5. Keep it short and sweet
6. Stay in control (for the most part, this applies to conversation topics, but could also refer to the amount of alcohol consumed)
7. And finally and most importantly, talk about running AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE!
The day came, and I ended up meeting him at the restaurant—I chickened out at the last minute and told him my Godmother had to have an emergency root canal and she needed me to watch her kids, so it would be more convenient to just meet him there. It wasn’t a complete lie—it was sort of the truth. She’d had an emergency root canal, just not that day. And besides, according to rule #6, I needed to stay in control.
I walked into the restaurant and found him waiting for me near the hostess stand. Sticking to the plan, I greeted him with a friendly smile and hello. He did the same, and informed me that there was a 20 minute wait in the restaurant, but no wait at the bar. In an attempt to avoid prolonged conversation and some forced awkwardness, I suggested the bar.
As soon as we were seated, I realized I had made a big mistake. The bar was not just a bar. It was a sushi bar. Not only was I going to be on an awkward date, it was going to be over raw food, which at this point, I did not know if I could stomach.
(Photo from 'Swerz' via Flickr)
I had tried sushi before, and would be willing to try it again someday, just not with Jack. If I am going to put myself through the uncomfortable texture of raw fish sliding down my esophagus, I at least wanted to have it be in the company of someone I was actually interested in. I ordered a salad and prayed the sight of his food wouldn’t bring me to vomiting.
Following rule #7, I talked about running as much as possible. Lucky for me this was one passion we had in common, so it wasn’t too tough. We then moved on to work and social scenes, but somewhere in between the two something terrible happened. Jack got serious.
He began telling me about his childhood and his family, going into non-first date detail. Abort mission!
When he was done eating his smelly, caterpillar-looking sushi, the check came. I asked if we could split the bill, but he insisted on paying. Even though I broke rule #4, I didn’t feel too bad about it. I felt like I did deserve some sort of compensation for having to watch him eat his fishy monstrosity.
Shortly after, we went our separate ways. The plan went off without a hitch—and though it was awkward at times, it could have been way worse. I arrived at my house at 8:01pm, just 61 minutes after I had left.
I am pretty sure Jack got the message. I have not heard from him again, and have since found a new running group.
Stay tuned, The Great Flood, Volume II is COMING SOON!
