Just Run

I blog here now:

2007-10-01T05:00:00.000-06:00

A big week of little things

2007-09-28T07:26:00.000-06:00

There's something not altogether right about how fast a week goes anymore. It was a good week, though I'm not sure it makes for much of a story. Aside from being noticed on my runs, there isn't a huge amount of news, per se.

I'm sure you don't want to hear about two of the many reasons I should not be allowed to go into Target. Or maybe you do? (Seriously, what is it with that place?) But yes, I will buy shoes at Target or Wal-mart or Bloomingdales if they called to me as much as those did.

Probably the biggest breakthrough of the week is something in school started "clicking" as they say. I went from holy crap I will never understand any of this to holy crap I get it and thank you, Heaven and Earth, there is some hope! And that's probably what I missed most about school, those moments when you can actually see yourself learning- you feel as if you're actually a witness to something. In this case, it felt like witnessing a miracle. Of course, if you'd have asked my college-aged self what I'd miss most about school a decade(ish) later, she would have said beer. Silly girl, she had no idea how twenty-almost-eight would feel.

Yeah, I'm turning twenty-eight soon. I have to say, it feels good. I can't say that I feel much different, and since I still find time to act like I'm twenty, I guess there's good reason for that. Can't very well say you're old when you're running around your childhood front yard in your bare feet with a one-year-old on your shoulders. Okay, fine, that's not the only way I act like I'm twenty. There is still a beer here and there, too.

Having always been sort of obsessed with balance, however, I can say I see more of my ability to appreciate it now. Or maybe it's just the fact that I've learned to accept some things more than I used to. Either way, that part does feel better. Which is good, because everything else seems to hurt just a little more than I ever remember it hurting before.

Okay, I'm all over the place so I'm going to stop. Enjoy your weekend.

Oh yeah, I'm going to cut my hair.

Holla!

2007-09-27T08:35:00.000-06:00

In general, when we don't hear from someone, we may be tempted to think nothing is going on. No news is good news. The blog world teaches us differently, however. When someone is not offering up new posts, new bits and pieces of their life's musings, the opposite is often true. It's not that so little is going on (though this can certainly be the case) that there is a loss for interesting subject matter but more likely that there's so very much filling every day and every moment that it's nearly too much altogether.

Many of you are moving house, changing jobs, raising children, working, taking care of life, building things, going on new adventures and more, so I know you can identify. A couple days ago, for instance, I made a list of everything I need to do before October and not only was the list fifty-eight items long, I realized October? Well, that's next week. You understand, I know you do. And it would be one thing if everything on that list were as simple as comb hair but we know that just isn't so. There are much more demanding things to be done, like paint bathroom and talk to advisor at school . It's not often we have nothing to share, oh no; it's just finding a place to begin to share it is a task in itself.

Some things, though, just stand out. Some things happen and you just cannot help but share. I was running yesterday, about two miles from my house, and got my first "holla" of the year. "Holla," you ask? Well, yes. A "holla" is a name my running friends and I came up with years ago for when you're running down the street and someone, usually a man, yells something at you as he (or he and several others) drives by. It didn't have nearly the connotations then as it does now, but still it's an interesting phenomena, right? It's sort of strange that this is the first time it's happened this year but most of my running has been on trails, so I guess it's the law of averages.

And no, it's not one of those I Still Got It moments because, let me tell you, the holla is, by nature, not that attractive. I mean sure, when you're thirteen and you and your friends are walking down one side of the road and the group of boys/girls on the other side of the road start yelling something incoherent but clearly hilarious across that road, you are amused. This is surely some thirteen-year-old form of flirting and flattery. It may even be true as we get older, sixteen maybe? You're all driving for the first time, in your first car, and you want to get the attention of someone. You may yell out the window, I can understand this. I did this. But not any more.

Yesterday was a special one. I was running, from my house to meet my sister for a few miles and heard some loud music. Never a complaint from me, about that, of course. Well, apparently me looking toward said loud music was advance-like. Apparently, when you look toward a car with loud music, it means objectify me now because when this car turned the corner and drove by me, and it's passenger yelled "hey, baby" boy, did I feel hawt! I mean, that's awesome, right? A guy in his mid-forties, in the passenger side of an '89 minivan that, instead of rolling down the window, one must OPEN THE DOOR to yell something out to me as they drive by is down right sexy.

I'm glad it happened, though. What with the pace of life right now, what else would I have to talk about?

Wherein my heart rate is immeasurable

2007-09-25T16:10:00.000-06:00

The best thing about the last forty-eight hours is that a homeless man made me do some speed work.

Here I just might as well say hi, I'm overwhelmed with work and school and running, though I need it, is getting on my nerves. For one thing, I'm still not running as "fast" as I'd like to be. I'm currently cruising along at around a 10:00 pace and while that's acceptable, I find myself thinking I can go faster. I just don't.

I also think I could run a little longer than I am, but for some reason I get out there and four miles feels like enough. My long run on the weekend is maybe six or seven. I have no reason to push it. Heck, I can barely fit it in. And (imagine I am talking to running here, not you) for that matter, I'm kind of annoyed that I have to run at all- I kind of want to say forget it and go take a nap. I mean, I want to run but then it's just there and it's this thing. Believe me when I say if it weren't for that pesky (read: necessary) weight control "issue" I'd probably just drop this crap altogether. At which point I'd probably have to go into therapy. Man! This is just not going to work, no matter how I argue.

But I guess the point is I'm running anyway. Yesterday I had to fit it in at lunch, which was welcome because I was having the sort of day in the office where people not only know you're too busy but warn other people to stay away for the sake of the greater good or something. Or maybe they're just being nice to the crazy girl.

I decided to take a different route so I wouldn't get bored (the mind games we play) and headed South from the office instead of North. I had my Garmin with me so I thought I'd just make up the route as I went along. About 1.5 miles into my 4, I crossed under a bridge. I was about 3/4 of the way through when I hear this raspy, yet loud, voice yell "go go go!" And then I peed my pants. Okay, I did not but it was dang near. Instead, I picked up the pace a LOT, looked over my shoulder and saw a scruffy, bearded, homeless man standing at the edge of the bridge waving the standard bottle-in-a-paper-bag arm and squinting in the sun. Also, no one else was around. It is not an exaggeration to say that I ran like hell, all the way back to my office.

That last mile was a solid 8:15. I hate speed work.

Somewhere between pressure cooker and all-out bonfire*

2007-09-21T05:23:00.000-06:00

I suppose there is risk in everything. There is risk in liking, most definitely risk in loving and hopefully some kind of assuring risk in committing. There is risk in expression as much as there is risk in keeping your thoughts to yourself. And though I don't have a site meter and doubt there are more than a couple dozen people around here on any given day I sort of feel like I've had this blog long enough to understand the risk in having an opinion. An opinion on the Internet, that is.
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I've had plenty of opinions prior to my blog experience, of course, but I'd venture to say this is it's own kind of special risk. Perhaps that's just my way of feeling good about what I write and how I share it, or because I love other blogs too much, but whenever there's a little bit of disagreement I wonder if I'm not getting scared. I mean, I want to share my opinions and I don't mind if no one agrees but I start to wonder if that's okay. I start to think about the chance of offending others.
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I struggle between writing from my gut and writing in a way that will allow me to relate to my known readers. I mean, without naming names, how does one go about sharing life's details without offending anyone between the ages of twenty-three and fifty-something? How do you write if you're constantly thinking about what the college student, or the father of four or the wacky cyclist or the pastor or the One You Call Your Internet Mom are going to think? How do you even begin to be authentic? And I don't mean what those people are going to think of me personally, I just mean in general. While I'd say I pretty much do whatever I want, I do like to think I do things with intention. I believe we can be careful without being too self-conscious.
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I'd also like to think I make an effort to think about what I say and how I say it. So when I write about the peace I feel floating in crystal clear water, it is really how I feel. And it is not just because I had a beer on the beach that day; though I can honestly say I feel like being able to experience moments where you feel at peace in your life and where you are, where you've chosen to be, are a blessing, even if they include a beer. There is nothing wrong with that.

I struggle a little about sharing some of my adventures and the experiences I'm able to have, fearing they'll come across as gloating. And though I've said many a time that a life well lived ought to be shared, the natural doubt that comes from so much good contributes it's share of guilt. I want to be sure that somehow, through sharing, I absorb the experience and the gratitude I feel in an otherwise impossible way. It is not just the experience itself that feeds me, but the perspective I get by possibly relating to another that makes it better. Richer.

The truth is, there are hard times in life. There's bad stuff in my life and your life and the life of the guy next door. There are things I don't like about myself, that's for sure. I try to work to make these things better, sometimes. For instance, I know I can become a better writer and photographer and maybe even a better runner. I know I can be a better friend to some and I know I can become better at knowing when to let things go.

I am learning. I keep telling myself I can learn to like créme brûlée, but that's probably not going to happen so I'm learning to be okay with liking mole (pronounced mo-lay, F.Y.I.) and finally building up enough of my oh-so-white-girl tolerance to handle food with some kick to it.

But you know what I think? I think we all know that. We know all about the hard stuff. We live it and deal with it every day. We all struggle with our choices and the demands in our lives and try not to lose our minds on those days when we have seventeen different things to do and, oh yes, they are all important.

So when it comes down to it, when I sit down to write a post and wonder to myself what is sitting in my mind's queue waiting to come out, I guess I don't think about the risk I might be taking as much as I'd thought. I try to aim to create something a little lighter, perhaps more interesting than the oatmeal I had for breakfast but less interesting than, say, politics. (Heh.)

I guess my point is, when I might be so lucky to have people read what I write and then have something to say about it, I'd rather it happen in a way that feels good. I'd rather enjoy the little bits and pieces of life we can be so quick to glaze over. I'd rather be serious yet still joke about ridiculous, silly things. It's a tricky balance and it's not always possible but I've tried it both ways and I think it's better this way. If it's true that there's a place for every one of us, and all our words, then let mine be the place where I can slow down, do my best to absorb everything that's good and most of all, share it with care but without worrying about the risk.

Coming to that conclusion here, in black and white, as they say, is a lot more refreshing than I imagined it could be.

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* Alternately titled: No this is not just a sneaky way of posting more photos

You can have cake either way

2007-09-20T05:12:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I was sitting in class when a girl two rows over announced "in two more weeks, I will be twenty-one." I'll spare you the monologue about how hearing this made me feel old and so nostalgic I could almost smell the scent of a dorm room again and just say I was intrigued. I continued to listen as she described all the ways she planned to celebrate this milestone birthday including, of course, the almost obligatory "club hopping" night she and her friends were going to head out for on the weekend of her birthday. (Sidebar: Is it not okay to call this "bar hopping" anymore? Or even a pub crawl?) She proudly announced that, on the day following her umm, hopping excursion, she and her boyfriend were going to spend the day together.

"I told him there are three rules," she went on. "One, he has to make it all a surprise, two, it has to include cake and three, he cannot burp or fart or watch sports all day!"

While I wholeheartedly will agree with rule number two (because when is cake a bad idea?), I still cannot wrap my mind around this rule thing altogether. First, making rules? Um, high-maintenance much? Second, "he cannot burp or fart or watch sports all day?" Okay, is she trying to kill this guy?

I watched as two of her friends nodded along in agreement. "Awww, how sweet" was among the many phrases uttered. It was like they were saying yes, this is a good idea. Force the guy to do something, give him all kinds of conditions and expect nothing but perfection. This is true love. THIS IS REALITY.

I tried to think back to when I was twenty-one. There's no doubt there were things I did that I can look back on now and think my gosh, that was hugely stupid. Like the time the idea of a twelve-hour Checkers tournament fueled only by tortilla chips, Velveeta cheese and Arbor Mist seemed perfectly normal. Twenty-one is no doubt a great age to learn that the choices you make today, the beliefs you're tooling along with so happily can all come to a screeching halt tomorrow when you wake up and realize cheap cheese* ["product"] and even cheaper wine are getting you a whole lot more than you'd predicted. In other words, you learn to think ahead. And you learn to detect what's right and wrong for you, and what's real. Perhaps you even realize it's a choice.

I think that's what, at twenty-one, most of us don't realize about love and adult relationships in general. Rules are not always going to apply. There is going to be imperfection and unpredictability, and heaven knows there is going to be burping and farting. I'm thankful I realize this. I don't know what age it happened and while there is some charm in the fantasy, I'd rather choose the reality.

Later yesterday, while I was Interneting instead of homeworking, I read a short blurb from an interview in Essence magazine with Duane Martin and Tisha Campbell. In this portion of the interview, they were asked by the interviewer to defend recent divorce rumors.

Interviewer: So for the record, are you getting a divorce?

Tisha: Hell no!

Duane: Listen, let me tell you something. I will chew her ass up and swallow it before I let someone else have her.

For some reason I like that approach more.

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*Okay, so I sort of still like cheap cheese.

Because I spend most days talking like a pirate anyway

2007-09-19T06:40:00.001-06:00

Update: Someone sent me this earlier, too. I work with tech people who want to be pirates, which is totally understandable.

It's true, my friend. Today is International Talk Like A Pirate Day. Which means, of course, all ye proper grammar ought be forgotten, matey.

And while we're at it, let's go ahead and not take anything else too seriously, either. Last night, when I got home, I went about my regular routine of dropping everything in my arms in the doorway and going to let the dog out. I noticed I was in a particularly cheerful mood, which is something that tends to stand out after twelve hours at work. Generally, 12 hours at work makes me seem more like a zombie than a peppy local morning talk show host. Obviously, when I'm talking to the dog in Spanish and singing her "Dinner Song" to her (what? Doesn't everyone do this?) it is going to be a good night.

I sat down to check my email and the first one I opened was from a friend that reminded me to not forget that "all day tomorrow [today] you are from ARRRRGGGGHHHHKANSAS!"

Awesome.

But if I'm going to be from Arkansas and talk like a pirate, it probably wouldn't be a bad idea to drink like one, too.

Now mind the helm, me hearty!

Sometimes More Than Others

2007-09-17T18:27:00.000-06:00

On my recent trip to Mexico, we signed up for one of those guided tours. Not the kind where they stamp your hand and shuffle you through like cattle but certainly the kind that you take when you're in a foreign country and you want to go through the jungle without getting eaten by jungle creatures, lost, or worse, be out so late you miss the Red Sox game.

Through some streak of luck, reservation confusion and the magic that is "Mexican Time" (which is just like Island Time for any who may be more familiar with that concept; believe me when I say EXACT SAME THING), we ended up on a smaller, later starting tour with only four other people. And our guide, who was this hilarious self-proclaimed Mexican-American who immediately made you feel that even if you hadn't ever been to camp as a kid and had the "cool counselor" that the next six hours were going to totally make up for anything you might have missed. "I have a Mexican girlfriend now," he said, "I had a Dominican girlfriend before. And all that means is now instead of everyone getting their ass kicked, it's now just me." This is how the day started.

As we went on our hiking/biking/snorkeling/zip lining adventure, each activity became more fun than the last. Also, being in a very small group, we had a ton of time for a lot of "extras" that wouldn't otherwise occur. At one point our group was having a really hard time deciding if we wanted to eat, float in a cenote or drink beer first. "Float, eat, drink," I told our guide. "Dang, are you single," he asked, though it was more of a statement than a question. All I could say was "let's not go there." Sure, a little retro but I was serious. We did not need to go there.

Which sort of brings me to my point, the point of all this. There was a moment, when I stood at the top of a tower that was something like a billion feet in the air, looked at the three hundred sixty degrees of jungle canopy around us, took a deep breath and lifted my feet off the platform and felt, without any doubt, that there was no other place I would have rather been on Earth. Think about that for a minute; that feeling of knowing you are one hundred percent right where you think you ought to be. I didn't need anything else. I needed no one else around me. I wasn't anything but right there.

I felt a similar feeling when I walked in the door tonight. It's been drizzly and rainy all day. I'm still getting over this cold and the feeling that my head weighs sixteen pounds. I let the dog out, kicked off my shoes, and put on my slippers and a sweatshirt. I put the teapot on the stove and while I waited for the water to boil, I sat down at my table and looked out onto the patio and thought, this is good. It is good, like that zip line in Mexico. But with one difference, I really would have liked to have someone sitting at the table with me. At least once in a while.

It's all good because the only cold that's here right now is mine

2007-09-16T18:46:00.000-06:00

Over the weekend, the virus I've been "entertaining" finally kicked in. Honestly, it's really nothing more than a cold and it's not some foreign disease but rather something more common contracted from a sixteen-month-old child.

Aside from a slightly heavier-than-normal head and aforementioned child screaming into my ear just for fun, the weekend has been the September ideal you might always dream about. The house is clean, the laundry is finished, football has been watched, the dog was walked and pizza was eaten.

And the point of all this? Well, I think I am accepting that Fall is here. We will not utter the words "Summer is over" because that is entirely unnecessary. Rather, we will just say we like football and changing leaves and the Indian Summer-ish days that are upon us.

Mostly, I am loving it. Even when I'm seeing things through a cold-medicine haze, when you consider that the team won, there's word that my sister's husband is coming home from Iraq by Christmas, and there are beautiful things all around, it's not hazy at all. In fact, it's actually quite clear how good everything seems to be.

Shhhh, the birds aren't even awake yet

2007-09-13T19:35:00.000-06:00

I went out for another 4:00 a.m. run this morning. As strange as it feels to type that, I have to say I really don't mind the early morning running. I'm the sort of person that will get up early and as long as I don't have to talk to anyone for a good hour or two, I'm fine. Some may even say cheerful, but they shouldn't. Because that would violate the no talking rule. And yes, you should know that rule.

I was thinking about this today, when I was running and breathing in the cooler Fall-like air. (No, I am still not prepared to be in full-on Fall. Yes, I know that's ridiculous. I don't care.) I listened to my feet hitting the pavement and thought about how I really do love that early morning time. It feels so private, like it belongs only to me. I have a few friends that run early, but with people. I do like running buddies but something about that time on my own just makes it better. No traffic, no beating sun, no exhaustion from the day yet. Just me and my half-asleep brain which, if you haven't noticed, is when it's at it's best. The brain is just better before it's awake and in full Analysis of Life and All It Contains mode. Like what you'd imagine a "normal" brain to be.

So back to my propensity for quiet in the morning- I love it. I guess I just need the time to stare down the barrel of a full day. When I was a teenager, still living at home, I used to wake up early to read the paper. Often, my mother would wake up and begin talking to me. This is normal for her in the morning. So there she'd be, having an entire conversation with me about the dentist and hockey practice and the dog and there I'd be, staring at her hard enough to generate enough will to cease her voice with my mind. It would usually take a good ten minutes for her to look at me and say "okay, we'll talk about this later." I'd nod and go back to my Cheerios.

I'm lucky that this was just my mother, who has been willing to let me be me my entire life. What am I supposed to do when someone doesn't get this? I think it's reasonable, but then again, it's my rule. And I don't have many rules. Be kind, be willing to learn, work hard and, for gosh sake, DO NOT EXPECT SERIOUS CONVERSATION FIRST THING IN THE MORNING.

I need to find a nicer way of saying that.

I left my brain on the plane

2007-09-12T12:47:00.000-06:00

"You look like you're feeling sick."

"That's because I am."

"Yikes, I hope you didn't catch any exotic foreign disease."

"Ugh, don't even say that. I probably have the Ebonic Plague."

"What?"

"You know, the Plague?"

"No. You either have Bubonic Plague or Ebola virus. You do not have Ebonic Plague."

"Oh wow, I'm an idiot. See, it's already affecting my brain."

Pieces of perfect

2007-09-10T19:30:00.000-06:00

We stayed at this little darling hotel on the quiet end of town. We walked through the rainy streets with bags and no umbrellas to get there and if the warm colors and adobe spiral staircase weren't welcoming enough, the staff was. They knew our names from the moment we walked in the door and offered us everything from directions to umbrellas to comfort us. The manager, whom I nicknamed Pavarotti because he was singing when we walked in, helped me reacquaint myself with Spanish. It turns out I can find more than the beer and the bathrooms when I'm in Mexico*.

It was an interesting place to see the fusion of different cultures. It always amazes me how if you take the time to talk with people and make the effort, you'll get an amazing response. You go from feeling slightly lost and very out of practice to knowing that yes, even with the barriers of language and culture differences, you can make friends anywhere.

Like the young lady at a small bakery we stopped in for dessert one day. Though it was simply apple pie, there was something oddly magical about her teaching us to call it tartleta de manzana as we ate it and read magazines while Springsteen tunes floated out from the back room. It was a fantastic contrast that settled me. One step up, two steps back, indeed.

The sky also happened to stay in a constant state of bright blue, of which the thought only causes me great discomfort today. It is fifty-four degrees (F) in Colorado right now and I didn't see blue sky all day. Call it nature but I think it's Colorado's karmic way of getting back at me for pining after others.

Mexico, and likely any place if you'll let it sink in, is filled with detail. And just a couple steps away from the mainstream, you'll see this more and more. Little things people do and say that show an effort to be unique. An effort not only to stand out but to do it in a way no one else does. We should each be so lucky to have these efforts noticed. We should be so lucky to always try to make the effort at all.

I must admit, was not enough time. But when is it ever? I took an entire week off running (not to mention every other endeavor) and I have to say, for the first time in a while, I really miss it. I miss the open road and the air being stolen from my lungs. I miss the sweat and the way it clears my mind. Oddly, though I so badly believed I needed to be taken away, I missed my feet being on the ground. And if we know anything at all, we know it won't be long before I'm floating again anyway.

* See Me: 101, #70.

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Last week's guessing game answer: C. I made it up. And if the above didn't make it obvious enough I will just explain by saying I think it would be nearly impossible for me to be friends with someone that so decidedly hated warm weather. There's just a certain basic level of understanding that must occur between friends.

Which one of these things doesn't belong here?

2007-09-05T15:26:00.000-06:00

Having been out of my house for four days and preparing to be gone for five more, the fridge and cupboards are pretty unappealing. When my sister came by around dinner time last night, though I'd warned her I had nothing resembling a meal, she was shocked. I had a hard time convincing her we could create any sort of dinner from eggs, canned soup and rum.

If there was nothing left last night there was really going to be nothing today. I decided to stop by Starbucks, breakfast place of champions. While I waited for my order at 5:30 a.m., I started thinking about everything I'd need to catch up on today in order to leave tonight.

As is true with most of us hyperactive types, I started making a list. Part of this list was people I needed to catch up with. I know the thought of scheduling catch up phone calls or conversations with friends seems silly, but sometimes if I miss one call, it leads to weeks or even months of having no idea of a) where the time went and b) what they've been doing all that time.

Sadly, my efforts were really ineffective today. I am 0 for 3 on finding my friends. This is a little bit of a mystery to me, but I believe I am at least intuitive enough to guess where they might be.

Of the following four statements, three are actually very likely to be true. Which do you think is too impossible?

A) One friend has quit her job, filed for divorce and is now playing thirty-seven-year-old groupie and hanging with a very large concert tour because she and the main man have finally realized their true love for one another.

B) One friend has started yet a THIRD master's program in which he has decided last-minute to travel abroad and has absent-mindedly forgotten to tell about thirty of his closest friends, just like last time.

C) One friend has grown tired of any sort of hot weather and has decided to build a home near the Arctic. They are meeting with the builder this week and, therefore, are out of cell phone range.

D) One friend is holed-up in bed with a leg in a cast and since she is normally such a spaz she is very frustrated and angry about the whole mess and can't bring herself to answer the phone.

Come on, give it a go. I'll reveal the untrue statement when I get back.

Don't listen to me, I'm high on corn

2007-09-04T19:33:00.000-06:00

Today I returned from a whirlwind road trip from Colorado to Iowa, via Omaha, Nebraska. All I can say after roughly 2,800 miles on the road, 13.1 of those miles spent running and yet another reminder of how blessed I am to have wonderful friends is I'm exhausted and I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

It was the change in scenery, the miles put on the car, surviving a half-marathon I was entirely unsure about and being around running friends (with whom, you know, no subject is off limits) that put me right where I needed to be. I wasn't sure about this trip, for many reasons. One, of course, being the running but also being so unsure of the steps I've been taking in other parts of my life. It turns out packing a lot into the last bit of Summer is just the thing to remind yourself that those steps, both running and otherwise, are inevitable.

And there's nothing like being with people who accept you, your choices, and your bad jokes just the way they are to reassure you that by taking advantage of every minute, you are doing just the right thing. Because when I think about that inevitable "end" we all will reach one day, it will not matter that I ran slower than I should, or that I passed up a chance for promotion because it didn't feel right or that I put off getting the carpets cleaned. Yes, all of those things might bother me, but it really doesn't matter.

So after an all-too-fast weekend and keeping myself up late tonight to do homework that I just didn't seem to get to before now, I can at least be assured of a few things: we really do only race one person, weekends and life go far too fast, and you shouldn't wear a skirt in a cornfield.

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P.S. I am so sorry to my Minnesota and Iowa blogging friends. There was just no time for an extended visit. I totally think this should be in my life plans soon, though. Believe me, I need no excuse to meet strangers from the Internet. Heh.

My Windshield on the World, Wyoming & Utah Edition (Part 8, probably)

2007-08-30T17:07:00.000-06:00

Here we are, two days from the weekend that, in the United States, marks the end of summer. Sure, go ahead and wait until September 21st if you'd like, we'll all sit by while you pretend it's not the end. And we'll secretly laugh at you because everyone knows you're just living in a fantasy. Truth be told, I'll live in that fantasy with you a little bit anyway. We've still got those Indian Summer days ahead of us out West here, and if you think I'm packing up the flip flops before the first snow, well you don't really know me at all.

It has been quite the trip, this summer. Months filled with babies getting older, pirates, unforgettable moments of turquoise water and perfect days, friends and fireworks, live music, oh so much music, refusing to let Summer go by too fast, early mornings, calling it quits, sisterly bonding, and realizing that life, no matter my inability to predict, has some really great things in store. And if all that isn't a reason to take one more week and live it up for all it's worth, it ought to be.

Tomorrow I'll be hitting the road one more time for the year. I'm headed through corn country, then up the corn belt (I have totally made up these names and really have no idea what is or is not identified as corn country or the corn belt). All this for, you guessed it, friends. I'm meeting one, and going to do the race in the hometown of another. Hey, we do what we gotta do.

Upon returning, I'll spend a total of twenty-four hours at home before heading out again, but this time, there will be no race. Remember this little scenario from a few weeks back? Well, a decision was eventually reached. After careful examination of personal schedules, work schedules, flight schedules (and availability) and, well, a little bit of pure fantasy, we decided we'd head to the beach. I know how shocked you are right now, that I would make that decision. I promise, I did not coerce my friend. I can't help it if I'm really super excellent at travel research.

I will admit, it was not our first choice. We considered New York City (more hustle than we wanted, and I mean that in a good way), New Orleans (flights just did not work- this was a huge disappointment), and the West Coast (but then realized there were some flight restrictions and it made no sense to start in the middle of the country, head East and then turn around and head West). So, when it came down to it, South of the border became the obvious choice.

I'm about to cover more miles than I can count, set foot in approximately seven cities, three airports, several corn fields (how could I not) and several more cantinas. I plan to update in between to the two so as not to confuse corn and tequila but in the meantime, I'll leave you with some windshield commentary from my last trip.

Happy Labor Day weekend, my fellow Americans. And happy end of Summer/whatever season you may be leaving behind right now to all.

Utah, via Northern Colorado and Wyoming:

After getting through the madness that is North Denver these days, you're reminded Northern Colorado still has some wide open spaces. And thank God for that.

But as soon as you cross into Wyoming, you're also reminded that fireworks aren't legal in Colorado.

Lucky for us, Pyro City is just a drive away.

Once you're all stocked up on the sparklers, you can head out into the wild blue yonder that is Southern Wyoming. Wind farms, a repaving project and, oh yes, a little red Corvette (look closely, waaaay up ahead) kept me company for hundreds of miles.

Sooner than you think, however, you'll be near Utah and entering the beautiful Wasatch Mountains. Or at least the sign says so.

Then, if you're really lucky, you'll participate in a 178 mile relay with eleven of your closest and sweatiest friends. And it will be beautiful!

And if you're really, really lucky, the van your team uses is a rental so when you back it into a tree in the middle of the night because you're driving barefoot and parallel parking, it will not matter.

All too soon, though, you'll be headed home.

As you drive those hundreds of miles back, you'll stare out into the wild blue yonder that is southern Wyoming and know that every mile, both driven and run, was totally worth it. Because they always are.

Welcome mat

2007-08-29T18:24:00.000-06:00

Alright, fine. It has come to this. It has come to another end to another day where I can't seem to find enough time. I am overwhelmed. It's these times I feel like I'm not being a good enough... anything (insert the following terms: friend, employee, daughter, sister, runner, dog owner, etc.).

I walked around all day feeling as though I was in a bubble. Several times I had to stop myself to check and see if I was dizzy. Was the room spinning? Was I spinning? My mind feels clogged. Nothing seems to settle it. I hate that feeling.

I think it's fear. It's got to be. It's fear making a short visit and I've got to figure out how to entertain it without letting it take over my life. I recently turned down a promotion, you see. Sure, promotions are good and include many good things like more responsibility, better titles and, of course, more money. But after a week of thinking it over, I just couldn't get my head around the idea that I wanted it. Because I didn't.

And when people asked why, all I could say is "it just isn't right." People do not understand this. They get that 'does not compute' look on their faces and stare at me as though I've lost my mind. It's the only answer I have, though. My heart is just not in it. At some point, you come to realizations about what you want for your life. And despite having to pay for school and my ever-persistent beach habit, money is not everything. My heart, however, is. It took me the full week in limbo to become comfortable with saying that.

This decision is helped by school. I'm not going to school to move up in my current line of work. Yes, I could use this education to do so but that's not my goal. Many people don't know this. They haven't asked, but I don't advertise, either. It's difficult to express to them that although I may be doing very good work and being a good employee (who gets offered promotions, hello!) that I want more. I am not going to be that person that tells someone that while they may be very happy with their job, well it's just not good enough for me. So I keep my mouth shut.

All the while, as I maintain my silence and hope and pray that I am making the right decisions, I feel very alone. Yes, I have friends and family that know about my goals and support me but no one is in my head, or my heart. No one really knows this feeling, this need. I know that it is impossible for anyone to completely understand, but it feels very lonely. Lonely is the welcome mat for fear, and fear is coming in. In fact, it's having its own personal wrestling match with sanity. My sanity.

No, of course I am not going to lose my mind over this. Of course I know it's the right thing to do and even if things work out much different than I plan (damn good odds there, right?) I still need to follow this road. I would much rather try than go along with something where I'm okay but not fulfilled. I can sleep at night knowing I at least tried. I can do that. It's just some days, well, it's really hard to feel like you're living on nothing but a dream.

Bred for the winner's circle

2007-08-29T09:49:00.000-06:00

"You should have heard it, it was hilarious!"

"So they were shouting the horse's name?"

"Yes, over and over again!"

"And the horse was called 'Hoof Hearted?' "

"Yes!"

"Wow."

"Yeah, it was ridiculous. Hoof Hearted! Hoof Hearted! Hoof Hearted! Over and over. In their big hats and Mint Juleps in hand!"

"I can't believe you were there for that."

"I couldn't believe that name."

"Yeah, that's what happens when rednecks get money."

"Funny, I was just thinking that's what would happen if anyone in our family got money."

"Same thing."

________________

Disclaimer- I believe many good things happen when rednecks get money. I think it's a nice coincidence that most of them turn out to be entertaining.

Last Sunday

2007-08-28T05:28:00.000-06:00

There were two half-brown bananas sitting on my counter and I didn't feel like working. I'd just spent the day running, running errands and running after a kid, what I needed to do is clean up after it all. But I was too distracted for that. Something in my head didn't register that 3:00 on a Sunday afternoon was really close to the end of the weekend. In my mind, I had time to spare. And everyone knows the best thing to do when you have no time for anything is to bake.
.
So the two half-brown bananas and the one and only recipe I remember from childhood, and have remembered through out my life, became bread.
.

It's not impressive, really. It's probably the same recipe you, your family, the neighbor and her family all have used their entire lives, too. Or some slight variation thereof.
.

You start with the bananas, of course.

There are also eggs, just the beginning of the arguably cardiac-damaging ingredients. But if you're me, you have a coworker that raises chickens. Chickens who live free and sing elegant melodies while they lay eggs. Or something like that. And you use these lightly speckled, sing-songy eggs for your bread.

What I love about this recipe, other than the fact that it's in my head, is that even though it's baking, it truly is mostly just baking. Combining all the ingredients takes about 10 minutes, the batter stands for about 20 minutes and then, into the pan and into the oven, to be forgotten about for a good 50- 60 minutes. (Note: I am so glad they invented oven timers in this time in history. I would have made an awful 1800's baker.)

I love something I can dump into a loaf pan and fifty minutes later, call it bread. But on Sunday, I couldn't find my loaf pan. Really. Who loses a loaf pan? Well, me, for about five minutes. And in that five minutes, it occurred to me: bundt! I don't know if I love using it or typing it or saying it more. But bundt, of course!

So after the mixing and the pouring and the scraping and listening to the complaining because there was "barely any batter left in the bowl," into the oven it went. (And seriously, I have never gotten into the batter-licking thing, so please explain this to me. Maybe it is just the carbohydrate lover in me, but why lick raw batter when you could, theoretically, have more bread in the end?)

Ironically, it turned out there was extra batter. As a side effect of my ability to get this together in ten minutes, apparently, batter flies.

You should have seen her trying to lick it off, once she realized it was there. If getting entertainment out of those that depend on you for life and happiness isn't your idea of the best fun, well you'd better be the one in charge of keeping me from having children.

Forty minutes* at 325 would pass, though. The bathroom and the dog would be cleaned. The oven timer would sound. And the bundt would be turned over, revealing banana bread, sans nuts. Some are allergic, you know.

My intention was to bring this to work, because it is always my intention. I need bread made with eggs, sugar and shortening lying around the house like I need the proverbial hole in the head. So I sliced it and packed it up for the office.

Most of it. Because why else did I run ten miles that morning.

___________________

*Time adjusted for the change in pans.

Cure-all

2007-08-27T05:59:00.000-06:00

Don't ever let anyone tell you there aren't at least a few go-to cure-alls in this world for a long week.

But I'll back up a little. I'm still getting used to balancing a new pass time in my life, you see. It's school, of course. And learning to make room for learning is an interesting transition. I anticipated this, or as much as I could anyway, but what I didn't know was how much I'd enjoy it. Through all the years I wanted to go back to school, I waited for it to feel right. I resisted the idea of going back for something I "should" do and waited until I figured out what I wanted to do. And now that I'm doing it, I'm into it and it's great.

The tough part, when you're making room for the books and the reading and the homework is that nothing else goes away. The dog still needs to be walked, the floor still needs to be cleaned and that project at work, you know, the one that pays? Well, there's a deadline. Oh, and have I mentioned the half marathon I'm registered for next weekend? No? I haven't? Well there's that, too. Which means making time for running. And if you were running as slowly as am right now, you'd know just how much time that's taking.

All of this sort of came together last week. I was all the sudden pulling the balancing act again and though you know me too well to know this was not a unique situation, I still managed to claim that it sneaked up on me. Sometimes I think that's why we're all here, for me to play mind games with myself and you to put me in check with a comment that says hello, liar, YOU DO THIS ALL THE TIME.

Speaking of comments, thanks for all of yours on the 'butterflies and fireworks' post. Though I did receive one choice email from Patty, a nineteen-year-old college student from Atlanta, I really appreciated all the insights. You people are really remarkable. (But FYI: Do not ever, ever tell a nineteen-year-old Southern girl there is no such thing as an effortless relationship. She will disagree. And she has seven (seven!) paragraphs to tell you why.) The more I think about it, the more the idea of soul mates and timing really go hand in hand, don't you think? Several of you commented that you believed people came into our lives, all people, at certain times for certain reasons. I couldn't agree more. I have friends I've met, it seems, at just the right time in my life and for all the right reasons. These people, I have no doubt, are some kind of "soul" person, if you will.

So do you see all this thinking going on? This is the sort of thing adding to the full plate. And yeah, OF COURSE I know we all have this. I'm just saying, it got a little rough last week. By Friday, I was ready for a cold one all the while knowing I had zero energy to stay awake long enough to drink it. I thought this was going to be my cure-all.

But lo, it was not meant to be. Instead, I got a last minute invite from a friend with a spare ticket to a concert. So I cancelled everything I'd planned for the evening (read: decided cleaning the toilet could wait another day) and met up with my friend. For a few minutes I was thinking, gee, does this make me a loser? The fact that I have nothing happening on a Friday night and can just say 'yes' to plans at the drop of a hat? I'm now Extra Ticket Girl. Nice. But then the music started and I knew that was definitely not a loser, I was lucky.

And there you have a cure-all. Live music, any live music (well, almost), just makes all my worries and stress go away for a little while. I take a deep breath, look around and for a while, everything is a little lighter.

We may also have done the Footloose dance in the aisle. So I guess that makes two cure-alls.

I'm normally not a huge fan of pink

2007-08-25T13:48:00.000-06:00

However...

Not because I don't like butterflies and fireworks

2007-08-23T18:20:00.000-06:00

So I was over at Dawn's reading her most recent post about "soul mates." Or, more accurately, belief in them (or not). I started typing and after I'd spit out a good four paragraphs, I decided it was worth it's own post. Also, Dawn doesn't need my dissertation on her blog. Well, at least not ANOTHER one. (I have no good reason for all those others, Dawn. Oops?)

Dawn said she's "never been a big 'soul mate' person" but wondered what others think. I, of course, had an opinion.

This may come as a surprise but I'm not a huge soul mate person, either. Additionally, I think choosing to initiate a committed relationship is more due to effort on the man's part than the woman's*. Okay, that might not have come out right but go with it for a minute. I think, because we are very different in the ways of commitment, that it really is about timing, especially for men.

You know that guy, the one who'd date everyone? He was nice but he'd never commit. He'd have the perfect girl and somehow, some where down the line, he'd find a reason to break up with her. Then, after all that, he'd begin dating a girl and be married within six months? I think it's largely because HE was ready. My friends and I used to call this the "next girl wins" phenomenon. It wasn't necessarily because she was his "soul mate," it was because a) he was ready and b) they were compatible. That's it.

Now, even typing this, I am a little weary. It all seems very mechanical and not at all romantic. But I think that's why it's so much more attributed to men (in general). It's about logic, not butterflies and fireworks. I know the dudes like the butterflies and fireworks, but I think they see that as more of a given, or a "bonus" if you will. They'd rather know they're ready and that they're with someone who they can stand.

So part of me thinks this is encouraging, because what it all comes down to, for me anyway, is that I want to be with someone who wants to be with me. Someone who's ready and is aware they're at that point in their life. Call me crazy, but I like the idea that two people can decide to be together and then decide to put in the work it takes to make (and maintain) a good relationship.

Now, as Dawn asked, what do you think? Agree? Disagree?
___________
*This is assuming, of course, you're addressing a male-female relationship, which we both were.

This wouldn't be so sappy if she weren't laying on my feet right now

2007-08-22T20:47:00.000-06:00

The day I brought Lola home, she weighed 5.2 pounds. As I've written here about her before, she was a "rescue" which is code for Everything That Can Possibly Be Wrong With a Dog You, You Lucky, Lucky Sucker, Will Find It In This Dog. Yes, that is a title. And it was hers. She was 5.2 pounds of mange-infested adorableness with a extra large side of gastro-intestinal issues.

But when she licked my hand and raised her little non-existent eyebrows that wrinkled her bald, crumpled forehead, I knew she was mine. She was the little, squirmy piglet I'd always begged my mother to have, come fifteen years late.

Lola has come a long way, though. Through those beginning weeks of mange dips (13 weeks (it normally takes 6-8)) and dog food experimentation, which still sometimes proves to be a challenge, she is now nearly the perfect dog. Yes, there have been days I've gotten out of bed, walked down the hall, in the dark half asleep, and stepped in vomit, but by and large, she makes no trouble.

In fact, she has this tricky, almost evil way of looking at me when I've stepped in said vomit pile that makes me feel like it was something I did to make the mess. Like, woman, it was you who coaxed it out of me. And then all at once I feel incredibly guilty about everything I've done in the last month that hasn't been something that caters directly to her needs and desires. I am the guilty one.

And boy, does she do this ALL THE TIME. The worst part, it usually works. I don't really have the "ideal" dog-owning life, you see. I am up early, gone through the day and working on other things at night (like having a life or, you know, watching people sing karaoke on television). I travel quite a bit and run a lot and this just doesn't all fit perfectly with owning a dog who, if she could speak, would take every chance to remind me she was royalty in her previous life. So that walk in the evening, those visits to Grandma's and the hallway fetch we play every morning just don't ever seem to be enough, for me. For her, well, I think she's fine. All she ever seems to really care about is that I fill the bowls and that she gets to plant her butt next to me on the couch, no matter who else may be there.

I think of all this now, though, because it has been five years since I scooped up that 5.2 pounds of mess and never looked back. Five years of walks and wintertime foot warming and food experimentation and barking at things that NO ONE ELSE CAN SEE (her, not me- mostly). When I realized this today, and being the perpetual realist I am, I began thinking about her age, and how long dogs like her live. Average: ten years. I know, I'm depressing, but barring anything out of the natural order, I couldn't help but realize we are likely halfway through this thing.

I immediately understand now how a pet can mark your life. She lived with me in my first apartment, when I ate Ramen and her "specialty" food cost six dollars a pound. She's driven with me across the state and the country. She's seen my friends (some closer than others) come and go. She's been there when I've been too sick to get out of bed to feed her and when I've been so happy I pick her up and spin her around like the doll of a seven-year-old. She's the only one I make up songs for and the only one with whom I speak Spanish on a regular basis. She's seen me with my heart broken, at the end of the day after my very first "real world" job, and sat with me through a snow storm power outage.

And true, I know she is a dog. She is my buddy and my pal and awful cute but still, a dog. I do not love her like I love many people. But I do love her. How can I not? She is a part of who I am and reminds me of things about myself I'd otherwise forget. And like any good ally, she is too important to ever toss aside. She knows far too much.

Boring, but someone asked

2007-08-21T05:30:00.000-06:00

Okay, relate to me. I know you can. Sometimes, I sit down all ready to write and my fingers start moving and yet, I have nothing but crap to talk about and crap is never good. At least not over and over again. You do this, right? I know you do, you must. It's like the chi isn't flowing right, or something. My chi knowledge is limited but I'm pretty sure that's the problem.

It seems to be that time lately. The end of Summer, Fall on the horizon. Some things winding down, others just beginning. Could it be that I'm feeling all transition-y again? Oh no, certainly not me. I never get that way.

Lately I think we're all there a little bit, though. Today, after my three mile run I met my sister and watched my nephew while she did her run. When she returned, we almost simultaneously said "why did we do that?" It's just one of those times when you're either overwhelmed, exhausted or a combination of both and the thought of putting more effort into something than you need to just makes no sense.

Which leads me to this: Email question time. Yay!

(Over the course of days/weeks/months, I had a few emails. I'm sorry, I know, I suck at returning them promptly. Again, sorry. No good excuse, no excuses at all. Anyway.)

Here are a few things I've been asked, in no particular order:

1. Do you really think the kind of shoes someone has for running are that important?

Yes, I do. Yes. Yes. Yes. And absolutely yes. Without going into great detail and/or "preachy speech" I must say yyyyyyeeeeeeessssss! Running in the right shoes (or even extensive walking, for that matter) will be the thing that makes the biggest difference in your running. It can mean the difference between yards and mileage, between injury and health, between comfort and misery. They are important for every part of your body, not just your feet. Your back, your knees, every joint will thank you for having the right shoe on your foot. Go to a running store, have your gait evaluated (by someone over the age of twelve) and try on every shoe until you feel like it's right. Yes, this takes time but it is just as, if not more, important than any part of your training. Promise.

2. What do you do with your dog when you travel?

She stays home alone, but after this last trip we're going to have to quit that. She totally had a huge party and the cops were called and my fancy import rugs were ruined. She's lost her freedom.

Quite honestly, she stays with my mother, who loves her like a grandchild. She comes home all hyped up and thinking she has a chair at the dinner table. It takes weeks to retrain.

3. What are you going to school for?

To remind myself not to end sentences in prepositions.

Ha, kidding. Well, sort of. I am not going for my M.B.A. This whole school thing is still a little new for me though so give me some more time to decide how and when I want to talk about it and then I will. Promise.

4. Why don't you move your site? It could be so much better.

Though I don't think it sucks now, I understand this question. Soon come, my friend.

5. You are always going somewhere. When are you traveling again?

I hit the road again- and hopefully for the last time this year- in eleven days. No, it won't be the last I travel for the year. Of course not. Just hopefully the last time I do it on wheels for a while.

6. Do you weight train?

Yes, two to three times a week. Not because I love to have bulging muscles or to get ripped, but because of how it makes me feel. I like the feeling of a stronger body when I run. It's hard to describe, but I have felt like a running blob of floppiness before and this year, with serious dedication to weights, I have felt great. It sort of keeps all things in their place, if you know what I mean. Clothes fit better, even if you haven't lost an ounce in weight. Make sense?

7. Are you going to move? Where would you go if you could go anywhere?

Probably not within the next year. I have some commitments and some things I'd like to see through here first. And, I have a sweet, adorable, 16 month-old nephew and awesome sister who are here for the next 6-9 months and I wouldn't trade these times for the world.

If I were given a choice, and really put a lot of thought into moving (and the timing, work and finances, etc. were right) I'd ideally split my time, between here and other places that feel like home. Sort of like retirees do, but without A.A.R.P.

8. Do you really not know when someone is flirting?

No, I would have to say I really don't. I'd say I really have a better idea of how to notice this after the comments from that post and I certainly feel less alone in my flirt-detecting oblivion than I did before. Why? Do you have a flirt detector I should know about?

The part about the run isn't really the point

2007-08-19T17:21:00.000-06:00

Yesterday morning I got up at about 5:00 a.m. (yes, on a Saturday) to get my run in. I wanted to do twelve miles and avoid the heat. I'd also had a thrilling Friday evening of watching Music and Lyrics (we thought it was just "eh") and going to bed early so I figured I was setting myself up for a great morning run. Aren't I mature.

Well, almost because for some very non-mature reason, my idea of carb loading on Friday night was cereal and popcorn. I know. So for miles 1-3, I felt great. It was easy. Just about that time when I started feeling that great I-could-run-forever euphoric feeling that never comes around often enough, my poor choices from the night before came back to haunt me. We'll just say it felt like someone was putting a citrus peeler under my ribs and stirring. And trust me, I could get much more graphic than that, but even the memory alone is far too painful.

And you'd think I would have stopped, but no because despite my upper abdominal muscles being in some sort of seizure, I was determined. Well that determination took me another five miles before I gave up and walked the remaining mile home. Nine miles felt like nineteen. I sat down on the couch and stared at the wall, asking myself why I'd ever gotten up to begin with.

But I'm not really telling the entire story, here. There was actually another reason I got up early yesterday. I wanted to get that run out of the way because I had somewhere to be.

Some friends of mine have a small ranch property in Eastern Colorado- you know, horses, cows, pastures- and I'd been invited out to ride. Yes, horses. I am not going to lie, I was Christmas morning excited about this all week.

I've been around horses on and off my entire life. I can't remember my first ride and I've never owned my own horse, but I've always had friends with horses and I've always known enough to get by. So when I pulled up yesterday after having driven down miles and miles of dirt road and my friend said "are ya ready?" I was. At this point, I still had no idea we were actually going to be doing anything with a purpose. Sometime during the whole "saddling up" process, my friend says we're going to move some cows. Wait, what?

I'll save the whole story of how I had an internal freak out and managed to stay calm and just tell you, this is some of the most fun I've ever had. And the most tired I've ever been. Some friends from up the road (or "over yonder" as I started calling it- I know, I'm hilarious) joined us and we herded and moved the cattle from one pasture to an adjacent pasture in less than an hour. I probably just used five words incorrectly and sounded like some ridiculous city girl, but that's fine.

It was hot, dirty, tiring, and so much fun. And when we were finished, and did some "fun" riding, we came back to the house, had a couple beers, watched an incredible rain storm blow across the prairie, followed by rainbows and a beautiful sunset.

I was told I am allowed to come back and help again. And I will, next time I'm over yonder.

I think I'm ready for my spurs now.

This would all be much easier if he would just say "here is a picture of my boat"

2007-08-16T05:02:00.000-06:00

I am notorious for being the girl that has no idea she's being hit on. I meet someone, talk with them, laugh with them, laugh at stupid jokes (because they're funny, duh), graciously accept compliments and all the while have no idea that someone might actually be flirting with me. Unless it's those sixty year old men, they're pretty obvious. And no, not in a good way.

Now, don't get me wrong, I can do my share of flirting. I am very aware of this. I have tried and true flirting practices that even when minimally successful, get the job done. Or at least in my mind, they do. It's sort of like a hobby, even when it's bad, it's good. Or a bad habit, but we'll not go there.

But then there's me, not as the flirter but the flirtee. I used to be almost afraid of flirting, or being flirted with, rather. I didn't know what to say or where to look and, my gosh, when did my hands start getting in the way all the time so I'd just sort of play along and hope for the best. Then sixth grade graduation came (ha! Exaggerating. A little.) and something magically happened to me (hormones?) and I was no longer afraid of it. Rather, I became oblivious to it.

Now we all know I don't go around the Internet talkin' up the dates and what not, that's just not me. First, some things are just mine and second, well the "line at my door" my grandma always used to talk about just, ummm, how do you say... isn't. Nonetheless, we carry on. Or at least I think I do. And I go to coffee shops and happy hours and running events and travel and hang out with my friends and always end up hearing phrases like "what's wrong with you? That guy was totally flirting with you!" And I'm all "Wha? Huh?" And my friends are all "Uhh, yeah." And then they smack me and then we all laugh at me. Because it's funny, except when it's later and I think about it. I question myself and think oh no, WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

I usually come to the conclusion that nothing is really wrong, as I don't really believe in "fixing" these kinds of things. Addictions? Yes. Bad habits? Yes. I'm all for self-improvement. But personality? Eh, I don't know. I mean, yes, I could be more aware. But I usually feel I'm aware every day. A few days ago I noticed the woman at the toll booth got her hair cut and I don't even use that toll booth. I notice things. Just not this.

So guess I could ask what you would do? How do you know someone's hitting on you? How do you "hit back?"

I'm expecting some earth-shattering answers here, really. Because as of now I'm just going with the assumption that some people just haven't been good flirters with me. Yeah, I'll let you know how that approach works out.

Geekage

2007-08-15T05:30:00.000-06:00

I work with a lot of smart people. I also happen to know a lot of smart people. This is not bragging about all the smart around me but more so to convey that I, often self-proclaimed "decently smart" (yes, I know that isn't helping me here) am not often The Smart One in the room. I can be one of the smart ones, and sure we all have our little pieces of intelligence we know better than anyone but overall, not so much.

This also goes for my geek qualities. You see, I will openly and often admit to my dorkdom. This is usually done by knowing something ridiculous like what song John Denver sang to close his show at Red Rocks in 1975 or by dancing in the car. Sometimes, I'll get a little to excited about my dorkdom and call it "being a nerd." This, however, is not good because a dork is not a nerd. A nerd is more like a geek, and I am not. I think geek implies some form of extra special intelligence and as we all now know, I merely have my moments rather than full-on genius.

It's okay, I'm happy with this. Really, I am. (No, Mom, seriously I AM.) For one, it allows me to have a respectable social life and two, I do not live in a basement nor do I forget to shower. Well, mostly. And we also all know that is the line crossing from Nice Intelligent Geek to the holy-crap(s)he-is-forty-two-and-has-(s)he-ever-even-been-on-a-date Geek.

I share all of this for a couple of reasons. First, here's a little secret: I have geekly aspirations. Honestly, I do. The little bits of geeky stuff I learn every day just make me want to learn more. So, I have done that a little. And while I won't bore you with what I've learned at work let me just tell you that yesterday I officially learned how to repair something with code by "going through the back door." And while you either a) don't see the big deal or b) are thinking of all the crazy google hits that are going to end up here now, let me tell you, it was kind of fun. Because this makes me more computer geeky, which is a good thing.

I know I talk about career aspirations and how the work I do now is not the work I want to do forever but I'm all for learning. I'm all for moving up on my own version of the geekery ladder. And let me just say, it's pretty cool. There are all kinds of geekery ladders I'd like to climb in my lifetime, but if the difference between moving forward and not is either using what you already have or sitting and waiting, I'm glad to be using it. Pretty geeky, eh?

So thanks for getting through that. It feels good to maybe not be a geek but at least talk about my geek wishes and hopefully, someday very soon, share the fruits of my geekage with you, right here. Or some place like it.

Carpo

2007-08-14T05:37:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I get really afraid that I won't be able to run any more. I wake up and something hurts, or my knee is swollen or I freak out because things just don't feel the way they used to and I'm convinced it is being taken away from me.

Truth be told, I think some of it has been taken. I shudder to think I've done permanent "damage" to my body. I can't bend my knees a certain way or put certain pressures on them any more. But maybe that is normal? We just have to be more careful. Maybe that happens as we age, things just work differently, take longer to heal and sometimes, it hurts.

It never lasts too long, I guess. But it makes me wonder if I'm doing the right thing. I mean, if I'm going to age anyway, and my body is going to change anyway, I might as well be doing something good for me. Something I enjoy. Something that keeps my heart strong and my mind quiet. What's the alternative? Sit? Do nothing? Lose more health? Age anyway.

I have no answers, I have no idea. I feel like I'm doing what I can, seeing doctors when I need to, taking preventive measures, praying. That should be enough. Consciously keeping myself healthy should be enough. And still I'm scared of it being taken away.

That's a little silly, I know. If I'm allowing myself to be afraid of running being taken away then who's to say I shouldn't be afraid of everything being taken away? Things far worse than my healthy joints could be gone tomorrow, and I don't want to live there. That's a place where we're constantly saying what if and when and why, which leads nowhere.

I'd rather run as though it is the right choice, as though it has only benefits and as though it is there to be seized. Sort of like the day itself.

Every Day is a Glory Day

2007-08-12T16:00:00.000-06:00

I close my eyes. I can hear the splash of the water, the laughter of the children. I take a deep breath, the scent of chlorine and barbecue fills the air. The sun beats down, it feels more like July than August. The Dog Days, these must be them.

Work was heavy last week. Every day worked seemed to be followed by an especially demanding evening. The curse of doing too much. The consequence of having it too good. I look around, it's all here. Now. An afternoon in time. A beach ball lands at my feet and instinctively I kick it back into the water.

The sky above is a remarkable blue, and I remember that no matter where I lay my head there's just no sky like the one here, at home. It's deep and wide, it's clouds are bright white. It this sky I stared up at, on my back, from the grass of my childhood front yard, making shapes out of nothing. My feet are hot on the pool deck and it brings me back to the moment.

I can't quite put my finger on what it is here lately. I can't quite understand why it's suddenly so easy to take stock. To look out into the blue or into the faces of people I care about, and realize how lucky I am. Maybe it's just summertime, maybe it's the hard work, maybe it's age. I can feel it, though. It's tangible. Although I'm not ever likely to stop trying to do more and work harder, I'm glad I can see where I'm at. It's a quiet reassurance to know that even if it were to all stop tomorrow, I'd still have known it today.

When He Looks At Her

2007-08-09T05:21:00.000-06:00

“When I look at Judy, I see her at twenty-seven. And I see her at thirty-five. And fifty. And ninety.”

They’re not yet ninety, but when you’re around them, it seems that’s how many years they’ve known one another. It takes about ten seconds to see what they really are. Real. There are only two possible conclusions you make when you see what they have, either you want it or you have it.

She shakes her head when he makes a sandwich on the bare counter, not mindful of the crumbs. She spends an hour telling me about their first trip to Mexico, and how they never left the room “but not in the romantic sense.” The water was bad. Then he chimes in “well, there was that first night.” And our faces turn red, and she rolls her eyes. Then he mentions the way she tucked him into bed those nights, as if to apologize for making her blush.

He tells me about the time she first met his friends, and how they suggested she may not be his “type.” And how he knew that she was no one’s type, which is why he had to have her. “If I didn’t do something to get her to marry me, my entire life would have been a failure.” He was already successful, had made more money than he’d ever dreamed. Without her, it wouldn’t have mattered. The classic story.

She speaks of him in a way that makes you tilt your head and crease your brow. It makes sense and yet, you feel like there’s a mystery about it. It’s from her heart, the bottom of her soul. “I’m not a romantic,” she says, “but he does the laundry. He’s always done the laundry. I just love that.” There’s some magic they’ve found, some intricate simplicity.

And I think he does see her at twenty-seven, and thirty-five and fifty and ninety. I think they know that’s what it’s about, that life is fluid and when you choose someone like they have done, you choose to be along for the ride.

I look forward to actually being awake in every class

2007-08-08T05:27:00.001-06:00

In a few weeks, I'll be starting school again. I have books, I paid tuition (then threw up- seriously, when did it get so high?) and I even have a cute little student ID entitling me to absolutely nothing other than a discount movie admission, which I will no longer have time to see.

Over the last few weeks, I've been trying to mentally prepare myself for being student again. I am surprisingly more thrilled about this go 'round than I was the first time. I loved college, the time, the friends, and even some of the learning, but it was always a means to an end for me. I'll never forget the way I felt the Spring of my junior year when I sat in the counselor's office, going over my credits and learning that I really was just a year and a half from graduation. That was the light at the end of the tunnel for me, I was finally going to be finished and ready for "real" life. How innocently that plan formulated in my head.

Now, obviously, it's different. Now it's not only the means-to-an-end concept that motivates me, it's what excites me. It's taken me a good five years to "figure out" what I think I should be doing to further my education and to come to the conclusion that I do not want to be in a finance class, ever again. In my entire life. No thank you. Clear enough? Seems simple now, but I thought an M.B.A. was always going to be my next step. I thought that was the logical thing to do for my career, a career that I am good at but am not passionate about- at least not the kind of passion I want to usher me into the next stages of my life. I finally reasoned that when you're guaranteed almost nothing in the future, it's a good idea to do something you're excited about in the meantime.

So that's what I'm setting out to do. I'm a little nervous, I'll be in a classroom again. I actually asked my mother the other day, half joking and half serious, "what if no one talks to me?" Which is just silly. I mean, when has that ever been a concern? We all know that I will just talk to them anyway. And that they will immediately decide that I am super cool and they want to be my friend forever and ever. Or maybe that's just what my mother said.

With this coming up, along with everything else happening at the natural full-speed-ahead style of August, I've lost a little sleep. That's acceptable, though. Who needs sleep when you have text books and parking passes and are already in a place where you can see the light at the end of the tunnel. I can see it, and it feels good. As long as I don't start having any of those dreams where I'm in my underwear and can't remember the combination to my locker.

Of course it would happen on a day that I have so much to share

2007-08-07T06:43:00.000-06:00

I have to go do some big, supposedly important work task thing. Apparently, there's this job here they pay me to do and I need to go do it.

So, I'll save all my secrets until tomorrow and in the meantime, I'll leave you with some photos that are sure to entertain. Well, entertain me anyway.

Really?

Me too.

Lily

Anyone got a guess?

No words

Thanks for putting up with the shameless kid promotion. I just can't seem to stop pointing out how adorable he is.

Shockingly, Not About Flip Flops

2007-08-05T15:40:00.000-06:00

"You've got too many shoes. And look, half of them are flip flops. How many pairs of flip flops can you wear at once?"

"I'm not answering that."

"I bet you could wear one pair each day all summer and not repeat once."

"I bet not."

"I'm not sure I've seen you without them, actually. Do you sleep in flip flops?"

"No... but I'm not sure I sleep. I don't think I've slept all summer."

And just about all of me feels that.

I think it's important, with all this happiness talk lately, that I remind myself (if not, everyone else) how incredibly exhausted I am if I let myself stop long enough to think about it. Even when I try to sleep, I can't. There's so much to do, so much to worry about.

I know better than to think it's anything but a phase. A phase I've no doubt been in before. I think, apparently blinded by being happy and grateful, I've filled the plate a little too full. Maybe setting end of summer goals or already planning for next year has not served me well. Just because it seems like preparing doesn't mean you're prepared now. At least not prepared to deal with it.

A huge contributor to this feeling, I think, is having my nephew around. Not to say I'm with him constantly and not to say that his mother isn't infinitely better at washing the dishes, talking on the phone, and pulling his hands out of the electrical outlets all at once, because she is, but I feel like after a lifetime of no one ever having really tried, this kid is kicking my ass. (And mom, when you read that I typed "ass" on my blog, just remember it took you a year and a half to start reading this and if ass is the worse thing you see from here on out consider yourself lucky. Might I suggest you never go into the archives.) Since my sister and her child, The One Whom Shall Never Need Caffeine, arrived, I've been able to see them every day. Yes, this is odd in itself because there are other things I should be doing every day that I can't manage but when it comes to rolling around in the grass or throwing a metal bowl against the wall because it makes that hilarious noise EVERY TIME, well I have no problem finding time for that.

Sometimes my "auntily duties" consist of nothing more than turning on the radio (kid loves to dance and sing) while other times, they're decidedly more challenging like pushing fifty pounds of kid and jogger stroller up a hill. Or wiping his face, an act in which my jaw is usually on the floor because his head can turn 360 degrees without moving his body. The entire time, no matter what we're doing, I'm having a great time. Thrilled with the concept of being part of his life and him mine, all the while basking in the glow of the idea that I get to give him back.

Which I do. Usually.

Then I leave, drive home or wherever, and generally hit a wall. Suddenly, I feel like I've run a marathon and instead of being allowed to recover, rehydrate and celebrate, I have to go back to normal life. I have to walk the dog and fold laundry when all I really want to do is collapse. And drink. Each time, the same thought comes to mind: How do parents do it?

I honestly do not know. Perhaps you adapt? I've heard some mothers say "the energy just comes to you." I cannot imagine, and I have quite the imagination.

The best conclusion I've got, the nearest I can tell, is that you are motivated. Something, be it the cuteness or the automatic sense of parental responsibility, or nap time, must keep you going.
I might be biased, but I think that cuteness factor would be huge for me.

I Have No Idea What's Next, I Just Know I Can't Wait

2007-08-03T08:54:00.000-06:00

I was reading Bre's post about, well, life last night and I got to thinking about it. I left a comment that if I had some kind of "solution" that would give us any clue as to what we were supposed to do to know the direction of our lives, I would have bottled and sold it by now. When I think about it, though, I guess that does take all the fun out of a lot of life. The knowing and the ever-mysterious questioning is part of the journey, right?

I mean, don't get me wrong. If I could bottle and sell something that no one else ever had bottled and sold before I would totally do it because that would probably mean I'd earn some cash which would then lead to me being able to finally buy every pair of flip flops ever made. And if you know me at all, you know that having all those flip flops and wearing them would then entitle me to run around making declarations that I am The Happiest Woman on Earth.

Speaking of happy, though, and the original point I started, I think I might already be there. Not that there's no further to go, I know (and hope) there is. But what I also said on Bre's post was something along the lines of "I don't know when he's coming along but when he does, he's going to run into one really happy girl." (Yes, I am too lazy to go read the comment and quote myself. I know. Shush.) Which, if I do say so myself, is pretty cool.

I've been going about a million miles a minute for the last few weeks. I'm not going to lie, I've been stressed more than an astronaut's family during a spacewalk. (I know, random. But I had never considered how stressful that might actually be. Have you?) I'm currently staring down the double barrel of job changes and becoming a student again. I've got more family around right now than I know what to do with, friends that want to take me places with them and, oh yeah, the dog needs to go to the vet. There's a guy coming to fix the door on Saturday, that project due at work on Monday, that resume you need to revise and oh yeah, it'd be nice if the bathroom were clean. I'm still tired from an awesome Tuesday night of four hours (FOUR HOURS!) of fantastic live music and still reeling from the four miles I put in on the treadmill (and I usually cannot stand the treadmill, you know).

And when it's all together like that, in a mass of words and happenings and "things" it doesn't sound stressful at all. It sounds good. It sounds full, like that "mmmmm" noise you might make when you give a really great hug to someone you love. It sounds like life.

So with my comment, it was just what came to mind. That's what good is meant to be, what it's meant to give. Happiness. Hope. Faith. The times, they are not perfect. The days, they're long. But that solution, that "solution" to accepting what life is and where it might lead, I think it might be balance. Finding satisfaction somewhere between what you've chosen and what's chosen you. It's not reading too much into something* and yet, purposefully looking for what you know you shouldn't miss.

* I feel a little like I hijacked my own comment and therefore, hijacked Bre. Sorry, Bre. Now let's all go distract her by talking about shoes!

I regard your opinions very highly, you know

2007-08-02T16:06:00.001-06:00

Here's the scenario:

-2 airline tickets

-2 friends

-must travel by September 10

-must be a long weekend (because we USE that vacay time, yo!)

-must go anywhere Jet Blue flies

New York? New Orleans? Nashville? San Francisco? Chicago? Where would you choose? What would you do? WHAT DO YOU DO?!? (Sorry, Speed flashback.)

I know, quite the perdicament. I know, I know. And I promise when I can actually think straight, I will post about just how damn lucky I am.

Because it might actually be Mighty

2007-08-01T08:00:00.000-06:00

Do you ever see things? I do. I'm forever seeing things out of the corner of my eye. Things that may or may not actually be there.

So when I saw a light brown streak on the floor of my office yesterday, it was hardly out of the ordinary. Something made me look closer, who knows what. I craned my neck a little, looked under the shadow of the desk and there it was, in a small access port in the floor. The little brown body. And a tail. Scurrying down into the floor.

In one motion, from looking, to realizing, to the deep inhale, I was flying in my rolling chair. Back from the desk, across the cube, into the small hallway. The sound I made, when I saw the creature, must have been abrupt. It was the audible gasp, like the one your mother used to do when you were new to driving and she sat in the passenger seat, utterly shocked there wasn't a break pedal on that side, too. Four coworkers immediately appeared in my doorway.

I should back up a little here to say I'm not scared of mice. Scared is a relative term. I am not afraid of them eating my toes off, or crawling near me. It's not scary. What it is, though, is disgusting. I am disgusted by them, just like spiders. They give me the creeps, like shivery creeps. Like dirty old man flirting with you in a bar creeps.

When I saw this mouse, fear didn't go through my mind. Rather, the thought of having to share space with this critter, clearly out of it's element, grossed me the heck out.

Upon some inspection, figuring out yes, the mouse went into the hole but probably had the option of coming out anywhere, we fashioned a blocking device (and by we I mean another coworker because at this point, I am still ten feet away). I wish I had a photo for you, but honestly, convincing my coworkers I've not lost my mind is difficult enough on a daily basis without setting up a mouse surveillance camera. It's an empty Tupperware container, clear plastic so I can see if he comes out, with about seven binders stacked on top. You never know.

And now, I sit at my desk, do my work, talk to people on the phone and act like everything is normal. It's not easy though, because about every 4.3 seconds I have to gaze over to that spot on the floor and keep my mind from picturing a mouse crawling out to get me. Once he moves seventeen pounds of office supplies.

Not having done it in fifteen years didn't make it any easier

2007-07-30T19:36:00.000-06:00

It never gets easier. I count myself lucky that I've seldom had to do it. I've been blessed with good people, I've chosen well. But recently (and reluctantly) I had to let someone go.

It was sort of like firing; I had to fire her from being my friend. The chances were out, the strikes, way beyond three. I gave it time, a lot of time. I thought having the bigger heart and waiting it out was the way to go. After all, my friend was going through a hard time, and if I couldn't hold on then, what sort of friend would that make me?

I held on, I let time pass. I let the emotional roller coaster cycle through, time and again. I thought as long as it wasn't my emotional roller coaster, I could let it pass. But then, she discovered this. She realized that somehow, my choice of not letting her decisions affect me meant something was wrong.

We now know this something as drama.

I saw right through it, though it wasn't her plan. She wanted to pour oil on the flames, I had the extinguisher. She was sliding down a steep, slippery spiral, I wouldn't sacrifice to go with her. I couldn't. It wasn't because she was asking too much, it was because she wasn't. She assumed I could be there, without question. Or morals. Or self-preservation.

I did question, though. And chose morals, and self-preservation. I had to.

The entire thing felt very business-like. Sort of similar to when I'd have to give bad feedback reports on volunteers, in my college internship days. I didn't want to ruin anyone's day, I didn't want to be negative, but when it came down to it, I had to be. It was hurting the cause, affecting more than just me.

She wasn't always bad, which is the part that makes it difficult. There were good times, times of hard work and play. But choices were made, and roads were chosen. Priorities changed, in ways I never expected, and very few people surprise me. (Us closet cynics have that sense.) Sooner or later, things like that just bring everything to a halt. A grinding halt.

So I let go. It's not easy, not without a share of guilt. But it's right.

I told her we all have those moments

2007-07-28T15:12:00.000-06:00

My sister, always the athletic one, wants to start running again. She asked me to help her, to get her into some training. Maybe motivate her a little. (This is how we know we're grown up. She can ask for help, I can give it, and we both come out alive.)

So today, after my long run, I met up with her and we did a little "trial run." She needs some time to get acclimated, not just to running again but to living at six thousand feet. When you run here and you just start out, you are pretty sure your lungs are going to burst into flames. It takes a couple weeks to adapt to that- the feeling doesn't go away, but you get used to it.

We set out for three miles today, with planned walk breaks. We made it through a half mile, she was still smiling. We walked a bit, and then ran another half mile. I stood there, beaming at her with pride. A new or returning runner is always so exciting, but when it's your sister [and you're me] it's all you can do to not jump up and cheer her on with pom poms.

"You just did something 99% of people cannot do," I told her, as we took another short walk break.

"What?" she asked me, while she gulped her water.

"Most people on this planet cannot run one mile. How do you feel?"

"Dumber than most people on the planet, to tell you the truth."

This is going to be great!

__________________________________________

Thanks so much to everyone who commented and emailed regarding my last post. I know that by and large, everyone I ever "know" here or anywhere else on Earth is great and sometimes, there are exceptions. It makes me appreciate you all more, that's for sure.

Between you all and being able to look at this little face everyday, I have no worries. Life is good.

Hopefully the only time I'll let myself respond to something so ridiculous

2007-07-27T10:59:00.000-06:00

I started this site something like one year and seven months ago. Over that time, aside from the occasional strange comment or mean email, I've had nothing but great experiences reading about people's lives, opinions, questions, jokes and so much more. The fun I've had expressing my own thoughts here has far outweighed anything negative I've ever had to deal with. I just consider myself lucky. I've avoided the controversy/drama/people with their heads in their hiney quite well.

Then, as I mentioned in my last post, someone made a comment to me on another blog that I let hurt my feelings. Fine. Another person on Earth doesn't agree with me. Not exactly shattering information here. I talked about it, I got over it. This other person though, (we'll call her Amanda) did not get over it. In fact, Amanda took it upon herself to follow my link to this site, find my email address and send me an email.

She tried to start out being kind "look, I ain't saying you don't know anything." Okay fine, Amanda. Thanks for that. Then it gets better, much better! "I just think that if you were a good Christian woman you would know what I meant." Okay, so now I'm a bad Christian woman. She goes on to say "maybe if you focused a little less on thinking you knew what you were talking about and a little more on actually learning and developing your life in a good way, you'd recognize where you were lacking." I was unaware I've been underdeveloped so far. "It has been my experience that people without faith have little to offer when it comes to giving others direction."

Amanda, apparently the one person on Earth with a red phone to the Lord, went on for quite a while. I'm not sure if she read all four hundred or so of my posts or none at all, but she sure does believe she knows me. And not all but about 90% of the bones in my body are telling me it doesn't matter what Amanda says. So you got a random email, big deal. But then there's that part of me that's irritated. Because how dare she. How dare Amanda, never having commented on my blog before or since, insult me. How dare she insult my Christianity. My faith.

I know I don't talk about my beliefs much around here. And believe you me, it's not likely headed that way. But regardless of what I've posted or not (I know it is shocking to you, Amanda, that someone's entire life may not be on their blog) I have deep beliefs. Beliefs that I rarely doubt or question and though I am not perfect, I am profoundly offended that someone would use my choice to talk about my faith sparingly as a tool to insult me. To make assumptions about my life. I find it hard to believe, in all her "experience" Amanda hasn't learned the number one rule when making assumptions. (Hint for Amanda: It starts with A-S-S.)

Shallowly, perhaps, I wonder about Amanda. I wonder why she feels the need to judge a stranger. I wonder if, on her blog, she shares these opinions. I wonder if she has readers that think like this. I wonder what I'd say to her, if anything. But after going through all this, writing it all out, I have nothing for Amanda.

However, it does remind me of a Sunday School lesson when we learned that even if we don't care for some people, it still might be a good idea to pray for them.

Then we'll just have to move again

2007-07-27T05:30:00.000-06:00

Some friends of mine have been renovating their new home. Mostly, they've been doing the work themselves. In the beginning, I think they were excited. "A real bonding experience," they thought. Now, I think when one of them doesn't throw a belt sander at the other's head, they consider it a good day.

"Jill? JILL!"

"WHAT!" She wasn't asking a question.

"WHERE ARE YOU?"

"I'M OUT FRONT! Could you please not yell across the house for me... at least not right now."

Sam shows up on the front porch. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't yell across the house for me when I'm bringing trash from the house to the porch."

"Okaaaayyyy..." Sam doesn't know where she's going with this.

"You just can't yell and draw attention to us with all this trash on the porch! Then we'll be known as 'those people with the trashy house who yell all the time.'"

They hope to have all renovations complete by Thanksgiving.

This is me, all over the place

2007-07-25T19:54:00.000-06:00

I am insane. JACC was right. To counter, apparently, my 4:00 a.m. run from my last post, I decided tonight, an 8:00 p.m. run was in order. I was busy earlier, I told myself. And it was hot, my gosh was it hot. I think it was four hundred degrees as it has been for the last week. So I told myself I'd wait. Or maybe do another early run tomorrow. These were all good excuses, I thought. But as I ran tonight, I just got to thinking I'm so all over the place lately, it's obvious my urge to run is no different.

There are a lot of reasons for it, I suppose. In a lot of ways, it's been evident all around. The following, because I lack creativity at the moment, are good examples of the crazy that has been me here lately:

- I actually woke myself up in the middle of the night by talking. Of course, I've been known to talk in my sleep (I used to scare my sister out of her room when we were younger) but this was just a bit much. I was having a pretty serious conversation.

- I have been relying entirely too much on cold cereal to sustain me. Don't get me wrong, I love cereal but even I know this is not good.

- My sister and nephew arrived yesterday. They're here for the duration, until my brother-in-law comes home. This is not really an example of why I've lost it unless you count that I actually believe deep in my heart that I really can sing just because a one-year-old dances when I do.

- The other day, on someone's blog, another commenter made a [what I consider to be closed-minded] comment to me and it actually hurt my feelings. I inexplicably got pretty offended when I know I shouldn't, because I don't know this person. I think if you make comments on a blog, they're fair "game." I guess everyone does not see it this way. Alright, enough of that.

- I have really been in the mood to mow the lawn. I offered to mow my mother's tonight and she told me no. No. I couldn't believe it.

- I am starting school at the end of the month. Oh, I haven't mentioned this, you say? Yeah, I know. It's because I haven't thought about it. I keep telling myself I'll get into it. Any minute now...

- I bought a lottery ticket. Need I say more?

There have been times in my life when I haven't even gone to bed by 4:00 a.m.

2007-07-24T06:23:00.000-06:00

My run this morning was forced. Not the steps, but rather the time. Because I insist on starting work early (or at least showing up) I'm not a morning runner on weekdays. I figure I'm up at 5:00 a.m. as it is, getting up earlier just seems a little... wrong.

But today was different. Today is already planned, taken up by incoming flights and driving. By early meetings at work followed by rushing out of the office saying "sorry, I have to go." One look at Tuesday on this week's calendar, and you'd see- there's just no room for running.

So I decided it would have to happen early or not at all. Pre-dawn, or not at all. I got myself to bed at a decent hour (requiring a plan in itself), set the alarm for 3:50 a.m. (I know!) and set out my running clothes. To be honest, I gave myself a 50/50 chance of actually getting out of bed.

Somehow, though, I did it. The alarm went off, and I sat up. Wide awake; the kind of awake you are when you know you could lie back down, but you wouldn't sleep. So I got up. I changed my clothes, glanced at myself in the mirror, grabbed my Garmin and was out the door. I pushed 'Start' at 4:01 a.m. It's a little frightening to even think about that. It feels very unreal, even if there are people that do it every day.

It took me about a mile to settle in, to get over the feeling that someone was going to "get" me. I have a fairly constant, sometimes irrational fear of being gotten. Once that feeling passed, and I realized I was probably able to at least out run (if not pepper spray) anyone else out at 4:00 in the morning, I started to enjoy it.

The air was cool and almost crisp. It was lovely to feel more heat generated by me than by the environment around me, as has been the case with every other run this Summer. It was quiet, so peacefully quiet. The only souls I passed were a cat lying in the middle of the street, basking under the light of the streetlamp, and two paper delivery folks. All three stared at me like I was the crazy one. They're probably right.

I didn't feel crazy, though. I felt great. And as I kept track of the time, I kept telling myself it wasn't "wake up time" yet. It was as if I was running before I was actually up. Ironically, once the clock neared 5:00 and I was near home, I did feel more awake. I watched a few minutes of the news, and then went about the morning as if I hadn't just covered more than five miles.

It feels good to have done more before 5:00 a.m. than many people will do all day. I might just have to get into this pre-dawn thing.

Life is more like a river than a lake

2007-07-22T19:41:00.000-06:00

Yes, there is a possibility that I have just been allowed to have it too good lately. Though I've been working hard enough to come home at the end of the day and tell myself "you've worked hard, you need a break" I also think I've been pretty lucky with the breaks so far.

If nothing else, I've at least been lucky to have spent them with really wonderful people. Although the places and the weather have all been beautiful, I can't help but think the people you spend your time with, if they're really awesome people that you love, would be people you'd be with anywhere.

I found myself thinking that a lot over the weekend. Around the campfire or on the lake shore, I just sat back and took it all in. I'm always in fear a little of bringing up the good. I don't want to brag anyone to death or, heaven forbid, make it all go away by talking about it. At the same time, though, that is what the good is about, isn't it? It's there to enjoy- to celebrate as if this feeling, this moment itself might be what we always use to define good.

Earlier in life, at times when I didn't know what awful really was, I wasn't great at recognizing life's truly good moments. I didn't really know the stark, meaningful contrast between love and hate or peace and fighting. Hate was the girl that purposely kicked sand on me, war was a yellow button I wore on my jacket.

Growing up, growing old, is such a bittersweet contrast in itself. The nostalgia, the lust for those days gone by is only overshadowed by the appreciation that develops over time. Over the weekend, as is often when friends get together, the question came up of would you ever go back in time?

My first instinct is to say yes, knowing what I know now, of course. But then I think about it, and realize nothing I remember would have been remotely as grand had I not had the privilege of innocence. I wouldn't have cared deeply about getting a perm or missing an episode of Beverly Hills 90210. I wouldn't have gotten butterflies at the thought of a boy sitting next to me on the bus or have been surprised by Halloween haunted houses. So no, today I'd say going back would just not work. Mostly, it would prevent moving forward. It would prevent weekends at the lake, to be with friends and reminisce.

And what are good weekends with empty margarita glasses and clear blue skies worth if you can't reminisce about being seventeen again? I certainly wouldn't be able to tell the story of the last time I was at this here lake, when the girls met up with the boys, likely all having stretched the truth with the parents. Where we walked shoulder to shoulder, wondering if he was going to take our hand. The boathouse where the girls would go to tell one another which boy liked them and which was a "loser." The hill where, in the late night hours, you might sneak off and, you know, read.

I don't need to go back to that. Remembering it is part of the magic. And life, in it's sneaky, quiet way just keeps getting better and better.

Endless in my mind

2007-07-19T09:36:00.000-06:00

A few days ago, when I asked for opinions about the cities you call home, I was very impressed by all the responses. Sometimes, I think it's easy to forget that home, like many things we love, can both drive us crazy and amaze us.

This weekend, I'm off to the lake with some friends. They are nice to invite me although they all seem to agree there is something wrong with me as I actually enjoy living in the small space of a trailer. Either I'm low maintenance or I'm just overwhelmed by how "cute" everything is. Seriously, a house squeezed into forty feet of sheet metal is cute. Have you seen the oven? Adorable.

Of course, my excitement isn't just about miniature appliances and toilets. I get to hang out with friends, float around on the boat and soak up some sun, too. Sometime in the past few years, when I wasn't paying attention, I became one of those people that says "where has Summer gone?" The difference between me and most people is that the idea of Summer being more than half over sends me into a panic.

I feel a sense of urgency to soak up even more, hold onto it as if it's slipping away. Sure, I've done quite well with enjoying it so far, but I can't help but feel it's being taken away. So I'll head out to the lake, and off into the mountains. I'll have drinks on patios and you know I'll wear the heck out of the flip flops and I'll keep asking you if you're doing the same. We can keep it alive, right?

And if that's not enough, at least I know when the cooler days start to sneak in here, there's also a land of endless summer I have look forward to.

Enjoy it, y'all.

And don't make fun of me for saying "y'all."

One Must Control One's Ambition

2007-07-18T09:04:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, against the odds, I had a fantastic run. As I was out on the roads, chugging away and feeling surprisingly good about it, I found myself almost elated. I kept thinking how I was going to come home and call some of my running friends and tell them "woot! I am back!" How happy they'd be- how tolerant.

I thought of how I'd write a story on my blog that though it was ninety-five degrees and drier than fire, I still managed to keep a good pace and, gasp!, enjoy myself. I thought I'd talk about hills as if they were nothing and how my body felt powerful and strong again.

No matter who I encountered on the run, I wanted to tell them all how great I felt and how happy I was. I felt the need to grab them by the shoulders (yes, even the elderly lady and her poodle) and tell them exactly how fantastic it was and shout DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS TO ME! I was fully charged, like I could have run all night.

Then, I got home, drank a half gallon of water, ate some dinner, watched thirty minutes of some new-fangled* Candid Camera, and went to bed. No need to get ahead of ourselves.

_______________

* It is too a word. I don't care what spell check or anyone else says.

Why Things Between Siblings Will Always Be Unique

2007-07-17T05:35:00.000-06:00

If you have siblings you know that of everyone in the world, they probably know you best. You might not admit it and, heck no do you talk about it but you know. And they know, too.

Along with knowing you so well, siblings have this way of bringing you back to reality. No putting on airs, no going to extremes. No matter what cloud you might be on and regardless of what their intention might be, no one puts your feet on the ground faster.

The following is from an email I recently sent my sister:

... I'm so glad you guys are going to be here soon! I'm looking forward to the time we'll get to spend together, unrushed, unhurried. It'll be like we get to know each other again, and better. And I'll get to be an aunt. A full-time aunt. I'm so happy to do that! It'll be great. It means so much to me that we'll be such a part of one another's life for a while. It's such an important time for that. We'll always remember this..."

And on I went for another paragraph more.

The response from my sister:

"I'm excited, too. Were you drinking when you wrote this?"

Your Town

2007-07-15T13:00:00.000-06:00

At times, I very seriously toss around the idea of moving. Of just picking up life and going somewhere different and new. I long for something new, more diverse, richer. Different.

Mostly for curiosity (but also for that little nagging voice that's always saying "go go go") I look into things like climate, crime, the job market, proximity to mountains/trails/beaches and whether or not the town has a reputable microbrewery nearby. Like I said, mostly for curiosity.

The thing is, I really love my town. I love the hot summers and the cool mountains. I love the lifestyle people embrace here. I love that my family is nearby. I love that there's an airport close that will take me anywhere I could ever think to go. I appreciate the winters (though you know I do not love them) and I look forward to Spring and Fall. I am involved in the community and have good friends here. And SUN! We have so much sun.

But I still wonder.

I think about the Northwest- would I be lost without all those sunny days? I think about the Midwest- is it true what they say about the bugs? I think about the Northeast- could I find good trails? I think about the Gulf- could I take the humidity? I think about it all. Carolina? Texas? New York? Georgia? California?

Honestly, there are some places I would not live. This number, though, is far outweighed by all the places I'm willing to try. Not that "trying out" a new city is realistic for me, but it's good to know.

So how about you? How about your city? What brought you there? Why do you like it? Why do you love it? What drives you crazy about it?

One thing we learn about where we live are those little things that you really don't know until you live there. Here in Colorado, for instance, we often find transplants that don't know much about the basics of Winter driving. An example: Ice is slippery.

Say I'm going to move to your city, what would you want me to know? What wouldn't I "get" until I lived there?

Give it a Minute

2007-07-12T16:00:00.000-06:00

For the past couple weeks, running has been the least fun thing I've done. After the wonderful relay experience, I just lost it. It was like the wall of all walls. Every time I've put my shoes on and stepped onto the road I've been nowhere near into it. One day, my knee would hurt, the next day, a shin. I had a nagging tendon for a while and then an angry ankle. It was too hot, then too windy. Worst of all, my head wasn't in it.

I'm always the runner to say "I don't care how fast I'm running, I just don't want to walk." I hardly ever will stop a run to walk, even with pain. Over the last couple weeks, though, I've gotten somewhere around two miles into almost every run and felt the need to stop and walk. So I did. Some days, I'd complete all my miles by walking them. And I never once felt badly about it.

I don't think anyone should feel less-than for walking, of course, but this is just highly unusual for me. It's been frustrating that it's lasted a while. I can't really figure it out. I thought it was just one bad run, but then it turned into two and three and four. It kept happening. I thought the dangerous thoughts like maybe running isn't for me anymore or maybe I'm just a two miler. Nothing wrong with that, I told myself. I just stopped looking forward to it.

I came up with a few plans. Drop the mileage, then build back up. Cross train more. Get more sleep. I tried a lot of plans.

But then, today, forty minutes after I'd worked through lunch and eaten at my desk, I went to the locker room, changed my clothes and headed out. The skies were dark, the kind of clouds that open and pour for hours. I breathed in and waited a minute, but I didn't turn back. I'd just eaten, I could have gotten cramps. I didn't turn back. I just started running, letting the cool air blow my hair back and the noise of traffic fade into the background. I felt good after a mile, and still after two. Into the third mile I knew the rain was coming, so I headed back.

Just a 3.4 mile loop in all, but I felt like it could have been 10. Finally, I thought, a run that means I still know how to run. I'd hoped it was in there somewhere, even after all my end-of-the-world-as-I-know-it talk. And it was.

Of course I don't know how the next run will go. I don't know that it'll be pain free or exhilarating. But I'll go for it anyway and try to remember that running is not only part of life but is just like life. Sometimes it's up, sometimes it's down and sometimes you just need a minute.

Because 'Hi' is for Wussies

2007-07-11T17:30:00.001-06:00

"Does his shirt say I heart girls that do curls?"

"Yeah, looks like it."

"What is that? What do you say to a guy that wears a shirt like that?"

"I love you, too?"

It is really for your own protection

2007-07-10T06:01:00.000-06:00

I like things on time.

I'm not afraid to admit it. I like when 6:00 means 6:00 and ten minutes actually turns out to be ten minutes. I like meetings to start on time and more so, end on time. It is less because I am uber-important and I have a scientifically orchestrated schedule and more that I just like things to go as planned. (Hello, do we notice a theme this week? Yes, I know. Thank you.)

This is odd because I do consider myself a spontaneous person. Just last night, in fact, I pushed a fully clothed friend into a pool just because I could. How is that for spur of the moment? I am not the person who knows what they're having for dinner a week from tomorrow or how many miles I'll run on Saturday (though please, God, let it be some miles because the running lately has not been stellar- but we will discuss this another day). I'm all for just going with what feels good, within reason, and letting the rest happen.

The thing is, it's dangerous. Something not starting or ending on time equals me, slightly afflicted with all things hyperactive, to be left to my own devices. If I have a block of time that I thought was accounted for, who knows what could happen. There's a long list of things I've done when I had unplanned spare time including clean the oven (good), "invent" my own beer tap (not good), and write a song about thongs (oh trust me, way before any other song about thongs came about- remind me to share it sometime, you'll love it).

I guess what I'm saying is, if anything you have planned ever involves me, please be as on time as possible. If you're going to meet me for a run at 4:00, know that I will be ready at 4:00. I cannot be responsible for any ridiculousness that might occur if you're late.

Exhibit A:

Dancing

2007-07-09T05:50:00.000-06:00

It started almost as soon as we were dancing. We’d talked a little before but the conversation continued on the wood floor. It was a slow dance, as all the sweetest ones are, and the music was low. It allowed for time to talk, to joke and laugh a little. It was just small stuff, but in my mind, things were jumping ahead.

I knew his name, his work, some of his friends. The ball started rolling. I wondered if we liked the same things. Did we share beliefs? Backgrounds? It all started flooding in.

It continued on the drive home. I started the list, the list of the few but important things that mean the difference between interested and not. And then, I freaked out, which had nothing to do with him, or anyone, for that matter. It was just me.

I was not surprised by this, really. You just start to wonder. How will a person fit into my life? How will that work? Can any person fit into my life? Will they be up for all that entails? And how can I fit into their life? It sounds like panic, but I justify it by calling myself a planner. To me, it's smart. Did I need to be doing the planning right then? No. But I'm somewhat glad I think that way anyway. Long gone are the days when I don't need someone to "get it" to be with them. Understanding is more important than I used to think. For lack of better wording, I have things I need to do right now and though I'm not afraid to put it out on the table, I'm also not willing to give up on what, to me, is a very possible dream.

And I know all those things about “the right person, right place, right time.” I know we don’t give up dreams for people or people for dreams. I know there is such thing as happiness and compromise. I know all this. I know we always have a choice. Still, it makes me wonder (and freak out a little). My mind wrestles between the enormity of possibility and the desire to see another chair filled at the dinner table.

The things that seemed ideal a year or two ago are no longer. People don’t seem to get that, how things can change. Or maybe it’s my mind that changed, I don’t know. What I do know is I can’t compromise some things right now. There’s too much riding on what might be, what dreams combined with planning and serious intent could bring. I can’t stop that now.

It’s strange what a dance can do. The thoughts that cross your mind when you move in a circle close to another person, with their hand on your back and their breath on your shoulder. It’s no reason to freak out, though. It’s no reason to worry about giving anything up or changing your life. You can’t think about what you’ll say when the phone rings or how you’ll say it.

I know I don’t need to worry about it. I can’t. I know things work out and life goes on and in spite of momentary breakdowns or lapses of calm, everything is going to be just fine. I don’t need to think about it. It was just a dance, and the dance was pretty good.

In summer, the song sings itself. ~William Carlos Williams

2007-07-06T05:14:00.000-06:00

There shall be eternal summer in the grateful heart. ~Celia Thaxter

Deep summer is when laziness finds respectability. ~Sam Keen

A life without love is like a year without summer. ~Swedish Proverb

No price is set on the lavish summer;

June may be had by the poorest comer.

~James Russell Lowell

Ah, summer, what power you have to make us suffer and like it. ~Russel Baker

Summer afternoon - summer afternoon;

to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.

~Henry James

__________________

And how are you soaking up your summer?

.

And then I reached out and gave you all a big hug

2007-07-05T19:14:00.000-06:00

It is a little strange getting email from strangers asking questions to which you don’t have answers. Not because you don’t know answers, but because you never thought about it before.

As several who know me as well as my blog-type friends might have figured out by now, I’m seriously bad about getting to the emails. I read them all, I really do. And then, when I don’t have time to respond thoughtfully and completely well, I sometimes don’t come up with anything at all. So I just think I’ll do it later. Like later when I say I’ll update the links or when I say I want to revamp this site but then I never do. Because I run out of time, or don’t know where to go or what to do and am too busy/tired/dense to say HELP ME.

Anyway. Tangent. Oops.

Some things, though, beg a response. And being that I’ve had the question before, I’m even more excited that I now, too, have an answer!

I can’t figure you out. You talk about so many different things and seem to have too many different passions. I just can't figure out what kind of blog this is?

That was the inquisition I read over my caffeine yesterday morning. At first, I wanted to blow it off. “Too many different passions.” What 's that about? Perhaps, though, I know what it means. I do bounce around a lot here. I’ve had people say “I thought ‘Just Run’ would be more about running.” But you know, I never did. I thought, when I started writing here, that running was just a huge part of me, but not entirely me. And over the last year and a half, it’s been apparent that some people don’t want all the rest.

When I talk about running, races, shoes and knee injuries, I do enjoy it. Love it, in fact. If I didn’t have running, it’s tough to tell what kind of shape I’d be in (in every sense). But my emailer is right, there’s a lot more. I can go for weeks without talking about running because I’m hung up on people, the beach, music and a host of other distractions. Equal to running, I don’t know what life would be like without all these other obsessions, either.

Then I got to the part of the email that I found really interesting. The part I know an answer to for sure.

What kind of people do you expect to come here?

In short: Any people.

All of you I’ve found “out there” are who I want to come here. It matters not what you look like, what you wear, where you work or what you drive. It doesn’t occur to me that you might be different than me or that you have lost your hair or that you might write run-on sentences. I don’t think about if we like the same movies, make the same amount of money or have been to the same places. And I am so thankful that is the case.

Our lives and passions all intersect in some way, and somehow, we’ve all intersected here. That, for me, is what it’s about. You come to see me, I come to see you. I comment, or not. You comment, or not. It is what it is. This is all likely to end in much the same fashion it began, fairly uneventfully. But when it does, I’d like to think I opened myself and my words to everyone and always made it clear that you don’t have to be a woman or a runner or single or flip-flop wearer or anything else to relate to me. You just have to be you.

We are what we are. And I can’t thank you enough.

Independence Has a Face

2007-07-04T07:06:00.000-06:00

Today, and every day, so many people are being missed.

To my brother-in-law and all the men and women he stands beside every day, we are thinking about you. We know you are in an impossible situation. We know you are real people in a real war.

We think about you all. We pray for you all. We want you home.

Now who wouldn't want to run down this road?

2007-07-03T08:40:00.001-06:00

(Look closely, those are balloons. Isn't that cool or am I just too easily amused?)

An open road. Few things entice me more. Even sleep-deprived, in pain and having skipped breakfast, I couldn't wait to run down this.

What sight makes you feel like hitting the road?

My Windshield on the World, Part 7 (maybe)

2007-07-02T05:47:00.000-06:00

I have failed in being an obsessive blogger (an obsessive cleaner, apparently, is more my style) and haven't tagged my old posts well. In fact, I haven't tagged them at all. We could be on the sixth, seventh or even eighth 'Windshield' post and yet, I couldn't tell you to save my life. In addition, I am far too lazy to go through and check. So, we'll call this seven because everyone knows that is lucky and lucky is always better than not.

I give you My Windshield on the World, Island Edition.

Driving in the islands is always a guaranteed adventure. The more you do it, the easier it becomes. This, however, pretty much means nothing.

Even if you remember to keep left, honk the horn on the hairpin turns and realize a spontaneous family reunion might happen in the middle of the road, you still cannot be prepared for all you might encounter.

Like goats...

And donkeys...

Just before I took this photo, there was a vehicle in front of me full of very loud children that were trying to feed the donkeys. The donkeys have no problem taking food from you. They also have no problem kicking a dent in your door, which is what he did when the screaming children stopped doling out the food.

I felt badly for the tourists with a dent in their rental car- that is no fun come return day. I gotta say, though, I was sort of on the donkey's side. The kick to the door was the only thing that was going to get that car out of the way and those kids to quit screaming.

Even with all the adventure and challenges island driving brings, one thing is certain:

Nothing beats the view.

Yeah... about that

2007-06-29T12:42:00.000-06:00

Remember how I was SO grateful here because of this whole slew of reasons and I wasn't going to let myself get upset about the teeny tiny fact that I didn't win a trip to Mexico?

Well, that is all still true. I did not win a trip to Mexico.

The next best thing, however, is when your best friend wins a trip to Mexico.

Don't worry, I don't believe it either.

Almost Poetry

2007-06-27T13:22:00.000-06:00

We spoke of sun and sand and sea
Of trying to find purpose and life and honesty

He said he liked beaches and mountains and rum
Didn't understand those who didn't like fun

I said my two favorite things were flip flops and freedom
He agreed, I could barely believe him

He said he loved family and together and friends
I loved hearing that so much I wanted to dance

We laughed and mused well into the night
Shared made-up fantasies of catching the next flight

He believed in hard work, always knew it would pay
I nodded my head so much he asked if I was okay

He told jokes and grinned, turns out he wasn't so shy
I couldn't tell if he was nervous, I laughed until I cried

It all seemed so perfect, no keeping score
And it could have worked out, if he wasn't seventy-four

A Whole Mess of Gratitude

2007-06-26T10:05:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I realize how lucky I am and it stops me in my tracks. I'm on the way down the hall to fill up my water bottle at the drinking fountain and I get half way there and I just have to stop because I'm nearly consumed by the thought of just how good I have it.

I am still high from all the feelings of the relay experience. I just can't believe the way twelve people can come together and accomplish something with such strength and humor and spirit. And it doesn't just stop there, I have a wonderful family, too. A family who watches my dog while I'm away and waters my flowers and brings in the mail. I wouldn't be able to have half the freedom I do without the foundation they provide. And a grandmother who turns eighty-one this week. Eighty-one! I'm just amazed by her, and her stories and wisdom. I'm so thankful she's healthy and here to share with me.

And I have friends, near and far. Running friends, school friends, and yes, even blogging friends. I do consider that a friendship, you know. We learn together, laugh together, share some good times and some crap times. That's got to be one definition of friendship and don't let anyone tell you it's not.

Things like this are so easy to overlook if we aren't careful. We can be so driven to what's next that we forget to take stock in what's right now. I don't want to forget that. I don't want to be the girl that's so upset she didn't win a trip to Mexico on the radio this morning that she forgets she has plans every night this week with friends and is going to sing [badly] at the top of her lungs at a concert on Saturday. And I am so definitely not that girl because do you know how long it's been since I've gone to a concert? At least three months and that, my friend, is far too long.

There have been some bad times lately. Some disappointing people, some crud so deep even your tallest boots would fail you but you know, today is just one of those days where it's not front row. Yeah, those troubles are out there, looming somewhere. But all I've got to do is let them be, let them stay out there in the back for the moment. You see, there are these bright, blazing lights shining up front here and for now, that's all I need.

Maybe it's just a life full of plans or having just come off a great running experience but my gosh, I have some good stuff and good people in my life and I'm just so incredibly grateful I can barely stand it.

Don't let my lack of articulation fool you, this thing was incredible

2007-06-25T05:36:00.000-06:00

The relay was, in short, awesome. As a runner, the chance to participate in a true team effort does not come around often. If there were any words describe how truly remarkable it is to live in a van for over twenty-four hours with five other people and come out of it saying you'd turn around tomorrow and do it all over again I don't know them. It is impossible to capture all the moments of hilarity, support and spirit.

I was really lucky to be in a van with five positive, selfless people. I believe that must be the key to a good relay experience. If you have people that aren't willing to put their own pain or exhaustion aside for the moment, you'd have a very difficult time.

My team, and so many others I encountered along the way, were fantastic. The first legs of this race were unbelievably hot. The desert-like heat was somewhat uncharacteristic for the Utah mountains. When I ran my first leg on Friday morning, it was already ninety degrees (F). Temperatures would later rise above 100 degrees (F) into the afternoon. It was incredibly draining and I thought if this is how I'm starting out, barely unsure if I'd be able to complete 6 miles in that heat, how are the rest of the legs going to go? If a block of ice in my hand didn't even feel cold, what were the teammates following me going to do? At one point, a kid standing at the end of a driveway with a hose sprayed me right in the face and it felt so good I just stopped and stood there, letting him spray me. I was soaked but dry in less than four minutes. Hot, people. Very, very hot.

Surprisingly, once the temps cooled down, I was a new woman. The pace picked up and I felt that I could actually run again. I was certain that second leg would be my best of the relay. My third leg was run at sunrise the next morning. I'm not going to lie, it was tough. I was spent after that third leg. But it, too, minus the heat, was fantastic. As hard as I worked, as tough as it all was, this relay made me feel like a runner again. I wasn't worried about injury or time, I just went out there and ran. It felt good to push myself and even though I thought there was no way I'd complete the third leg without walking, I not only ran the entire thing but kept my pace about a minute below what was projected. I could not be happier.

Largely, though, the running in this relay was almost secondary. It was the team that pulled me through, I have no doubt. The support, the encouragement, the inside jokes in the van, those all got me through. A moment didn't pass where we weren't laughing about something and with sleep deprivation looming larger with each passing hour, everything became even more hilarious.

I'm lacking both sleep and sufficient words right now to communicate how special this event was. Simply put, I'm so thankful to have been a part of it, I can't wait to do it all over again and, in my opinion, any runner not willing to try one of these some day is missing out.

Living Anyway

2007-06-21T05:10:00.000-06:00

At it again. There are roads to drive, roads to run. I’m off to do the relay thing. It’s brand new to me, I really don't know what to expect. I’m doing it anyway.

I haven’t conveyed my anxiety about this event to anyone. There are a couple of reasons but perhaps the most important is I’m just not properly trained for it. In my mind I’m not, anyway. If you look at either of the training schedules and then compared them to my log, it is, in a word, frightening.

The race organizers encourage diligent training for this. From what I hear of my team and dozens of others, many choose not to follow the plan anyway. This does not make me feel any better. The plan has you running two or three-a-days (I have done a few), doing speed work (does not compute) and running hills (which I’d like to avoid but here in mountain land, I fortunately cannot).

I have not been running this way.

I have been running for fun. I have been running for stress relief. I have been running to get the travel weight off and the sun on my face. I have not been wearing a watch. I have been running just enough to not piss off my knees. People around me are very disapproving of this. They think I am crazy or "asking for it" by running. I am running anyway.

(Sidebar: These are the same people, however, that send me ridiculous email "surveys" that I never answer because they ask questions like: If you died and were trapped in a bubble and could see no one for the rest of eternity, what three things would you take with you? And then they get upset when instead of saying photos of my family or inspirational novels I respond with beer, birthday cake and Jimmy Buffett. I just don't think about being trapped in a bubble of the afterlife. I prefer to think about life.)

My doctor, the ever-wise, blue-eyed comedian that he is, says running cannot make my knees worse. It is up to my discretion and my pain tolerance, at this point. That’s sort of like putting me behind the counter at an ice cream shop and telling me it is up to me what to do with the ice cream that day. Does he not know me at all? I have permission, I CANNOT CONTROL WHAT HAPPENS NEXT.

There’s another side to this, though. It’s the me side. The side that cannot wait to get on the road for 500 miles just to complete 178 more with my team. A team of men and women of all ages, from all over, of all different abilities. The fun, the running, the work, the up all night, the celebration, the smell of the van after fifteen hours or more. I cannot wait.

So there might be a little pain. So I might be slower than I’d like. So I might stink. Might. Might. Might. If I can’t make it any worse by running, then I’m going to go ahead and make everything else better.

I won’t live in the might, I’ll just live anyway.

Obviously

2007-06-20T07:09:00.000-06:00

"If Jon Stewart were here, what would you say then?"

"Why do you always refer to celebrities by their first and last name?"

"Don't change the subject."

"No really. Just say Jon, I know who you mean."

"You can't just say Jon like you're talking about your neighbor or something."

"But what if he was your neighbor?"

"Well I wouldn't just say Jon then, either."

"Why?"

"Because I'd prefer to use the term Secret Boyfriend."

Just Like That

2007-06-19T05:43:00.000-06:00

I was just sitting here, and like a flash flood this memory just came to mind. It's late Autumn, almost Winter. The snow is falling outside and hundreds of people are crowded into my high school gym for a basketball game against our biggest rival.

It's hotter than July in that place. You're having so much fun you can barely stand it. The bleachers are rocking. The anticipation might kill you right there. As the clock ticks down, the volume goes up. You can't even hear the ref's whistle, it's so loud.

"Warm up the bus! Warm up the bus! Warm up the bus!"

We knew we were going to win.

Man, those were fun times.

Who knows where that came from. Basketball isn't really my thing. High school seems so long ago. But a memory like that, it's welcome any time.

it is

2007-06-17T15:17:00.000-06:00

It’s the place that took years to find and yet, the one place you have always known. It’s warm air, hot sand, crickets and tree frogs. It’s full of life and devoid of chaos. It’s tall palms, winding roads, open-air jeeps and warm rain.

It’s diversity, commonality, sugar cane and love. It’s open waters, full sails, dinghy docks and pirate tales. It’s early morning swimming, Mic’s too-spicy Bloody Marys and laughter floating across the waves. It’s wisdom from a legend who describes himself as just a man. It’s the boy who stopped to visit and never left, the girl who followed her heart and all the dreams caught in between.

It’s away from it all and close to your soul. It’s blackened shrimp at that table by the dumpster and drinks on the curb. It’s the sun on your face high on the hill and the rooster crowing at four in the afternoon. It’s a friend where a stranger once was, a sunrise only matched by it’s own sunset, slowing down and lying low.

It’s the secret you want to keep yet can’t help but share. It’s the beach where everything seems possible, where you seem so small. It’s peace, it’s hope and in so many ways, it’s just like home.

Hey, Good Lookin'

2007-06-14T19:37:00.000-06:00

Woah, well, post about weight and some folks are just all about the emails. Even if it's your own weight, the people, they've got a lot to say.

Rest assured, I'm not starving myself.

I eat quite a bit. And often. With friends, with family, even alone. In fact, here lately, I've been cooking my little butt off. (Yes, all irony and puns intended. And then some.) I've also been inspired lately by this girl who not only has been creating some fantastic delights in her kitchen but also seems to share my affinity for recipe substitutions.

Maybe it's the simplicity of the cooking I do or the fact that I am not sure I've ever completely followed a recipe but I find it to be quite easy and generally find myself a lot more satisfied eating what I've cooked at home rather than something that was prepared in bulk in some kitchen. There are always exceptions, but it's also, generally, those places that one shouldn't go to while wearing the same clothes in which they just ran five miles. And my kitchen? We don't mind a little post-run stank around here.

Not totally following recipes, though, does give one an enormous amount of creative license. While I don't despise onions, I'm not entirely fond of them, either. So the other night, while making stir fry based on this recipe I decided onions? Yeah, not so much. Squash? Oh yeah, baby.

And you know, it fit in just fine with the broccoli and asparagus. I did add it toward the end of cooking, though, which turned out to be a great decision. Ironically, squash is not at it's best when it's, well, squashy.

Stir fry, as many probably know, is the perfect runner's meal. It's all the things you need in a meal and it all ends up in one bowl. And to those of you making your stir fry from frozen vegetables let me just say while I completely understand the time and convenience factors, try fresh anyway. You will be so impressed with yourself.

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Oh yeah, and there's chicken in there, too. But I've got to say, for some reason I can't really put my finger on, taking pictures of meat that you're cooking or eating or anything else just seems weird. Maybe this is because I am not really a fan of preparing meat but I am a fan of eating it so I just get over the preparation and cooking portion. Does anyone else feel this way?

Another too-simple-for-words cooking adventure of late was influenced by my latest trip to the Caribbean. Where they have fish. Where I had fish. Where I had mahi, iron content be damned, every chance I could.

I found this recipe and got all excited because the salsa portion of the recipe totally reminded me of an absolutely fabulous mahi sandwich I had while sitting in a seaside restaurant over-looking the bay on the last full day of my visit. It was while enjoying that mahi that I listened to sailor jokes and became friends with a young boy that told me not only was he going to become a famous drummer one day but if I came to see him play, HE WOULD LET ME IN FOR FREE. I always knew my involuntary adoration of musicians was meant to be.

What was not meant to be was the mahi. Trying to find good mahi in Colorado is like trying to find Rocky Mountain Oysters in the islands. I settled for tilapia. It was a very acceptable compromise.

The recipe, though, and it's fabulous salsa, called for onions. And I had every intention of using the red onion I just knew I'd bought. But when I opened the fridge, alas, there was no red onion. I was so sure I'd bought it. Who knew my onion aversion was so deep.

Instead, I decided a jalapeno and some roasted red peppers would have to do. And once again, they did.

I also added green peppers and later, the avocado. If nothing else, it was pretty.

And here again, I have no photo of the fish. I have a feeling, however, that it's less because of the I'm-creeped-out-by-photos-of-meat issue and more the once-food-is-in-front-of-me-I-must-eat-it issue.

The fish did need something other than salsa with it, though. I went with my all-time favorite side, sweet potato fries.

I have no idea if this is an "appropriate" culinary pairing but in my world, you can never go wrong with these. Never. Slice them, toss them in olive oil, sprinkle them with pepper or your favorite spice and sea salt, pop 'em in a 350 oven for 30-35 and that's it. They are always good and always remind me how much I love sea salt. Why the entire world isn't cooking with sea salt and no other sort of salt is beyond me.
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No worries, internets, I do not starve myself to lose weight. In fact, when you're cooking like this, you're even more inspired to eat. You find yourself saying "oh, you know what would be good with this" or "next time, I'm going to add..." and before you know it, you have twenty more meals planned. For that evening.

Instead of asking yourself what's for dinner tonight, you just day dream about ingredients and spend your days searching for all the possible recipes that call for lime.

Let's not beat around the bush, this is a big long post about my weight

2007-06-13T09:37:00.000-06:00

Attention: Sensitive Topic Alert. Alert meaning, yes this is my opinion and my experience and no way am I, girl who tripped over her own foot this morning, dumb enough to think that this topic is the same for everyone. Ye rest assured, I be not stupid.

I'll start a while back, because I can. I was a really active kid. I grew up outside, running and barefoot and on my bike. In the winter, we made snow angels and snowmen and snow forts and only came inside when we were soaked from the inside out and the outside in. I begged and begged my mother to stay outside even after the sun went down. I went outside first thing in the morning to swing, where I'd stay for hours. This carried into young adulthood. I was never graceful and never the super star of the team, but I was always doing something, always going. In high school, I'd put on maybe six or seven pounds over the winter and then the first nice day of Spring would come and, almost like magic, those extra few pounds were gone.

This was a similar pattern in college, too. In my later years of college I did forge quite the bond with Coors Light (mmmm, yeah, still takes me back today) and therefore, I just spent more time in the gym. It was all so easy then. And my body, so cooperative. I was never a size 2, oh no, my friend. But I was in good shape, entirely manageable and only the occasional fat day, really. I know, shut up, right. I say that now, too.

Then, college ended and real life began. With bills and schedules and someone to answer to. And a desk job. Though I've worked since I was a teenager, I have never had to just show up all day and SIT DOWN for most of eight hours (or ten, or twelve). I never realized what that, combined with age, changing metabolism and blah blah blah, could do to a person. Really, I did it but still, it was sneaky fat. In six months I'd gained about 15 pounds.

That's about when I started running. For a while, it got me back on track. I wasn't my college weight but I was close and by the time I was twenty-four, I'd sort of stabilized. I never really weighed myself after that. I couldn't be bothered. My pants fit, I was alright. Then, over the winter of 2005, I was handed some challenges by life. Looking back, I thought I dealt really well. I WORE OUT A BELT ON A TREADMILL, for crying out loud! And then, winter ended and in March 2006, I began to pack for an island vacation and found that I had only two pairs of shorts that fit. Out of about twenty. It freaked me out and body-wise, weight-wise, 2006 only went down from there.

I struggled all year, during running, during injury, everything. I made excuses, "it's hard to lose weight while marathon training" and "you can't run as much as you need to in order to maintain your weight, you're injured." They were true, but they were excuses. I know it's not rocket science, you have to burn what you're consuming. Even someone that hates math can add that up. Nonetheless, I didn't. I went up and down 5-10 pounds all year, but never really losing what I should have to be healthy and never really focusing long enough to figure out why. I ignored it. And in December of 2006, I ran my first marathon at a weight heavier than I've ever been. In my life. It's a myth, folks, that you have to be a waif to be a runner.

Then, the calendar turned to 2007. I avoided the lose weight resolution and was focused on repairing all my injuries. Knees, ITBs, hips. I went back to lifting twice per week. I was starting to feel good again. I could run a little, and when I wasn't running, I was on the elliptical machine (we became best friends). So I started weighing myself again. I'd get on the scale and see little to no change. I'd write on my blog about how I'd weigh myself after having toast for dinner. It was silly. (The weighing, not the toast. Toast is never silly.) Then, sometime, and I'd be lying if I said I knew the moment, I just asked myself "when did this become acceptable for you?"

And that was it. That was when I realized that yes, things with cheese on them and cake and ice cream were good, but that wasn't my problem. My problem was me. I'd somehow, over the course of four years and "adult" life and marathon training, I'd allowed my weight to become acceptable. I'm a realist, I will not ever weigh 115 pounds and wear a size two. What I do know is that I don't have to be where I am if I don't like it. It's strange, really, because my weight has never made me unhappy. Occasional fat days have always been my thing- I still made friends, got new jobs, ran races, had adventures of a lifetime, worked hard and fell in and out of love with everyone from a friend to the guy that does the weather on Channel 11. What it came down to was that it just wasn't right. It wasn't what I wanted for my life any longer.

I don't have control over so many things but this, this was all me. And I could do something about it, so I did. I am. It's every day.

No Fix

2007-06-11T19:26:00.001-06:00

It's hard to see someone you love hurting. It's really, really hard when that someone is the person that so often has taken your hurt away. No matter what the pain, talking to her somehow made it better.

When you fell into the pool, because you've always been graceful like that, and scraped your entire leg, all you wanted was her. When you didn't get picked for the team (probably the lack of grace again) you just wanted to see her. To tell her. When your friends gossiped about you, when you tripped in the hall, when you got your heart broken, she was the only one you wanted to see.

This person, as if there were any question, is my mother. And she's hurting now. Because of life, because of love, because of death. And all I want to do is take it away. I want to reach inside her heart and mind and remove the memory for a while. I want to take the feelings and coat them with sugar so they might go down a little easier. I want to have answers.

You never really realize, until it stares you in the face, how your happiness can be wrapped up in those you love. How one person, in just their being and who they are can symbolize things in life that you've come to know. Things you've come to count on.

Now that I'm older, we have better conversations. Conversations that are deeper and more real. It is a blessing, but it is also a realization. I remember that feeling, I got it for the first time in college. It's when you realize your parents are just people. They know a lot, but not everything. They have passions and dreams and feelings, just like you. It's so odd, that feeling. Knowing that this person, when it comes down to it, is someone you love beyond even your own ability to understand but also, that they're real.

It's the real that I see right now. It's not because I think I can save her. It's not because I think she can't handle it. It's not some parent-child reversal. It's just my reaction. She's scraped her knee and me, well I can't find the right band-aid.

If she's on a flight to Vegas tomorrow, it's not my fault

2007-06-10T19:26:00.001-06:00

I babysat a four-year-old this weekend. She has life totally figured out.

Miss Independent (the four year old, not me, duh) : "I'm going to get married one day."

Me: "Oh, you are? When?"

Miss Independent: "I don't know, sometime before I'm too old."

Me: "Who are you going to marry?"

Miss Independent: "I don't know yet. I'm still trying to choose."

Me: "Oh really?"

Miss Independent: "Yeah. There's a lot to choose from you know?"

Me: "Really? Well, no rush. You have time to think about it. Those things take time to figure out."

Miss Independent: "Yeah, I know. I will have to decide. It will probably take me at least all weekend."

And a good day to you, sir

2007-06-07T20:25:00.000-06:00

"Do I have time to get some coffee before this meeting?"

"The coffee machine is gone."

"What?"

"Why do you care? You don't even drink coffee."

"I do today, brother, I do today."

You know when you, a 27-year-old woman, start calling your coworkers 'brother' that it's an off day.

And today was a textbook off day. The kind of day where you feel like everyone is looking at you like you've forgotten to wear pants. But they're too nice to say anything so they just stare and think "thank God that's not me without pants." I was so off most the day that all thoughts popping into my head about what I need to write about and how it ought to just start spilling out but isn't were superseded by the thought that maybe I really had forgotten to wear pants.
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So, instead of agonize over writing and thought organization and trying to come up with something with purpose or intent, I will just post some photos and call it good.

Home Improvement for the Illogical

2007-06-06T16:55:00.000-06:00

Owing a house really is a satisfying thing. Walking through a door that you know is yours, that no one (save the bank that owns you and your life) can take it away from you, is a great feeling. Whether you bought it and moved right in, remodeled it or built it from the ground up, it's your space. Your life. And for a while, even after you've signed ninety thousand documents stating otherwise, you live in a sweet fantasy where you can hammer a nail into any wall you want and then paint the whole place purple if you so choose.

But like anything else, things change. The closets that you never imagined having enough "stuff" to fill are now bursting at the seams. The beautiful, soft carpet now has strategically placed rugs thanks to that time the dog got into the trash after Mexican food takeout night. And maybe, you'd also like a pantry.

So this is sort of where I am right now. I'm ready to move, maybe. Or maybe not, maybe just make some house changes. But that's a slippery slope, that house stuff. New paint leads to new floors leads to new throw pillows and on and on. The "Makeover a Room for $200" article you read is now lining the floor under the windowsill you had to paint because you replaced the window because as long as you're hanging plantation blinds, you might as well replace that old frame and, good heavens, you have spent your $200 and THEN SOME.

I have a few things on the list: painting, a couple new doors, and new flooring are at the top. Those all, of course, are cheaper than moving to a new place. But if I put new floors in, I want THE floors. I want the perfect hardwood floors that I can spend all day cleaning because they are so gorgeous. And the dog can spend all day tracking in mud and whatnot on them and it won't matter because it's "so easy to clean." And life will be grand.

I make all these logical excuses for this home improvement stuff. "The house will sell better some day" or "you'll love coming home to it." Yes, it's all true. In reality, none of this logic nonsense is my priority. Mostly, I'm into the change of the paint, the doors, and especially the floors. Because other than the ease of cleaning a nice, sealed, good-quality hardwood floor, I can also put on my boots, throw some hay on the floor and stomp out a line dance any time I want.

No Need to Rush

2007-06-05T08:51:00.000-06:00

It's a beautiful day. Eighty degrees, sunny, quiet but busy. Really just beautiful. The kind of day where your chai tea tastes perfect, you hit all green lights and everyone you encounter is in a good mood.

Except you.

You are going through a let-down, a salt water withdrawal. You download and upload your seven hundred photos in hopes of reliving the entire thing. You email with friends, reminisce about that sunset and that key lime pie, and somehow, try to catch up with reality.

You know it's right, this feeling. You know that there's an important balance between everyday work and your escape. It's just right now, you have a very skewed idea of what that balance is.

So today, merely the third day back in reality, I think I'll make mahi for dinner and key lime pie for dessert. I'm already back, there's no reason to rush the rest of it.

Carribbean Conversation

2007-06-03T14:14:00.000-06:00

I think coming back from vacation is the closest we'll ever come to knowing what our own birth was like. There we were, all happy and warm and content and then, it's all gone. And we're shoved into (or back into) a world with cold air, loud people and responsibility.

Not that there was doubt beforehand, but the gods were on my side on this one. I had busy times, quiet times, times with friends and alone time. That was probably what I needed most, though I frequently have a hard time admitting it.

Everything I might have been worried about in the beginning was nothing more than a distant thought once I stepped off the plane. It's so easy, when you leave so much of your little world behind, to just be here. To just be in a place where there are no measures, no expectations and very few people to care who you are or what you're doing. Of course, there are those there to see and be seen. There are always those. But they don't take anything from you, from your experience.

The sailing was great, even with uncooperative wind.

"I don't know," said our Captain, "I think the mountains are calling me again."
"I understand," I told him. "Just remember, Doug, it gets cold up there."

A day on White Bay. Or was it two?

"How long were you there?"

"Just for the day."

"Really?"

"I think so... I'm pretty sure. You get sucked into some kind of Live Slow vortex over there."

Some time spent snorkeling... never a disappointment on St. John.

"Did you see the shark?"

"WHAT?! What shark?"

"Oh... ummm, nothing. Turtle. I meant turtle."

In come the waves, out go your cares.

"It is a known fact that all troubles and cares dissolve in sea water."

"All of them?"

"Yes, but as a Plan B, we have rum."

Palms growing any way they choose.

"This is supposedly the nude beach."

"Like all year round?"

What else would you rather see when you walked over a hill?

"Doing a head stand in salt water hurts."

" Honey, I think doing a head stand always hurts."

One of the billion photos I took of boats.

"One day, I promise, I will have my own boat down here."

"Cool, can I be your first mate?"

"Sure. But the first mate does all the work, you know?"

"Never mind. Who drinks all the rum? I want to be that guy."

The most I've been concerned about anything in several days

2007-05-29T05:32:00.000-06:00

"There's something wrong with this."

"What?"

"It just tastes like juice and nothing else."

"Wow, that is wrong."

__________________________

If you've got a few minutes, my friends are building a little place on a little hill. Check it out here. They have an awful view- I think they're going to have a very hard time getting people to visit.

(Hopefully that link will work. If not, soon come.)

Chick Magnet

2007-05-23T06:28:00.000-06:00

Thanks to Margo for the photo.

Token Things

2007-05-19T21:25:00.000-06:00

This afternoon, when packing my suitcase (hello, procrastination) I was trying on clothes just to make sure nothing fit weird or had holes in it or something else equally as likely to surprise me when I'm thousands of miles from home, or a Super Target. As I rolled things neatly into place in my bag, I came across a strange-looking wooden token. At first, I could not figure out where this might have come from or how it got into my tote. There was some lettering on it, but it was mostly rubbed off and looked like it had spent a lot of time in someone's pocket.

I looked at the token, turned it over in my hand and searched every file in my mind about when and where I could have come across the thing. As it often does, my mind wandered, and I thought about all the traveling I've been able to do over the last year. I've been with friends and family, tasted new foods, stamped the passport, stood at the top of mountains and at the edge of the sea. I've run, I've been lazy, I've taken long drives down highways that were once only a place I'd read about. I've seen the sun rise in the East, set in the West and many places in between. I've met remarkable people, heard incredible stories and have been continuously reminded that being with people, talking with them, and connecting with them is an amazing privilege.

It is truly a small, small world and also, it is a blast. I have and have had more fun than anyone ought to be allowed. For all the reasons I feel confused or somehow lost, there are a thousand more to make me feel profoundly blessed and at peace. I can't explain how the things in my life, like work, writing, running and travel balance me. To have the opportunity to be rewarded and challenged by the life you choose is a very special thing.

The last couple months have not painted a perfect picture. There has been death, anger, sadness, strife, bad news, worse news, and many an akward moment. I thought about this as I held that token in my hand today, and the memory came back to me. The token, at least as I've known it, was laying in a crack in the sidewalk as I trapsed in front of a small shop on a humid, sunny, perfect island day. In a quiet mood and waiting for dinnertime, I bent down to pick up the token. It ended up in the pocket of my shorts and a few days later, while on a boat docked in the Caribbean, the token fell out of my pocket and onto the ground.

"You dropped this," said the man who'd been intently cleaning the boat.

"Oh, thanks. I have no idea what it is, I just picked it up the other day."

"It looks like a token... I wonder what it will buy?"

We laughed a little, and joked a lot about what you could get "these days" for a token. We talked for a while but never seemed to come to any real conclusion, though I do remember laughing for a good twenty minutes about the hilarity of the word "squall." (Say it a lot of times, you'll laugh too.)

Though I still don't know what that token was meant to buy, for me, today, it bought a memory. So I'll take it with me on this trip, too. With any luck, it will buy a hundred more.

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I'll be away for the next couple weeks doing the token Caribbean things: sitting, watching, sailing, snorkeling, thinking, breathing... you know. There is a chance, if I take advantage of some friends, that I'll be able to post a bit while I'm away. I know that if I spend twenty minutes laughing about random weather terminology, my bloggie friends are going to want to know, right?

Heh.

So anyway, I'm off for now. Thanks for taking the time to come to my blog, both new and "old" alike. That human connection thing I was talking about earlier? Yeah, that includes you. And you... and yes, even YOU.

Always doing

2007-05-18T08:43:00.000-06:00

What I should be doing is getting this pile of paper off my desk. But what am I really doing? Reading your beautimous blogs.

What I should be doing is saving my money, paying off my car and putting even more money in a retirement account. But what am I really doing? Taking two weeks of vacation, visiting fabulous restaurants and looking at the real estate listings (who needs some huge down payment, anyway?).

What I should be doing is let my hair be it's natural self, always wear hats in the sun and count every calorie that passes my lips. What am I really doing? Getting highlights (addicted), frolicking in the sun with merely SPF 20 (that's good, right?), and eating pretty much everything that tastes good (not a lot of it, but yes, EVERYTHING).

What I should be doing is getting plenty of rest, sticking exactly to a good training schedule and and making sure to stretch on a regular basis. What I'm really doing is getting "enough" rest, running because it feels good (hello, 8:00 mile) and stopping when it feels bad, and well, of course I'm stretching. We all know I am, if nothing else, the Queen of Stretching.

The surprising part is, it's all good anyway. Life can be pretty dang awesome that way. I saw this quote this morning:

"It's wonderful what we can do if we're always doing." – George Washington, 1732-1799, First American President

Notice it doesn't say it's wonderful what we can do if we're always following all the rules. It's a good thing, because I'm clearly not built to follow all the rules.

So...

2007-05-16T21:37:00.000-06:00

...you know how you might have once done the online dating thing, and then like a month later you quit because you never had time to check email? Then, you went out with a few people and made some friends but never really dated anyone. Then, you really quit because you decided dating should not have to cost you money, at least not right now.

But even though you quit, the site keeps sending email to your Yahoo account because, apparently, they don't care that you quit and they think that by sending you profiles of all men within a 50 mile radius is somehow going to lure you back in. And, that you're going to pay something like $30 to communicate with people when, clearly, that is $30 you could be saving to spend on vacation.

But then, they send the emails anyway and because you're curious and bored and, well, because you're you, you open the email and look at your "matches" because hey, AT LEAST YOU KNOW THEY'RE OUT THERE. And then, one day when you're doing this curious thing, you scan down the page and bam! you see the husband of your neighbor. And you think to yourself "hmmm, that's strange" and you wonder if they're separated or something. But then, no, you see them outside together and all is normal. Then, you strike up a conversation and still, nothing out of the ordinary is revealed.

So then, because you don't know what to do, you wrestle about it in your mind: Should I say anything? It's not my business, and all those kinds of thoughts. And really, you come to no conclusion because how is that even possible? Then, as if that weren't enough, you lose all faith in online dating "matching" because dang, really? They really thought you and your married neighbor were a match? What the heck?

And then, not knowing what else to do, you go out with friends for $20 All-You-Can-Eat Crab Leg Night because what remedies this kind of strife better than seafood? And, you also have a beer.

Happy Birthday, IJ

2007-05-15T13:50:00.000-06:00

Today is my nephew's first birthday. It's difficult to put into words how a kid, that's not even your own, can change your life and teach you so many things, just by being born. I'm amazed at how fast this year has gone and even knowing that is just what happens, I am a little sad that time moves so ridiculously fast.

I know he'll be five... fifteen... twenty in a blink. And while I don't have the right words, I also can't help but think of all the things I hope he will know some day.

_____________________

To a kid that's taught me more about myself and my family in a year than I could have ever imagined.

For times when you think no one, especially your parents, knows anything and you can figure it all out on your own.

Have faith. You are who you're meant to be.

Your mother is smart. Listen to her. Except when she's singing, no one should have to listen to that.

Your dad is smart. Listen to him. Try to pay attention to what he doesn't say, too.

Most good things have the potential to be bad things. Even sunshine and ice cream.

People are always going to call you cute. It runs in your family, sorry.

Don't underestimate the value of good music.

You can be responsible without being afraid.

Hugging is not for sissies, it is for everyone. The same cannot be said for kissing.

You can change your attitude at any time. This will often be the only thing you have the power to change.

Food is good. So are drinks. However, refer to line #4 above.

Your family is not normal. No one else's is, either. The only difference is, we'll embarrass you without even trying.

And we give a lot of nicknames to things and people. This is normal, no matter what others might say.

Have fun. You can work hard and play hard. Sometimes all at once.

People talk a lot. Sometimes, they even have something to say. This is a nice way of saying you should listen to your aunt.

There's always something to learn. Always.

When you find good things, find a way to keep them in your life. This applies to people and memories, especially.

There is something to be said for knowing how to manage your money.

There is nothing wrong with dreaming.

There is also nothing wrong with cheesecake.

Know when to shut up.

I love you.

Cereal for dinner is just the beginning of my crazy

2007-05-15T05:58:00.000-06:00

In times of stress, I have been known to do silly things. And consider them to be completely normal.

I eat cereal for dinner, turkey sandwiches for breakfast and Starbucks for lunch. I wake up in the middle of the night and watch infomercials, I run outside, by myself, in the early hours of the morning and I sing in the car like no one can see me. In a moment's notice, I've bought a house, booked a villa and jumped in the car on Friday night to go to Vegas for the weekend. And I've been so lucky, not once has any of these things turned out badly. Even the infomercials.

The thing that resonates most with all of this is that none of it is probably that silly after all. It's just me, and how I do things. Which, perhaps, is why when agreeing to be on a team for the Wasatch Back Relay, I didn't feel strange at all. I was all excited and psyched and ready.

Well, that was two months ago.

Now that it's about six weeks away, I'm freaking out. I don't know if I can be ready. I'm scared of running in the middle of the night. I don't want to let my teammates down. I want to be able to rely on my body. I want to feel like this was not a stupidly insane choice and that my body (and mind) is capable of running three legs of a relay. I want to stop asking myself "what were you thinking when you agreed to this?" I just don't know how.

Yeah, yeah, relax, breathe, follow the training plan, you'll be fine. Yeah, okay. Thanks. But in case no one noticed, THIS IS A LOT BIGGER DEAL THAN CEREAL.

Not a Moment Too Soon

2007-05-14T05:41:00.000-06:00

If last week were, say, part of a contest- a really not fun contest where a family could compete with other families, or a twenty-seven-year-old woman could compete with other twenty-seven-year-old women- to see who could have the worst week ever, my family and I would have been fierce competitors. Or maybe, if there were a television show called Worst Week Ever and they featured people that were really having a really bad week, we might have been one of the top stories.
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The loss of a family member started the week. Then, a much beloved couple close the family have decided to separate. Then, a family member attended and then, subsequently, was stranded at a wedding-gone-wrong. In Kentucky. Kentucky, where none of us is right now. And we thought that was it; we thought we had our Unfortunate Things Happen in Threes trifecta. But then someone had a heart attack and all my theories of threes just went out the window, along with the cake I'd tried to bake but couldn't because the middle kept sinking. Twice. Thank you. (The upside to that is, you have to do something with all that icing you made. I opted to eat it, rather than slapping it directly onto my thighs. Yes, thank you, again.)
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So many times in the last week, I've found myself just shaking my head, trying to think but not really being able to get anywhere. I've written a thousand things, most of which make no sense now and the rest of which will probably make very little sense in the days to come. I've gone for countless runs (yes, more than once per day), thrown myself into work only to come out feeling drained and guilty, and tried passing the time with friends and drinks and catching a little bit of sunlight. It's incredibly challenging to catch sunlight in between all the clouds, by the way.
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While I know this is not the worst plight in life (I'm well aware more people than me could be on the Worst Week Ever) I'd be a complete fraud if I didn't admit to what I'm thinking right now: I have a break coming in seven days and my gosh, I feel like I've earned it.

I Love You, Mom

2007-05-13T07:13:00.000-06:00

Happy Mother's Day to a mom who taught me to see the beauty in everything.

We will all have had enough by the time it's done

2007-05-10T18:43:00.000-06:00

The day I bought this camera, I knew exactly how it would be. I knew I'd be the girl walking around with her camera ALL THE TIME. I knew I'd take it everywhere and I knew I'd annoy the heck out of everyone I know because of it. When I was a kid, Unlce Joe was just about as in love with his video camera as any man should ever be with an electronic. We'd joke that he'd "follow you into the bathroom with that thing" if you didn't stop him. He's still a little like that today, though sometimes without the camera. Weird.

At any rate, the point is that Uncle Joe and his camera? They ain't got nothin' on me. And to be honest, I totally love it. I love looking at life through a lens, I love taking pictures of everything I can and I love taking pictures that other people end up loving. It's a joy that I completely expected and yet, a brand new feeling. If that isn't some version of love, then I couldn't tell you what is.

It is a fact, however, that I love the people in my life, too. Therefore following those people around constantly clicking away can get a little old for them. I understand, I've been there. As a result, I'm stuck mostly with inanimate objects and random pieces of life in front of my lens, which couldn't make me happier.

Just today, while walking the dog, I noticed all the yellow that popped up to signify Spring has started to change.

Slowly, the brightness is fading into the little puffs of seed- at least an afternoon's worth of entertainment.

I remember, as a kid, always wondering how a thick, yellow dandelion could turn into such a perfectly shaped round orb.

We called them ghost flowers.

Even the dog gets it.

I took nearly one hundred photos during this walk. I will likely be boring you with them over the weekend. They are mostly of blooming trees and flowers and puffy white clouds, though.

Because even if she's supposed to be my constant, animate subject, even Lola has had enough*.

*This is not just some lucky shot of my dog gazing into the trees, she is actually refusing to look at me.

Suggestions?

2007-05-10T06:25:00.000-06:00

Okay, here's the deal: I want to change this blog. I don't know how or where or what, though. I do have a lot of ideas but before I do anything, I want to know what some of you think.

Should I switch to another service? Should I just mess with the layout and the header? (In which case, who knows code?!)

Any thoughts? Anyone? I have some friends that can/will help me but none of them have blogs. It'd be nice to know what others think.

Thanks for the help- I will find a way to repay! Promise!

Just Keep Running

2007-05-09T07:04:00.000-06:00

Once again, I am in a place where I feel like I need a little escape. Once again, I find that escape through running.

Over the last several days, I have run with one goal in mind: just keep running. I didn't want to stop because anything hurt, because I was tired, because I felt as though I couldn't breathe or because my head got the best of me. I just want to keep going. I want that feeling back, that feeling of freedom; that my body is capable of carrying me for miles, comfortably. I've left the Garmin, the iPod and the watch behind. No music, no beeping, just me. It has been good.

I feel as though I'm re-learning, almost like a new runner. It seems like I'm in a new body that hasn't run ten, sixteen or twenty-six point two miles. Things feel very foreign and uncharted. But I feel strong, both physically and mentally. The physical is attributed to my dedication to the weight gym, 2-3 times per week. The mental, I suppose, is just naturally building in time, as well. One is purposeful, the other more happenstance.

In many ways, it is good to feel as though I'm new to this sport. I find new reasons to explore and new sources of inspiration. This morning I read Lia's race report. It is one of the best and definitely most poetic race reports I've ever had the pleasure of reading. I found inspiration, humor and honesty in that report, and it will be one that stays with me for a very long time.

Lest this come across as if I'm a runner completely at peace with all around me, I give you the following story. Yesterday, while out on a quick three miles, a cyclist passed me, twice. First, coming from my right hand side, where he had no problem bumping into my arm as he squeezed through on the wide path. Why he chose to pass me in that manner, I'll never know. I was irritated, but still kept my pace and eventually just let it go.

Then, about a mile later, I'd turned on the path to head back toward my starting point. I hear pedaling behind me once again. This time, there's no "excuse me" no "on your left" just a grunt and another shove to my arm, this time on the left. Mind you, this was a very wide trail. He could have passed me without so much as leaving a breeze if he'd wanted to. But he didn't.

I, of course, was twice as appalled and twice as irritated. I tried, quickly, to think of something to say as I watched him pull ahead of me. I was struggling, I was mad, I couldn't think of anything. Then, my gaze fell to the back of his shorts, where his shirt and waistband should have met. There was a gap, it wasn't a pleasant sight.

"Hey, buddy!" I yelled, out of breath.

He turned slightly around, slowing down but not stopping. He glared at me over his shoulder as if to say "what?"

"Crack kills," I said, and turned down the opposite fork in the path and ran as fast as I could.

Pretty Little Bows

2007-05-08T07:17:00.000-06:00

Blogging, online journaling, writing and putting it out for anyone to see... whatever you want to call it, it's a strange thing. It seems as though the longer you do this and the more comfortable you become, the more cautious you become, as well. Maybe not so much because of the Big Scary Anonymous Blog-Reading Stalker (though I understand that is a valid fear) but more so because you start to wonder what's good and appropriate content for your blog.

Whether you try to or not, a blog sort of takes on it's own personality. Some become largely political, some are strictly and purposely nonsensical while others (like, oh, say maybe THIS blog) just seem to throw everything together and sometimes wrap everything up neatly in the end with a cute little bow.

I'm not going to lie, I like the bow. I like the way a good conclusion sounds and the way I can share how I took a less than ideal situation and found that it really turned out better than I could have ever anticipated. I like saying "look at all these beautiful things, oh how I love them! Aren't they great? Isn't everything just remarkably wonderful?" Because most of the time, life is just that.

But sometimes it isn't. Sometimes things happen and you find yourself wondering not only if you should share them on your blog and more importantly, how you should do it. Sure, the content of this site isn't always hearts and flowers bursting from sunshine and rainbows, but it's not often far from it. Or at least my mind isn't, anyway. So then life hands you some bad news, you deal with it and feel like you're working with it well but you say to yourself "I won't write about this. Not only might it be too private, but I don't know how to do it anyway." And it's true, you probably don't know how to write about it. But you sit down, ready to write about anything and guess what? Nothing else comes to mind. So now, you have two choices: writing about the bad or a blank screen. I'm never one to keep my mouth shut for long, so of course a blank screen isn't going to last.

Three days ago, an uncle of mine passed away. It was not a unique situation, as he was sick and had been for a very long time. His death was not a shock and yet, it is still very difficult. I find myself in the place of wanting to support other family members who were close to him while trying to make some peace with it in my own heart. It's a difficult situation and yet, very simple. It is a reminder to me, though I like to believe I don't need it, to value my family. To be very thankful for them, as they're the only one I'm going to get. I'm very proud of the way we support one another, regardless of feelings about the situation.

It's a reminder that time will heal and it will also reveal. While there are so many questions, there are also some answers. It's comforting to know that we can be relieved from our suffering, when it is our time. It's a reminder that we are given so many choices each and every day and that we can't let those pass us by. That, though it may not seem like it, does make a pretty decent bow on the top of the otherwise not-so-neat package.

There Are Worse Things

2007-05-06T20:43:00.000-06:00

I spent many hours of last week on what seemed like a scale. I teetered back and forth, weighing things in one side, then the other. The good and bad, the action and the consequence, the effort and the reward. Much of this was, of course, due to the marathon I was "missing."

I no longer consider my knee pain an injury. My knees, like much of my body will continue to be in life, I'm sure, are now just a challenge. Something I have to take special care of most, if not all, the time if I'm going to keep doing what I love to do. And I do love running.

The product of loving running, though, is sometimes not running. This is what I decided on this weekend. Last week's decisions and vacillating were so difficult because I was focusing on all the things that wouldn't be if I didn't run. I wouldn't see the course, I wouldn't see the beauty, I wouldn't be with other runners, I wouldn't cross the finish. But, on Saturday morning before I left for the trek up to Northern Colorado, I met some friends for breakfast (Sidebar: they are truly a breakfast club. If, you know, the breakfast club were made up of four older men in their forties and fifties that both befriended and defended me for the first two years I was out in the "real world" working my very first Big Girl Job in a very male-dominated organization. They are like my uncles/brothers/fathers, depending on the need. And, they are great.).

As we were talking about the race and me running or not,I still hadn't really made up my mind. Not completely, anyway. We were walking out of the restaurant and uncle/brother/dad #3 looked at me, put his hands on my shoulders and said "kid, there are worse things, you know." And I did know.

I remembered that all weekend.

As I drove up North with a friend in the car, singing loudly and badly to Bon Jovi.

As I drove across the still somewhat empty Northern plains of Colorado, past the heifers and the sheep farms.
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As we mixed drinks and ate an obscene amount of grilled food at another friend's home later that night.
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When I stood at the finish line and watched people cheer, cry, rejoice and smile.

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When we giggled in bed that night, as if we'd stepped back in time fifteen years. As the sun shined and the clouds stayed away. As we traipsed through the little college town, gazing at the boys we're now way too old to date. When we told stories in the car, laughing until we cried. When my jaw hurt from smiling for all the cameras.

I didn't see but the last mile of the course. I didn't cross the finish this time or wear the medal. And I didn't like it, but I didn't mind it either. There are worse things.

Careless and Misbehaving

2007-05-03T19:13:00.000-06:00

I'm such the bad kid these days. I'm ornery and starting trouble with people just for the sake of starting it. Nothing serious, of course, but for some reason overhearing a conversation and then finding it my place to disagree (mind you, I had no opinion one way or the other in reality) by chiming in just seemed appropriate.

I know when I get like this it's because I'm just fed up. And not with anyone or anything in particular, that would be far too easy. I've simply allowed myself to get everything wrapped around me instead of caring to wrap myself around any of it.

This actually comes at a good time, though because my last post seemed to garner some interesting comments and emails. The comments, as you can see, were constructive. The emails, however, were of a variety. While I understand some people would rather email on some topics out of comfort zones, sensitivity, etc. I don't understand only emailing you're a cold hearted b*tch, no wonder you're alone, die! I can't really make sense of that. It's a timing, thing, I guess because a year ago I would have thought a while about that comment and now I just wonder how on Earth anyone has the time because, I tell you, I haven't had the time to so much as pick my nose in the last two weeks and you're off finding people to email and insult? And somehow I don't think saying people, trust me, I have feelings upon feelings. My feelings have feelings. Know the feelingless? I have some! I have them to spare! would actually help matters.

I wonder if you know of the eighteen million other things you could be doing right now, like mowing the lawn, watching Entertainment Tonight (dude, have you heard the latest on Hasselhoff?), or, if you're really bored, picking my nose. Seriously, telling me I'm cold-hearted and to die is really not constructive. Two reasons: One, there are three things that I'm 100%, all the time going to defend, and tip-toeing around feelings ain't one of 'em. Second, statistics actually do show that yes, I will die one day. So basically what you're doing is telling the sun to set in the West and baby, THE SUN ALREADY KNOWS.

Perhaps this is pointless to say anyway because I'm going to continue living in my little fantasy world where everything is mostly good and things that suck will all eventually go away. This fantasy includes the idea that me, myself and my body are just going to be twenty-one years old forever. I'm going to pretend I can bounce out of bed every morning, lace up my shoes and run like it's my job. It's not going to hurt when I walk up and down stairs, I'm not going to have to see a doctor, ever, and when I kneel down to talk to small children I'm not going to be extra careful and groan like I'm seventy-two. Because I'm twenty-one, remember? Keep up.

Mostly, it is because I'm a stubborn idiot and am somehow still feeling the need to do a marathon on Sunday that I am a) not trained for and b) still hem-hawing over three days prior. (Yes, I know.) But the plans are made, the trip is set, the people are loading up and heading out and part of my ill-prepared ass still wants to knock out twenty-six miles.

I already know how that sounds. I already know there's all this "what about the future?" and "listen to your body" business to think about. And the truth is, I probably won't do it. I will probably come to my senses and stand at the finish line and cheer and take pictures.

But I might not. Because I'm feeling ornery, you know, and also, careless.
______________________

My best to all of you racing this weekend. And my best to all of you, really!

Feelings

2007-05-01T18:33:00.001-06:00

I've coincidentally had the same conversation with three people today about the same thing. Feelings. Before, I get too far, let me just say, I am one of the most feeling-immersed people you could ever know. I cry for many reasons, sometimes all at once, I laugh hysterically when others have merely chuckled and I even get my feelings hurt by things I probably shouldn't.

Nonetheless, I think we (I guess here is where I'd insert "as a society" so everyone would know who we are, but I don't think we need that) are too into how we feel. I don't feeeeeel like doing it, we say when we have to work. I don't feel like you love me enough, we say to our significant others. I don't feel that you understand me, we say to our friends. But you know what? Who cares?

Well yeah, we care, but I really don't think we ought to so much. Who told you work or relationships or living was going to feel good all the time? Who told you you'd skip through your office door every morning feeling like you were the most appreciated person on Earth? Who told you meeting someone and loving them was going to feel right all the time? No one who isn't a liar, that's who.

I don't like it. I don't like that we're teaching kids that hurt feelings is reason for retaliation. I don't like that people can justify infidelity because they didn't feel like they thought they should. I don't like that we can sue a company because we felt objectified by a bad email. I think it's all ridiculous. Of course there are exceptions, but that shouldn't rule us. We're governing ourselves with fear and complacency rather than integrity and responsibility.

I guess I could say I figured this out a couple years ago, but I don't know as that would be accurate. As I said, I can still be a sensitive, woe-is-me-why-is-life-so-stinkin'-unfair little baby. I know this. What I've found it more practical to do is not let it determine my action. Yes, you might argue love is a feeling and shouldn't we let that determine action? Well, yes. But just feeling something doesn't make it so. I can feel all day that I need to wash my car and I can feel bad that it's dirty but until I drag out the hose, it's gonna stay dirty. Same goes for work, for relationships and just about everything else. I can feel and feel and feel that someone has hurt me but until I decide to confront that, even if it's just in my own mind, I will never get anywhere. You have to move forward eventually.

So I tell myself (and sometimes others), just stop. Stop letting how you feel cloud what's right and wrong. Stop expecting that everything is supposed to feel good in order to heed good results. Stop acting like you have to be 100% in love with every emotion running through your little body just because it's there. You don't. Some things are going to disappoint you. Some things are going to be hard. Some people are going to try to make you feel bad. This is not maybe, this is definitely. And it is going to be difficult. It is going to weigh on you. You are going to struggle and be tempted to morph into a creature of anger or sadness or fear.

But even with that temptation, you can do the right thing anyway. You will not act because of the feelings, you will act in spite of them. And you will be reassured, you will be proud. Most of all, you will suffer less. Of this, I am certain.

Time Is on My Side

2007-04-30T13:44:00.000-06:00

Lately, some people around me have been making some choices in their own lives without considering how those choices might change the lives of others. Without going into too much detail (I just love having to be cryptic on my blog) I'll say that not only have their choices affected me, they also have the potential to affect my work. People, I don't care how big or small your city is, when the stuff hits the fan the rule of Six Degrees of Separation more than likely applies. That is just the way the world is. None of us is an island.

What's really getting me over this situation is that I don't know how to react to it. Should I be upset? Should I be angry? Should I disengage? Should I judge? I ask myself these questions every day. Late at night, early in the morning, over breakfast, in the car, while I'm supposed to be listening to someone else. All the time. And while I know there's a line that one should always draw when it comes to getting involved in the problems of others, it's still my reaction that I'm struggling with.

Because this is, for the most part, not a moral issue (though I can't say I agree that it's aligned with my own values) the line I use to judge right and wrong is blurred. I'm finding it nearly impossible to make any kind of peace with it. Maybe it is a result of it being a friend. Maybe it's a product of being in my 20's. Maybe I really just don't know yet.

On one hand, this someone with whom I have a friendship and they have made a choice that is changing the world of a lot of people. Part of me says to be very tough on them. We all have consequences for our choices, right? I want them to realize what they've done! And then I catch myself. For starters, I'm in no place of authority anyway, so that's good reason to hold back. Also, I remember that it's not up to me to serve justice. It is not my responsibility to "make" them see what they've done. That will happen in time, regardless of my actions. And every time I feel myself starting to become angry, overcome with that feeling of being wronged, another feeling comes in even stronger. It's calm. It's a feeling telling me to take the higher road. To wait it out and watch things unfold. To have the bigger heart.

When it comes down to it, down to life, that's what I want to have anyway. A bigger heart. I can do this when it's easy, of course. It's harder, though, when it's a challenge. I will have to struggle with this. But I want to be the person that can see past the initial reactions of hurt or anger. I want to be the person that knows that it's probably not my job to judge. If laws aren't being broken, if children aren't being harmed, then adults just get to be adults, even if they're wrong. It doesn't mean they get my love, my friendship or my respect, it just means that I can deal with it in the context of how it affects me. I don't have to worry about making them pay. Time will do that without any help from me.

Dreaming

2007-04-28T16:10:00.000-06:00

So close.

Hey, good lookin'... whatcha got cookin' *

2007-04-27T05:16:00.000-06:00

Yeeehaw!

It is Friday morning and that means the brain is getting a break. With a week like this has been, though, the brain would be taking a break even if it were Tuesday afternoon.

I have been entirely too deep lately (both in blog posts and in other people's crap) so therefore, I propose I ask many a question and then go take a nice long nap while everyone else answers.

Are you game? Can you handle it? I think you can!

And if you can't, old pro-wrestlers will come to your door and pretend like they're selling cookies but then when you open the door they will throw you over their shoulders and take you to the county fair. To mutton bust. Blindfolded. In mud. (Thanks to JACC for the idea to threaten with senseless, random, impossible scenarios. It's good fun.)

Here are some questions I have for the Internet today:

1. What is this Thinking Blogger thing? What do you all think about it? (Yes, I have done my homework, I just want to know what all of you think.)

2. If someone were going to eliminate sugar from their diet, what are the most common things to be eliminated? (Other than white bread, pasta and other obviously white things- I've got that part down.)

3. If I were to tell you I was thinking of walk/running a marathon next weekend, what would you say? (I have run 10 miles at this point with no pain and barely any recovery aches/pains.)

4. Does anyone have a Garmin and is it really worth downloading your workouts onto your computer? I have had mine for nearly four months and have only used it for pacing, distance and heart rate monitoring. Do I really need to download and have graphs showing me how slow I am?

5. Does anyone have any new favorite recipes? Dinner, specifically. I am bored to the back teeth with stir fry. Seriously.

6. Does anyone have any secret money-saving tips that I don't know about? Save for the obvious like "skip the Starbucks" (because, yeah, I know) and stop buying things online all the freakin' time (it is not my fault JCrew has to have one of the best darn swim sales ever three weeks before I go on vacation, is it?).

Actually, the real reason for this question is for a class I'm giving (I know, me teaching people, crazy). I need ideas!

7. What are your favorite jeans? Or, gentlemen, your wife/girlfriend/sister/whatever's favorite jeans? I need new ones and I don't know where to go anymore. I know this can be different for everyone, but I still need help. Jeans shopping will always suck.

I'm going to stop at seven, I think. It's my lucky number. Also, we might get into really, really deep questions like what is the meaning of life and how do you trim the nails of a dog that becomes possessed by unnatural forces at the sight of a nail trimmer even though she has never been hurt by a nail trimmer?

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*I might never get the chance to use this title so might as well do it now.

Eight years to grasp, twenty-eight to appreciate

2007-04-26T06:06:00.000-06:00

The third grade was a big year for me. According to my mother, this was the year I “really came out of my shell.” Emphasis on really because unlike the years before, there was no stopping me. Or my mouth. Eight years old and I’d perfected the art of a thick skin and a lot of nerve. This was evident in two areas, in particular. One, I gave speeches at school assemblies and two, my mediocre citizenship grades. Apparently, all the “straight A’s” in the world did not a quiet girl make.

Part of this shell exiting, I think, was that I entered my I don’t have to take crap from anyone phase. (Note: I have yet to leave that phase.) This had a little to do with our super mean third grade teacher, and a lot to do simply with my personality. I can’t really remember a time since the third grade when I did something or believed something or even reacted to something because someone else gave me crap about it. I don’t know what makes me this way. I do know that I’m blessed to have realized this so early, or even at all.

One day, at lunchtime in the third grade, a fourth grader named Tina Wiedlick (yes, that was her real last name and yes, it does sound just like you think) was giving me particularly mean looks across the lunch room. Tina, you see, was upset with me from the day before when I walked home with a girl that used to be her best friend. Tina did not care that it just so happened that her friend and I lived next door to one another nor did she care that IT WAS WHAT OUR MOTHERS TOLD US TO DO. She was mad because she got dumped and, apparently, it was my fault for living next door to the girl that dumped her, even though the house was bought five years before I was even conceived. People, she was ruthless!

Anyhow, that following day at lunch, Tina gave me so many dirty looks that I was sort of wishing I was allowed to flip people off because, my gosh, if there were ever a reason to use your middle finger, this was it! But I didn’t. I didn’t want Mrs. McNeil, the lunchroom monitor, to see me. I would certainly be suspended and therefore ruin my perfect attendance record of the year and completely lose out on the bright yellow ribbon awarded at the end. I had my priorities straight.

As we were filing out of the lunchroom and onto the playground that day, I happened to get in the double line right next to Tina Wiedlick. I looked at her out of the corner of my eye and, I tell you, if there were ever a moment a third grader wished she was a fifth grader, this was it. As we both tried to walk through the single door, I committed the cardinal sin of elementary school and walked in front of someone a grade ahead of me, which means I walked in front of Tina. And then, as if it could get any worse, I bumped her with my elbow. I know!

“Watch it!” Tina yelled.

“Sor-ry!” I shouted back. I would not be intimidated.

“You should be!” Tina screamed, six inches from my face.

And here’s where I officially earned my life-long badge of hard-assdom.

“Let me tell you one thing, Tina Wiedlick,” I said, “the only thing I’m one bit of sorry about today is that I looked at your face.”

And I spun around, walked the other way and for the first time in my life, actually felt someone try to kill me with sheer will. I spent the rest of that day certain I was in for it. The worst that happened, though, was Tina running by me after school and calling me a “bitch.” Small price to pay.

I don’t think I’ve allowed anyone or anything to dictate anything in my life since then; at least not by intimidation. The value in that, by the way, is not doing it but rather, knowing you have the choice. Which is why no matter the circumstances, the challenges, or events out of my control, there is one thing I know: I strive to live every day with the same strength I found that day in the third grade. It's not always easy but I do it anyway. For the ones I love, for the things I care about, for the things that matter.

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Thanks to all of you for your comments. It is wicked cool that you not only come here but are thoughtful and insightful when you do.

Benchwarmer

2007-04-25T06:47:00.000-06:00

I feel very much on the sidelines of life right now. It's like the team is out there, making everything happen and I'm merely watching. I'm excited for the team, we're winning, we look great, we're a success. But I'm just sort of there, filling the space.

I know these times in life come. I know that I'm in a unique situation with four pregnant friends, three friends or family members building or buying new houses, two couples getting married, one friend moving across the country to live with someone, and three other friends starting new jobs or careers. That is a lot. And me, well I went to Starbucks this morning.

I'm trying not to approach this as a woe is me type of story because overall, it's not. The situations above all have their problems and imperfections, and believe me, few of them are idyllic. Still, they all seem so full of meaning and hope. It's not that my life is without meaning or hope, far from it. It's just getting a little difficult to maintain that on my own. Possibly to a fault, I'm one of those people that believes I have to be very selective on who I burden with my problems. In turn, I get to do a lot of thinking and planning all inside my own mind. The way things are going right now, the mind is a little over taxed.

I've always been pretty good at separating other's choices and successes from my own life. I can be really happy for a friend getting married, for example, because I can tell myself "that is what's right for them, not necessarily for me." It's true; not once has someone else's new husband, new house, new job, new dog, whatever, been something I'd choose for myself. It's a pretty logical way of thinking, for the most part. I suppose the only time it starts to get difficult is when you see all this new and all this change at once.

My first instinct is to do something about it. Of course, that's not a solution for everything. It works for me professionally when I decide to work harder, or work on something new. It works for me physically when I'm feeling fat or slow or weak. It works for me socially when I feel like I've lost touch with some friends and need to catch up. But doing something about this, well it's nearly impossible.

So I'll just have to wait. I'll just have to sit here, watch the game and trust that the coach will put me back in when the time is right. I'll let the pressure go, I'll watch and cheer and know that when the time comes, I'll be ready.

Let's Talk About Running Before My Head Explodes

2007-04-23T19:12:00.000-06:00

Why is it that just when you think you can't add anything else to life, life just goes on ahead and adds it for you?

I've made every attempt over the last few days to escape and find some place I can go where I need not think about anyone else's life. Yes, some of it is valid, some of it trivial and much of it ridiculous, but honestly, if I have to utter the phrase "what did you expect?" one more time, I might gag. Instead, I've tried to get away.

Just ask Barb who got five questions from me that I pulled straight out of oblivion and slapped into an email. She says it was painless, but I think she was just being kind. Or, you could ask Nicole over at Powered By Vegetables. She asked me if I had any opinions or recommendations on travel to St. John (U.S.V.I.). What she didn't realize was that asking me about Caribbean travel is sort of like asking me to share my opinions and recommendations on the importance of breathing.

Both, though, were attempts at escape. As has been my running lately. It is not particularly smooth nor consistent, but when I'm out there, sweating and my heart pounding, I find relief. It's a little like years ago, when I "got serious" about running and started to train regularly. It's a struggle, but also a progression. Today's run feels a little easier than the day before. My body, even if it's fighting me for each step, is also getting it's memory back. I feel my strides becoming a little longer, my lungs a little more relaxed. Last weekend, I ran five miles with a friend and was able to talk the entire time. What used to be normal is once again an accomplishment.

In my continuing effort to convince myself that there is good to see in every struggle, I'm also reminded how running has brought more than just cardiac health and two-piece bathing suits into my life. It has brought me people; through them I get encouragement, inspiration and most of all, a reminder that we're all more the same than we are different.

Lia, a woman so very close to her first marathon, is in taper mode right now. I forget how this feels, the way your mind and body react to mile reduction before a race. She reminds me of that. It's a normal feeling and yet, when you're in it, you feel so very abnormal.

Or Ginger, a runner who pretty consistently leaves me in awe, is coming down off the high of one of the biggest races in the world. Through her struggle with injury, weather and the unfathomable (for me) emotions of one of the highest pressure races of many runner's lives, she crossed the finish line. And now, she has a question on her mind so familiar to a runner: What now? I don't know the answer but I do know that through this, I'm reminded of the inevitable let down that comes after a major event in one's life. And, I'm also reminded that we get past it and be it good or bad, we can look back on that time a different person than we were before.

And then there's Michelle, who makes a thirteen mile run sound like walk in the park. Who talks about beat up runner's feet like she merely stubbed her toe. Who gives a race report for a 50K in much the same tone you might talk about your trip to the grocery store. A 50K gave her trouble, she says, so she'll stick to just marathons from here on out. Yeah, just marathons. Michelle, you pansy. But I can identify, because there was a time when I scoffed that the phrase "just a 5K." It happens.

I thought about all this on my drive to work this morning. How we "use" some things, some people, in our lives from time to time to escape. So all of you that are returning from vacation, expecting new arrivals and, living, breathing and most of all, sharing, have been part of my escape, too. I'm really thankful for that, because this last week, more than I have in a long time, I needed it.

Little Pink Houses

2007-04-22T17:50:00.000-06:00

Last week tried to beat me up somethin' good. There were break ups, office dramatics, sick friends, bad news, worse news and a dog that was just ADR (that's an abbreviation for a technical term commonly used in the veterinary medicine world which means "ain't doin' right." No really, it is). And that was just within my little space of the planet.

Rather than bore myself and nearly a dozen others with my stories of woe, however, I'd rather take you on a walk through Spring.

Growing up, I was the kid that always drew pictures of my house. Some days, it looked Victorian, some days very modern and some days it was clear I was going to grow up and move into Barbie's Dream House. As time passed, I stopped drawing pictures and just started going around town and picking out my house. There was always this wonderful neighborhood with houses no one I knew could afford that I'd go back and visit time and again. It was obvious, though, that this 'hood and money and the money was old.

A couple days ago, while walking with a friend, we came upon these streets again. This time, though, it wasn't the beautiful homes that took my attention but rather, the way each of them was surrounded by Spring.

Picket fences are always that much better with tulips.

Lots and lots of tulips.

And daffodils.

(That's what these are, right?)

And something else cute that probably has a fairy tale name that I don't know but it sure was fun to play with the image in Photoshop.

Though I drew houses as a kid, I never was one of those girls that got into the whole planning of my future wedding business. While I'll leave that whole story for another day, I will say that aren't these the most gorgeous flowers and wouldn't they be great at a wedding?

And more tulips, which I never tire of seeing.

Lest you think this neighborhood is all full of beauty and perfection with pink houses and little Pollyanna families filling each and every one of them, I give you a warning sign:

Truth is, I'd put this in my yard in a second.

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The other day, I mentioned having some homemade rum which several of you asked about. I find it both exciting and a little frightening that I received more emails on this than almost anything else, ever. I'm sorry to report that though I enjoyed it, I really have no further detail. I know there's molasses, sugar, brown sugar and water involved. Then, fermentation. Then, running it through a still (which, as I found out today, is not sold at Home Depot. I think that is a rip because what would a still be considered if not home improvement?), maybe more than once. I'm not entirely sure.

Then, I guess you just bottle it so that you may randomly place it on the desks of coworkers on a Wednesday morning. Which, by the way, would normally be just fine but to do it in a week when office stress is at an all-time high, giving someone liquor that they cannot open or consume at work (or probably have on the premises, come to think of it) is just mean. It did motivate me to call some friends over for "emergency rum tasting" though, and that's never a bad thing.

You Will Be Amazed to Know All This

2007-04-19T05:56:00.000-06:00

So Bre, in all her coolness, allowed me to pretty much tag myself with this looks like a meme but has all the emotion and feel of an interview, type thing.

She asks me five questions, I answer. You'll see more details at the end. It should also be noted that I worked twelve hours yesterday, ran five miles and then ate a ginormous dinner and had some homemade rum (stories and/or photos to come later but as a preview, there is a reason that stuff is sometimes called FIRE WATER). I have also not had enough sleep.

Anyway.

1. What do you wish everyone else knew about runners?
That we come in all shapes, sizes and abilities, that we don't mind stinking and that running is a part of who we are as much as our legs themselves. Also, a marathon is 26.2 miles. All marathons*.

2. Has having your nephew visit made your biological clock start to tick?
You know, I thought it might but then my sister turned into some kind of Colorado socialite where she'd go live it up like a rock star having high tea and going to see chick flicks and those nights I spent up babysitting pretty much made my eggs stop, go into a holding pattern and take a breather. They're on a chaise lounge somewhere, sitting still and waiting another five or so years, I think. Nonetheless, I would go to the moon and back for that kid, no question.

3. What is your shopping kryptonite - that is ... what can you never quite resist?
Good travel deals, just about everything in the running store, flip flops and chai tea. I don't know as any of that "counts" as shopping but my bank account probably thinks so.

4. Are you crafty/handy around the house? If so... how?
When I bought my place and moved in, I did a lot of work on it. I spent two months painting, flooring, hanging window coverings and putting $&%! together. I thought it was fun, then I got over it. Now, I'd probably either hire someone or just live with things the way they are. However, I can fix a toilet like nobodies business which probably has a lot more to do with genetics than actual skill.

5. What has blogging done for you?
Probably more than I can say. Which is a cheesy, cop out of an answer but it's true. There are so many things I've learned from this entire process, I don't know where to begin. On any given day, I rarely know what's going to come out here and yet, I always have something. I think I just have a lot of words in me. I don't think I'll ever be totally convinced they actually belong anywhere. And probably more than that, I like reading the words of others. Even if this blog ended, I'd still be wholeheartedly addicted to everyone else's.

Thanks, Bre. You rock.

And now, here's the rest of the deal, if you're so inclined to play along:

Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me!"
I will respond by e-mailing you five questions. I get to pick them, and you have to answer them all. (Don't forget to leave me your email.)
You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

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*Unless it's an ultra marathon, in which case it's more than 26.2 miles.

Lighter Notes

2007-04-18T09:20:00.000-06:00

Scene: A suburban UPS store.

Me: Dropping off a return box of shoes from Zappos. (Do you not adore them?!)

Girl at counter: Bopping her head along to the radio.

Man across room: Tall, built, dressed in jeans and a black leather jacket. You would not want to meet him in a dark alley.

"Hi," says the girl behind the counter.

"Hi," I say, "I just have this return package."

"Okay! Cool!" She's very peppy. "Hey, do you know who this is on the radio?" she asks me and tall, built, leather man.

I do know who it is. It's George Michael, and the song is Faith.

"It's George Michael," I tell her.

"Oh yeah, I was thinking Michael Bolton!"

"Oh, definitely not," I say.

The hugely tall and now nearly frightening man in leather crosses the room toward me, bends a little closer to talk to me and says "Ma'am, not meaning anything by this, but you were really quick to answer that question."

"I know," I say, "it's my curse. Bad, huh?"

"No," he says, "bad would be if you walked out of here letting this girl think it was Michael Bolton."

I love people.

Just Words

2007-04-17T18:03:00.000-06:00

I think I've commented on a handful of your blogs that I just don't know what to say. I've commented to myself, a hundred times, as to whether or not I should say anything at all. I suppose I still haven't reached a conclusion. While I'm not one who can ignore feelings, who can pretend like her heart doesn't feel as though it weighs two hundred pounds, I also don't want to be disrespectful. In my mind, I don't want to make this tragedy my tragedy.

But it is. It's ours. It's the news we wake up to in the morning and the tears we sleep with at night. It's the shattering of our realities, of our comfort and safe places. And whether now or down the road, it is a part of the way we see life.

In the Spring of 1999, I was sitting in a college classroom when news of the Columbine High School Tragedy came in. It was a Philosophy course, which seemed more ironic then than it does now. The classroom I was in, immersed in higher learning and the smell of old linoleum, was merely an hour's drive from the high school where twelve students and one teacher were killed that day. We turned on the television in the classroom, and watched the news. When class was over, no one moved. Our professor, doing her best counselor impression, asked us if we wanted to talk about it. Thirty-seven students sat in that classroom with nothing to say.

In the hours and days that would follow, it became clear: safety was relative. And that's not something a college student worries about. We spent days in class and nights in groups, the worries there but so very disconnected, generally, from anything life-altering. From anything evil. Eight years later, I still remember that feeling of a changed reality. And still, I cannot begin to imagine what the Virginia Tech students, faculty, and their families are feeling today.

This morning, while attempting to get myself back into the land of higher learning, I had a meeting at a local college with a department dean. It was, of course, scheduled a week ago but I know better than to think I wasn't there for a reason today. So there on a bench, outside a building in which I received most of my undergraduate education, in the drizzling rain and fog, I said a prayer. A lot of prayers.

High-Profile Survival

2007-04-16T07:40:00.000-06:00

Over the weekend, yet another relationship split has been in the news. Prince William and Kate Middleton's break up has been a top story on several news websites. And of course, following any high-profile break up, there's loads upon loads of speculation as to "what went wrong."

London tabloids, often leading the pack in "reporting" celebrity splits, wasted no time jumping on the assumption train. It was pressure from the Queen, one says. Another says it was Prince Charles who urged William to break off the relationship if he could not "commit to marriage." Yet another says the fate of the relationship was neither influenced by family nor the two people actually in the relationship but rather, a royal summit.

None of these, in their ever scandalous tabloid nature of course, are suggesting that maybe they just broke up. Maybe it just didn’t work. And when there’s any suggestion of Kate, at the age of twenty-five, deciding that she didn’t want the lifestyle of a princess, well that’s just squashed immediately. Not that I claim to know anything more than I’m reading in the news (which equals basically nothing) but if that might be the reason, well I can certainly relate to that.

Just before I began this blog, I had made a decision to no longer be in a relationship that, though no crowns were being placed on any heads, certainly felt high-profile at times. I dated a man who was a very kind, intelligent person who also happened to already be married. To his career, that is. He was a physician, a surgeon in fact. Anyone who has ever been married, dated or otherwise in any relationship with a doctor knows this: It is not a job; it’s a lifestyle and a calling. It is first, last and best. I saw this from the beginning and it’s not at all something I ever held against him. In fact, I admired it about him. Up until we met, I had never witnessed anything like it. I never knew someone could dedicate their entire life to a career of helping people like he did.

In the time we dated, which I’ve heard since was a “record breaking” duration for most doctors in their residency, there were numerous instances in which I felt our relationship was under intense scrutiny. Looking back now, I can see it was mostly because, well, he was a catch. In addition to being in his residency, having graduated at the top of his class and giving his spare time to research and international medical outreach programs, he was also very popular. No one had to tell me this, it was one of the reasons I was attracted to him in the first place. He was friendly, and before I had any inkling as to what his work was, I was impressed at how easy to get along with he was. This, of course, translated into all of his life. People liked him and therefore, were very critical of who else did, too.

Any event we attended, any time we’d run into anyone somewhere in town, it was a little like a test. A pop quiz, really. When you go to a baseball game, in your shorts and tank top, the last thing you’re really planning for is to run into five nurses looking you up and down like you have arms growing where your ears should be. I was assured by my boyfriend that this wasn’t an issue but when it happens enough times, it stays on your mind.

There was also the issue of time. While I don’t claim to be the most available person in terms of time, dating this man was sort of like what I’d imagine scheduling the launching of a space shuttle would be.

6:04 – meet for dinner (not 6:00 because, well, the only thing that starts on time is surgery)
6:04:42- wait while cell phone is answered
6:05- order dinner to go, emergency call
6:06- say “bye and see ya later”
10:00- finally eat dinner, reheated
10:00:25- boyfriend passes out because he’s worked eighteen of the last twenty-four hours

The time we were able to spend together was, at best, erratic. This also made life challenging when it came time for those stages in a relationship where you meet each other’s friends and, when you meet the parents. In the end, it resulted in me meeting a few of his friends, which also happened to be fellow residents, (because yes, that part of hospital life really is like Grey’s Anatomy) and him meeting about as many of mine. We never did meet one another’s parents, either (and this had little if anything to do with my hesitation to bring people home). Yes, it was strange.

That wasn’t really what any of it came down to, though. The demanding schedule, the exhaustion, the scrutiny, those things can be overcome, I think. The real contributing factor, the one it took me months to be able to accept, is that it just wasn’t the right relationship. Toward the end, which also happened to be toward the end of his residency, I started talking about taking a trip together. He started talking about getting married and moving across the country. At first, I thought we were just on different pages. I thought if I’d give it time, I’d be ready. For the move, a marriage, a lifetime with this man. But I wasn’t, I never got there.

Eventually, we had to break up. Taking a step back and looking at our relationship, there were loose ends all over the place. There were parts of our lives, personalities, likes and dislikes, and life goals that just didn’t match up; that weren’t going to match up. Love was, as wonderful as it could be, not enough. It too would have faded. So we (yes, shockingly, WE) made the decision to break it off. To this day it remains one of the hardest yet least regrettable things I’ve had to do and I think that’s partially because things looked so right to everyone else; which I’d use to fool myself into thinking it was right for me, too. The question of “why did you break up?” could not have been answered by the standard replies. It just was.

That’s why it’s so odd to me that we’re fascinated by break ups in the media. Heaven forbid people in their twenties (or any age, for that matter) decide that things just aren’t going to work and they need to go their separate ways rather than spend any more time on something that’s not right. Maybe that’s what William and Kate think, too. I don’t know, of course, but let me assure you, it’s likely not nearly as interesting or scandalous a process as the tabloids might have us believe.

Believe: to have confidence in the truth, the existence, or the reliability of something, although without absolute proof that one is right in doing

2007-04-13T07:46:00.000-06:00

UPDATE: I meant to add this before now but this "Believe" exercise thing is, apparently, something well known on NPR. I don't know who came up with it or how it came about, but I think it's awesome.
_____________________

Well first she did it, and I thought "wow, I cannot attempt that." Then, she did it and I thought "dang, this isn't going to be easy." Then, she did it too and I thought "this is just too much."

But, like most things I do, I wasn't one hundred percent sure about it and yet, I did it anyway. After all, I am, if nothing else, a believer.

I believe that it’s okay to like stuff. I believe we are too hard on ourselves for wanting to consume what’s out there. The issue isn’t spending or buying, it’s control.

I believe happiness is a choice. Every thing, every day. Digging through crap will result in finding a pony.

I believe in the little things, like holding a door and saying “good morning.”

I believe life is very, very short but too long a journey to travel alone.

I believe our bodies are a gift, and we should make every effort to learn to love and treat them as such. I believe we are built to break a sweat.

I believe in kindness, and empathy.

I believe in the power of family, babies and puppies.

I believe you can find peace on the sea, at the top of a mountain or on your living room sofa.

I believe we were created, because I believe there are things that science just cannot explain.

I believe there is absolutely no replacement for education.

I believe music should move you, even if it’s just dancing in the car.

I believe you should approach every situation as if those involved have the best intentions. You will sometimes be disappointed.

I believe, when all else fails, you should laugh.

I believe the ocean has the capability to cure.

I believe shoes should not hurt your feet. This is probably also why I have forty-two pairs of flip flops (a.k.a. “thongs” for my Aussie friends).

I believe in Fall football, drinks with friends, and Sunday afternoon walks.

I believe you can make friends anywhere. I believe I have.

I believe a group, whether your soccer team or your entire nation, must believe in itself to succeed.

I believe we have a responsibility to our planet. I believe most of us don’t take this seriously.

I believe in questioning “the way we have always done it.”

I believe some things are worth the calories.

I believe in travel and broadening your horizons.

I believe harmless superstitions are healthy.

I believe in working hard, and playing hard.

I believe, even with all this, I’m really only on the cusp of knowing all I will truly believe in this life.

Pursuing It

2007-04-12T07:33:00.000-06:00

I have a friend who is picking up his life, quitting his job (with a company he started) and moving across the country. To me, that's massive change. But he says he just wants to be happy. He knows it's a risk, but something stronger than fear of that risk is driving him.

I know some other people, apparently not happy in their lives, who decided to go outside their marriages to find happiness. They claim they've found it, even though there are consequences. Honestly, I don't even think they know the extent of the consequences yet.

I consider myself lucky. I believe happiness, or even the act of looking for it, is largely a choice. I believe even with the bad days and the hard times in life, you can still find a way to be happy. I believe that even with mountains of debt, life-threatening illness or great loss, there is still a chance for happiness. I have seen people do it- it is entirely possible. I'm not sure we're all cut out for that though, half the time I'm not sure I am. But that doesn't stop me from trying.

I suppose that's the basis of the two situations I mentioned. When moving your entire life for a shot at happiness is less frightening than staying where you are, and being unhappy, the choice seems easy. With the second situation, though, I can't agree. Because the other thing I believe about happiness? It cannot come at the expense of others. Once your choices begin to affect the life of someone else and their shot at happiness, it becomes wrong. And selfish.

I'm always amazed, though, the extent to which people will go to find a place where they consider themselves happy. Blinded by the thought of love, or change, or the ever-elusive "newness" of it all, I wonder if they're really conscious of any reality at all? I know our happiness comes in different packages, but are we sometimes fooled by the thought?

How do you find your happiness? How do you know that it's real? How do you know that it's right?