Thou Shall Not Lie

Make it the 11th commandment.
I actually cannot believe that Moses missed that one. I mean - what was he thinking about up in that mountain?!?!? That should be top priority, especially these days....maybe someone should just volunteer, rewrite and actualize the list, you know, like they did for the 7 Wonders of the World. Exit Maussoleum, Lighthouse and Hanging Gardens - hello Machu Picchu, Taj Mahal and Great Wall.
Note that the Colloseum has replaced the Collosus.
Sometimes everything remains (almost) the same.

(No comment on the absence of France in both lists. The fact that the country was populated by bearded barbarians eating boar and climbing up trees to collect mistletoe is totally irrelevant for the first one, and as for the second, 'modern' one...well...as I said: no comment. Thanks.)

So yeah - the humanity actually felt the urge to redefine a top-list of architectural wonders, spent years thinking about it, set up a huge contest, even chose a highly symbolic date to reveal the lucky winners - 7/7/07 which was also, by the way, the wedding day of Eva Longoria and Tony Parker, and that says a lot (don't ask me how I know this, I wouldn't answer even under torture). That's all nice and well, noble and absolutely pointless.
Way to go.

So what about reconsidering the ten principles according to which we are all (?!?) supposed to live our lives?!?!? What do you mean nobody cares anyway? Well I don't either! It's just a matter of precision. And we need to keep things straight, God dammit.
Because, seriously, nowadays who:
- make for oneself an idol? (ok...may-be. American, dancing or otherwise, they are still around. Hollywood, thou wretched city abandoned of God, new Babylon - I am looking at you and my wrath will be terrible)
- keep the Sabbath holy?
- knows the difference between committing adultery (#7) and coveting one's neighbor's wife? Ah-ah, I tricked you with that one, didn't I?!?!?

I would personally vouch for a few updates along the lines of "You will not clandestinely install a freaking virus on my computer", "You will not make me believe in BS miracle diets", "You will not force me to watch any reality TV on Bravo" and "You will not earn millions just by showing your bootilicious in the media".

But the lying thing should be at the top of the list.
Because whoever you are, wherever you live, whatever you do - you are exposed to lie.
I mean - I am.
And also - I do.
Lie.
I guess that at this point, I would be supposed to give examples. Personal and shameful, to illustrate my point and make this posting worth reading. Learning by edification and shit. The only problem is - I am not a good Christian and I don't see my blog as a confessional.
So instead of incriminating myself and strike the dreadful chord of mea culpa, mea culpissima I am going to expose the lie of someone else.
Less repentant.
Far less charitable.
But oh so more fun!

This story involves a lady in black in a bakery.
She was not my sugar mama; still I was meant to be sugar coated. Evolve in a world of macarons, croissants, cookies and fruit tarts. Swirl in front and behind the counter, type on the cash register, take commands, make the schedules, scold and praise the employees and most of all - launch a marketing campaign to put the store on the map. Website, Twitter, Facebook, Foursquare were my chosen musketeers.
My head was swarming with ideas.

And this last Friday, after months of anticipation, discussion, planning and impatient awaiting - came the lie.
Not even a nice, assertive one. Nothing about it was sharp; dull words, weak arguments, elusive look.
Cowardice at its best.
Despite flourishing promises and hours of cajoling, I was given the ultimate low act: denial.
In the final hour I didn't get the job - which is tough but acceptable. But I was told that I had never even been considered for one - and that, that - is despicable.

So I didn't say anything. I didn't try to argue. I didn't fight it. Didn't say a thing. I let her talk, stumble on her words and repeat the same sentence; she was trying to convince herself more than me. It was almost painful to watch.
I took the high road. Because you have to choose your battles, and that one was definitely not worth it. My opponent was already defeated.

I moved on.
To the next lie, hoping it will be mine.

The Hare and The Tortoise

Once upon a time I was a tortoise, - well, THE tortoise of the story - and actually didn't have any problem with my status.
And why should I have?!? They may not be very stylish and, sure, their prehistoric look doesn't put them on the fashion map (and let's not forget that it is a major sin, we are talking French here peeps) but they are endangered, people love them, they make cute plush toys (they could use a little Disney promotion though...really, what are they waiting for?) and delicious soups.
Well - yeah....but no. You shouldn't eat any. Forget it.

Except that now I am species-confused.
I might have suddenly joined the stressful world of mammals, given up my wrinkled skin for fur, my short little paws for bouncy legs and - supreme horror - my roomy condo for two long, silly-looking appendixes.
And I am not even talking about the skyrocketing libido...

See, I started running.
And to my (almost) shame, I really like it.

Now - you have to know that people - normal, clear-minded, I-feel-good-in-my-own-skin people - don't run in France. Mayyyyyyy-be once a year to catch a bus or a train in order not to miss the meeting of their life. Or the beginning of a soccer match. But really - if you are a gal - you are not very likely to sprint. Like, EVER. Running shoes?!?! Whaaaaaa? We do feel the deepest sympathy (embedded in many layers of stunned disbelief) for these NYC wonder women who half-jog from home to the subway to work to unsuccessful first dates in their sneakers, high heels thrown in their shoulder bags.
Ze poor little zings.

Because if you are a faithful reader and practitioner of Crosswords, you know that we, lucky us, don't get fat.
So the benefits of running don't really occur to us. And to take care of our hearts and cardiovascular systems, we have red wine, thankyouverymuch. A glass a day keep the doctor and the Nike away. Besides we have more lovely ways to take care of her feet - Christian Louboutin, I am calling your name. (Now that's free advertisement and I would highly appreciate if you could send a pair of comfortable 3-inch heels this way please. US 8.5, FR 39 - whatever color. Thanks.)

I painfully remember the 3 most excruciating hours of the week back in school. Physical education - it was (so elegantly) called. I was so bad it was just pure oppression. My own special peeves: volleyball, gymnastics and athleticism. Which is a big word to describe what we were doing at the time. Dragging along, trailing behind, huffing and puffing would be more appropriate. That must have been a heart-breaking sight for our instructor, Mme Evesque (yep, I remember her name very clearly. You can never forget a torturer). I am grateful that there is no video footage of these days - I would probably die on the spot out of embarrassment.
Anyway - if I had to pick up the worst of the worst it would definitely be "la course d'endurance". 20 minute-run on a track.
That.Was.A.Nighmare.
And a vastly shared one. We were all complaining and grunting all the day down to the field. And it shows. Can you name at the top of your head 3 French athletes? under 10 seconds? without looking up on Google?

I am laughing by myself as I am typing this. Last week I completed a 7.25 mile run in 1 hour and 20 something minutes. Not a great time, but geeze!!!!!!!!!! 1 hour longer than my teenage-years ordeal. 60 long minutes. 3600 seconds.
What happened to me?

Frankly, I am not quite sure. Even when I started working out here in the US (because it's what you have to do in order to : 1. be cool; 2. fit in your jeans) running was at the bottom of my list. I was making up excuses in order to avoid climbing on the treadmill, or at least cranking up the speed button. "It hurts my shins", "I can't run since I had strep" - which was partially true. After a bad case of strep and a treatment left unfinished I had developed painful nodules on my legs and almost died of heart failure.
Dramatic pause.
But I have since totally recovered, and it was merely a mental blockage linked to the memory of Mme Evesque, which was - I have to be honest here - a really nice woman.
Wrong profession, but what can you do about that?!?! I learned since that these things happen to the best of us.

I started training a year ago. Emulated by a friend, ex-marine, fit as a fiddle. Shyly first. I was really not sure of what I was doing. Sounds simple enough, you put one leg in front of the other and you try to walk fast. Really fast. Right? But there is more to it than that. I learned, on the belt, the asphalt, the dirt. I read on the screen and magazines. "Runnersworld.com" became my new bible. I signed up for my first race. 5K with a finish in Wringley Field, the heart of hearts of Chicago. Followed by another one to celebrate Bastille Day. Plans were made for a half-marathon.
I swore though that I would NEVER do a full one. Too sick. Too demanding.
Fuck, I am still French at heart!!!

But a year later I am still running, and enjoying it more than ever. It's only a beautiful physical challenge - and a way to keep my jodhpur thighs (and butt) at bay - for me, it's the best therapy out there. I run and I forget. I get winded and I unwind. I pile up the miles and I get rid of my burdens.
That's the real treasure, and what keeps me running.

Next stop: April 24. Another race to Wrigley. And a less than 30' objective.
I just do it.

Short puzzle : Spring

Open window.

Chirping birds, laughing kids, buzzing world.

The light breeze makes the blinds ripple, and sing a clinging music magnetic to the purring sphinxes gracing the office. Intrigued and focused they silently glide out to sit and take in the air, nose in the wind, eyes half-closed.

Transition.

Timid, quiet but impatient, nature is in-between. Faded colors, sparks of vibrancy, fuzzy buds and sprouts. Subdued. Powerful.

In waiting.

Soon the symphony will start and come to live, and its overwhelming ring will echo in my ears. Blinding light, pulsating chants, powerful bouquets of blazing reds and yellows – Spring will have sprung.

And died.

Time to close the window, and let the summer flow.