You’ve Got No Business Running (Around) In That!

Amidst all the other chaos that currently characterizes my life, my beloved car* broke down last week. Well, she didn’t exactly “break-down,” but the battery died. I had to be somewhere and she just wouldn’t hold a charge. My husband was adamant; “You are not driving that car anywhere – you’re going to get stranded.”  Now, I’m not accustomed to anyone or anything reigning in my freedom, so this really stuck in my craw – especially because I knew he was right.

Let me just say that driving this car has required me to maintain a defensive position right from the start. It’s a 6-year old storm cloud gray Porsche Boxster with a manual transmission. When I sit in my little beauty, she cradles me in womb-like comfort, her seats and headroom just right for my small frame. The minute the temperature consistently exceeds 70 degrees, her top is down and we just cruise! But, for some reason, people don’t want me to drive this car. My father: “You’re going to kill yourself in that thing!” My BFF: “Aren’t you ready for something a little more…mature?” My boss: “Let’s take my car.”

So off my baby went to my wonderful mechanic Eddie for her 30K mile maintenance, which was just about due, and a battery replacement. And this is when I began to have some interesting revelations about my relationship with this car.

I’d barely gotten back home from Eddie’s when he called me. “Do you know where the key is for your wheel locks?” I was baffled. I hadn’t a clue about locks or wheels or anything. ‘Did you check the glove box?” I asked, pretending to know something about it. “It’s not there,” Eddie says. “Don’t worry – I’ll check and see if I can find it in either of the trunks.”

Eddie calls me a couple of hours later. “Well, I found the wheel lock key. Did you know that you have a fantastic tool kit for this car in the front trunk compartment?” I hadn’t a clue. And I thought I knew my car so well! I know the exact sweet spot between 3^rd and 4^th gear. I am intimate with the precise coordination of gear, clutch and wheel that enables me to whip around those tight turns on Mulholland Canyon…but a tool kit? I’m such a girl.

Are you wondering where I’m going with this yet?

Well, when I picked the car up from Eddie, he had some news for me. “Beth, you have to drive this car more to keep it running right. This is a car that has to have it’s fluids circulated – it’s gotta have high rpms every week or so. That doesn’t mean tooling to the grocery store. That means out on the road, revved-up driving.” Ha!

Have you ever heard that adage about people having dogs that look like them? Well, I have a car that’s gotta run…and run hard at least once a week! This is going to be difficult to fit into my schedule. I work from my home and rarely drive during the week except on short jaunts for basic needs. Now I’ve learned that I’ve got to get in my car and seriously drive.  Whew! I hope I’ve caught this in time before my car’s “lack of exercise” becomes critical to her health!”

Does this sound familiar to anyone? Sometimes it’s hard to find time. Sometimes it gets REALLY hard when you’re out on the road and you don’t know if you can run another mile. That’s the point at which you reach down into the “trunk” and pull out the “tool kit” that you didn’t know was there – all the things you’ve learned and now know about training and pacing and distance. Forgive the strained metaphor.

But remember – no matter what life throws at you, you have to run to keep your battery charged and your fluids flowing properly. Eddie’s good, but he can’t fix osteoporosis, or symptoms of menopause, or take 5 pounds off my waist. It’s up to me.

So the next time someone ribs me about my little car, I think I’ll just say, “I can’t get rid of her! She’s my running partner!” Maybe she’ll even wink a halogen at me.

* It’s a known fact that people who live in Los Angeles have inappropriate affection for their vehicles. I have been asked how I know my car is a “she.” What a ridiculous question! Just look at her! ;-) 

• Currently 3.0/5 Stars.