Susan Lacke - Lifes Too Short to Go So F*cking Slow: Lessons from an Epic Friendship That Went the Distance

Table of Contents

Copyright 2017 by Susan Lacke

All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by VeloPress, a division of Competitor Group, Inc.

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ISBN: 978-1-937715-65-6

eISBN: 978-1-937716-93-6

Art direction by Vicki Hopewell

Cover design by Jonathan Sainsbury

Photos: front cover, Getty Images; .

v. 3.1

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For Carlos

CONTENTS

Running is for crazy people. I stubbed out my cigarette and continued ranting to myself. Theres no reason to run unless someone is chasing you. Those people are like a cult. Theyre brainwashed into being completely absorbed by this lifestyle. They even get tattoos after doing a race to declare they were initiated into that stupid cult! Its ridiculous.

Never mind that those people were my friends. Sure, I loved them, but lets be clearI loved them despite the fact that they were always exercising and doing triathlons and eating weird foods. I just didnt get it, any of it. And though I knew they werent trying to talk with an air of superiority, when they shared how theyd just gotten back from a 2-hour bike ride or a 10-mile run, I still somehow felt judged, the outsider who preferred happy hour to spin class.

Ten miles? At 23 years old, tired, stressed, and overweight, I couldnt fathom walking one mile, much less running 10.

I knew my unhealthy habits were wrong, but I found ways to justify them.

Smoking caused lung cancer, yes, but it alleviated my stress. That made it all right in my book.

Alcohol? My rational mind knew I wasnt going to find answers to lifes problems at the bottom of a bottle, yet at the end of every stressful workday, I poured myself a drink to unwind. And another one to help me forget the day. Then another to help me sleep.

As for exercise, I certainly didnt have time for that. As a first-year college professor with a demanding boss, I had too much work to do.

And although I frequented fast-food chains (who had time to cook?), at least I usually chose a salad (with extra ranch dressing). Sure, a Big Gulp of Diet Dr. Pepper was my constant companion, but that was because I needed the caffeine to keep me going and the carbonation to quell the nausea from last nights tequila.

I had gained 40 pounds in the span of a year. My marriage of four months was beginning to unravel at the seams, as was I. I questioned whether the decision to move from Wisconsin to Arizona to take my first teaching job had been the right one. It was too much change, too much pressure, and I felt unprepared to handle it.

One day, I was smoking outside my office when my boss came up to me and pointed at the cigarette in my hand. Mind if I have a drag? he queried.

I was shocked. Aside from a curt Welcome on my first day on campus, Dr. Nunez had never spoken directly to me. I was perfectly fine with that. I found everything about him intimidating, from the way he leaned back in his chair to stare at people while they were talking to his daily disappearances at lunchtime to swim laps in the campus pool. As an engineering professor, he had a bias toward technical and analytical brains that he did not try to hide. When he had been assigned to oversee some majors within the social sciences, which included mine, his irritation had been unmistakable: Why? hed lamented. Its not even a real science. Physically, he was a regimented, imposing figure with long limbs and muscled arms, which he liked to cross over his chest. I was convinced that he had been placed on this earth to intimidate the hell out of me. I did everything I could to avoid crossing his path.

Yet there he was, sitting in a cloud of my Marlboro Light smoke with outstretched fingers.

Well? Dr. Nunez smiled. Dr. Nunez knew how to smile? Shocked, I handed him my cigarette and watched as he took it between his fingers and stared expectantly at the wisp of smoke curling up from around his knees. He lifted the cigarette, smiled at me once more, and stubbed it out in the nearby ashtray.

You dont need that shit. He stood up and extended his hand. Come on, lets go get some coffee.

I was infuriated. That was my last smoke! I wanted to yell. Instead, I sat dumbfounded in the shade cast by Dr. Nunezs broad shoulders, too stunned by his bold gesture to say anything.

I said, Dr. Nunez sighed with obvious irritation, lets go get some coffee.

I quickly scrambled to my feet. Umm... okay?

Over Americanos, Dr. Nunez asked a lot of questionsWhy do you smoke? If smoking makes you less stressed, whats making you so stressed in the first place? He listened to my answers intently, interjecting an occasional nod and a Hmm. His demeanor was disarming, and I felt it drawing me in. Despite knowing better, I found myself committing the incredibly unprofessional crime of unloading all my personal problems on my boss. During a pause in the conversation, I felt a sudden wave of regretwhat was I thinking, spilling all this, and to Dr. Nunez of all people? But to my surprise, he didnt lecture me. Instead, he tipped his head thoughtfully, pursed his lips, and said matter-of-factly: You should come swimming with me during lunch tomorrow.

I laughed out loud. I couldnt help it. Listen, sir, I said once Id composed myself, thats very nice, but Im not one of those people.

Those people?

Crazy people. Health nuts, I blurted out before realizing I had most likely offended the man who signed my paycheck.

Cmon! he scoffed. Swimming is fun! But dont take my word for it. You should try it for yourself. When I hesitated, he added, If nothing else, youll get a good suntan out of it.

Did I mention that sunbathing was one of my vices, too?

The next day, as planned, Dr. Nunez showed up at my office door at 11:45 on the dot. Slung over his shoulder was a bag of kickboards and swim paddles.

You ready?

I nodded meekly, hoping I was feigning enthusiasm convincingly. He smiled and nodded toward the exit.

Lets go.

I went swimming that day. And the next. And the next. At first it was out of fear of offending my boss, but soon I found myself starting to look forward to it. I wasnt fast, but I was capable, and I liked spending an hour each day in the Arizona sunshine.

In between laps, Dr. Nunez became Carlos, and Carlos became my friend. It didnt make sensean athletic, accomplished guy like him had no reason to take an interest in a slow, chubby kid who made poor choices. Still, I decided not to question it.