Greetings all. It's been a busy morning and it will be a busy day, and I have lots to share with you in terms of running and some exciting things that I've been up to.
But I wanted to take time to participate in my blog buddy Nicole's Write On! series. Actually, this is the first day of it and being one of her trusty readers I bit when she posed this writing prompt and asked her readers to participate.
The prompt is simple: how did you meet your spouse?
And here's how LB met Mrs. LB:
I hadn't intended on meeting my future wife at my college newspaper. Like a lot of things, it just happened that way. I hadn't also intended on going back to the college newspaper for another semester. Back in college, junior college to be more precise, I was just meandering about, aimlessly taking classes and not really having a clear idea of what I wanted to do (and I didn't run either, I missed out on so many races!).
I was set against returning to the college 'paper for the Fall 98 semester. It just wasn't going to happen. I had gotten in some debates with the editor-in-chief and the newspaper advisor, and I didn't feel like the effort, work and long hours I was doing as sports editor were paying off. Also, I had a job in a small newspaper, working in their sports department, and I figured my time would be best spent focusing on that.
But I received an award in late spring of '98 that was two-fold. It came with money ($500 for the upcoming semester, certainly not chump change for me then, or now) but it also came with the stipulation that I needed to return to the school newspaper.
So I was back in, fate having intervened for me, only I stepped down as sports editor. I figured I'd let someone else do the job which I'd done for two semesters. I just wanted to write, and have space for a column here and there.
Sometime before the fall semester started, I heard about this wonderful sports writer who was also joining our staff. I was surprised and excited to hear it was a female, since female sports writers weren't the norm, and still aren't. But she had covered Division 1 college football and basketball and had even covered some professional sports, including the 1998 NBA Finals. With those credentials, I was impressed. Intimidated even. I had covered some things worthwhile, but nothing like those events.
I felt that this newcomer, whom I hadn't met in my first few trips down to the newsroom that semester, was probably wondering what we were all about, probably wondering what she'd gotten herself into. We were a rag-tag group of writers and editors, and some were more raggedy than others. We weren't really a tight-knit group but we certainly did spend some long hours together down there, cranking out the copy, formatting the page, trying to put out our bi-weekly editions.
On one trip down to the newsroom, I finally saw her. She was sitting in a chair and of course, being the shy person I was, I didn't say hello. Instead, I got to talking to another staff member, a photographer friend, and we got to talking about soccer. European soccer. International soccer.
"Oh, do you know Manny who works at Pete King's?"
The new writer had spoken up, and it was completely irrelevant to our conversation. Pete King's Soccer Shop was a local soccer store, but it pertained nothing to what we were talking about. We both looked at her and then looked at each other and continued our conversation, acting as if she hadn't said anything or wasn't in the room with us at all.
I didn't say anything to her that day, although my time there was brief. I didn't see the future Mrs. LB until a few days later, after I found out she'd been given the football beat. I was alone in the newsroom when she walked in, and I greeted her this time. I said "Hey football chick" and she said "hey soccer boy." I didn't know it, but that could easily have been strike two against me. Mrs. LB does not like the word "chick" nor does she like to be called names, any names, by strangers, particularly by those who ignore her.
She knew who I was (one fellow staffer had filled her in on some of the veterans in the newsroom) so I'm not sure if I introduced myself to her or not, but we talked a little bit about some things.
While ignoring her may not have been the most ideal way to her heart, it worked. She admitted that she thought I was a bit of a bad boy. Ha! .... I mean, she was dead on. The B in LB stands for Bad-ass, didn't you know?
Less than a year after I ignored her, we were married.
I don't ignore her anymore.