Again this year, we're fortunate to be hitting the beach at Fripp, courtesy of Portfolio Center, for the annual PC retreat. A full week of sunning, jogging, and biking for me, and watching others crabbing, fishing, and swimming (Remember, I only pretend I might actually get in the water). Neither of my big girls are coming, which means I'll be without my usual allies and exercise partner.
We leave in the morning, at 10, according to Biggy's always-rigid vacation departure schedule. He acts as though a time-sensitive million dollar prize or a drop-deadline awaits us at the other end of the drive. Whereas I like to sleep in, drink some coffee, coo at the dogs I won't see for a week, pack, read my email, pack some more, then get on the road, my husband likes to start crackin his whip the night before: "You need to pack your suitcase so I can start loading the car..." He thinks we should sleep fully clothed, wake up at his pre-determined time, and sprint to the car.
Anyway, I've gotten off track. So Biggy and I are upstairs, discussing how we need to get to the island in plenty of time to pick up the golf car he's reserved when Jack walks in and sees Biggy's new Adidas sitting on the bed.
JackMan: Whose shoes?
Biggy: Mine. I got them so I can jog at the beach. Since there's not really any place to ride my bike.
TR: It's fun to ride around on the island.
Biggy: I know, but it's not really exercise.
TR: Whatever. I'm just glad you're going to jog with me. You are bringing your bike, though, right?
Biggy: I plan to bring three--your monkey bike, Lo's BMX, and mine--for me and Jack to share.
Jack: Yeah, I won't be riding.
TR: Oh, you are going to ride with me! Georgia won't be here, so you guys are going to have to take turns filling in for her.
Biggy: OK, Jack. I'll complain on Monday and Wednesday, and you can do Tuesday and Thursday.
Jack: Sounds fair.