I love to find patterns in things. I enjoy counting things, sorting things, matching things up. I bet I was a super terrific kindergarten student.
In my daily life, my love of counting makes tracking my diet and exercise pretty easy. I don’t miss a day, ever. Or at least not since I started. I love the statistics that come from all of that tracking, too. When I get that email telling me how many miles I moved last week, I get a little SQUEE of joy. When I look at my weight chart steadily trending downward, I get an even bigger SQUEE of joy. Sometimes, I find, though, that all of this counting and tracking and paying attention leads to some odd coincidences.
My current coincidence is the number seven.
The first occurrence of Freaky Seven happened a few weeks ago. Wayne is in the process of recreating a car. He says he’s rebuilding it but it’s getting cleaned and painted, taken apart and put back together, tested and tweaked. It’s a totally fascinating process to observe and nothing I would ever want to do, but still something I find extraordinarily impressive. Anyway! We decided to drive it from here to Seaford one afternoon (destination: beer store). It chugged along wonderfully. As we were pulling into the parking lot, I happened to notice one of those bank clocks that show the temperature. It was 77.7 degrees. I pointed that out to him and he said “watch, something good is going to happen.”
When we finished our shopping and came back out, the car wouldn’t start. He putzed around a bit and then we got a jump. That process made us about 5 minutes later than we would have been. As we were driving through Laurel, we saw the remains of a horrible accident. Judging by the emergency vehicles on the scene – only state troopers – it was very obvious that the accident had happened about five minutes earlier. We would have been there. We could very well have been the car whose passenger side door was pressed against the driver’s right arm. Coincidence, I’m sure, but odd nonetheless.
And yes, I realize it was also 77.7 degrees for the guy who was hit, but I bet he didn’t see it on the bank sign!
Second case in point: I have one of my best exercise weeks ever. I feel amazing. I actually rode 11 miles the other day on tires that were down more than half their rated PSI. Not on purpose, of course! Yeah it was super hard to do but I did it. I am growing a hard candy shell. Tough as nails and all that jazz. I feel a little better all the time, but something about this past week was above and beyond for me. I wish I could quantify it or explain it but words fail me. Suffice it to say it was awesome.
I got my weekly progress email from MapMyRun this morning and of course – 77.7 miles last week. Of course my best week ever as far as getting the miles in and feeling great about it would be 77.7 miles. I’ve had weeks with more miles, but they exhausted me or made me a grump-a-saurus. This one? Not at all. I am still sort of riding high (pun intended and really bad, sorry) on the high of getting my best overall mile per hour bike time yesterday. Air is a magical thing, isn’t it?
So what’s the point? Good question. I suppose it comes down to two things. First, I can find coincidences in anything and that might be my super power. Second, I obviously have some deep-seated and odd superstitions going on to burden the poor number seven with being the harbinger of my good luck.
Of course I know there is no such thing as luck and there are no lucky numbers. Life is chaos. I miss being in accidents every day and there’s almost never a seven thing going on. I have great weeks where I’m strong and lose weight and move 64 or 82 miles. It doesn’t mean anything at all. But… I scheduled a civil wedding for us on a day that we just happened to be off work. The date? 7/7. Hopefully there is something to this lucky seven stuff. Not that we need luck. We’re pretty close to perfect for each other. But since this is Number Three for me, I’ll take all the help I can get.