Mr. Speedy deserves his very own page for explanation.
After high school, I ran away to college. And then to graduate school, flipping and flopping between state lines. School was a blast for a nerdy specimen like myself. Indulging in books and the local Farmer’s Market, I was quite the party animal. Every now and then I would get really wild, throw all my inhibitions to the wind, buy really expensive cheese, drink wine with girlfriends, and experience shopaholic moments at chic boutiques.
Boys and love– I dated. I had an apartment and learned cooking for one was really hard but sharing it with someone who doesn’t really make your knees buckle or your mind fill with mushy sweet nothings, is even harder. Boys, boys, boys. Some were sweet, some were boring, some were smelt of old gym socks, but most were just a fleeting moment in my life.
And then, IT happened.
That big-love-of-your-life moment.
I found my Mr. Big, my My Darcy.
That man that makes you question how you could have possibly functioned appropriately in society prior to his existense.
That man that you could kiss for 35 days straight and… then 35 more.
That man that notices the unnoticable about you.
After moving back to my childhood home, I choose to run an annual half-marathon race. And then fate stepped (or ran) into my life.
I crossed the finish line and my Running Uncle (he is not really my uncle but I like to think he is) waved me over.
I started to make my way over with my jello-legs, smiling, trying to catch gulps of air and then, that is when I saw him. A gorgeous man who looked completely calm, cool, and collected. A striking contrast to me- hips misaligned, doused in sweat, dried boogers peeking out of my nostrils, and legs that were beginning to melt into wobbly sticks. His hair seemed so perfectly intact, vibrant honey eyes were drawing me in, and his arms- his arms were all sorts of goodness. I felt an immediate need to get to know those arms- get wrapped up and lost for days. Or weeks. Or years.
My breath got swept right back out of me.
If I drooled, which I definitely may have, my sweaty complexion covered it nicely.
Running Uncle introduced us, explaining that Mr. Speedy had won the entire race. I offered my gloved hand (which was really gross and covered in boogers, sweat, and spit) and a meek ‘Congrats.’ Mr. Speedy flashed me a quick grin and thanks.
Ohhh, I thought to myself. That smile. That smile got me. I felt it seep straight deep into my marrow and bury itself, attaching to me. I was completely hooked. Stunned. Infatuated.
But infatuation was cut short due to my rattling teeth and lips turning blue- I was beginning to freeze like an icecube. I said a quick goodbye and walked away. Mr. Speedy always likes to remind me that when I did walk away, his eyes lingered a little bit longer on my beehind than what is socially acceptable. Clearly, we had an immediate mutual attraction for one another.
The next morning, Running Uncle urged Mr. Speedy to get to know me.
Within 24 hours, he did just that.
Within a week we had our first date and were instantly inseparable.
We both confessed we always wanted to meet our match, someone worth having as a partner, at a race. Mr. Speedy explained he always knew I was out there, he didn’t go looking for me, but just was patient and allowed me to walk right into his life. And walk right in I did… well, it was more like a jiggly-spaghetti legs walk but same thing.
And whenever I ask Mr. Speedy about that day, the day he met me, his response is perfectly simple and unelaborated-
“That was the best day of my life.”
It was the best day of my life, too.
Four months later, Mr. Speedy began saving for an engagement ring.
Less than a year from meeting, he proposed.
I pretended to be Audrey Hepburn and we took pictures.
And then on a chilly day in March, with a 1920s themed agenda, we whispered the ‘I do’ that so many before us have said.
And then he surprised with a honeymoon in Paris and I don’t think I’ve stopped dreaming since.