Somewhere between pressure cooker and all-out bonfire*

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.

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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.

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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.)

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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.

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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

Geekage

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.

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

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.

Token Things

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.

Pretty Little Bows

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.

Let's Talk About Running Before My Head Explodes

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.

You Will Be Amazed to Know All This

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.

I Love Other People

Yesterday gave me a lot of reasons to remember that. It's getting to that busy time again where no one has any free time. We're all gearing up for work projects, volunteer projects, Spring Break, Summer vacations, races, Grandma's birthday, warm weather... you name it, we're all busy and I know you all understand. You're there, too.

For me, it's that on-the-fence time when you're thankful to have a _______ (insert words such as: job, life, circle of friends, good community, legs to run on, etc.) but you're also seeing those free days of the beginning of the year fade away.

Work is like that for me right now. I've taken on the lead of a project along with contributing to another Super Huge project and my entire group is in a learning phase. I suppose it's the nature of this beast called software but one day I'd like to walk into the office and know exactly what's going to happen, just to see what that would feel like. The thing is, I work with some awesome people who are very different than any group I've worked with before. They are generous with information and knowledge, have a great sense of humor and are just good people. I don't have to tell you how rare this is but I'm going to; a group like mine is extremely rare. Which is why, even yesterday when I thought my head would explode with the thought of more on my plate than there already is, I am drop-to-your-knees thankful to work with good people. Long story short[er]: I got help, I know what I'm doing now, I love people. Should I ever come into very large sums of money, I'll find a way to share some with them.

I also work with some pretty great people in the non-profit world. Always being one to think "my boring cubicle world does not define me, oh no!" I feel the need to be involved in other causes. And, truth be told, it's where I'm happy. It's the right place for me, giving my time to something that needs it, under the radar. It's like having a job where whatever you do is great. It's mutually beneficial, even if you make an effort to be selfless, you're going to get something out of it. And, everyone loves a volunteer, right? Well, this volunteer loves everyone she gets to work with and is only about 50% sad that she had to miss Eric Clapton last night due to an already scheduled event. Cliche as it sounds, the faces on those we benefited were worth a thousand riffs. Sorry, Eric, I love people.

Last but never least, I think other bloggers are really cool. I love that your insight on things that get trapped in the "bubble" that is my own world can make me see something differently, and often, more simply than I can on my own. I find it pretty amazing that there's a way to say "hey, here's what I'm doing instead of Christmas gifts" because honestly, I didn't think of that. I find it super cool that there's so little caffeine in Chai tea! I find myself feeling happy to have someone that comments "you are so on top of your world." That statement rocks, even if it's not always how I feel. And I have to say, I'm beyond shocked that there are people who don't know who George Strait is. Once again, this is me realizing the bubble effect in this world. Wow, and thanks for all the comments yesterday and always. I hope those of you not enjoying warm weather right now get to very, very soon. It does wonders.

Because a comment cracked me up

First, thanks for all the handbag advice. When something's on your mind, well, you know, you just want answers! The scariest part? Now I'm thinking I want a different purse altogether. Also, all day yesterday, all I could think about was how I wanted a cupcake and how I wasn't going to go home until I got one. I had a cupcake for dinner. Clearly the universe is out of whack this week and I didn't get the memo.

Now, I'm going to post my "Friday Random Ten" because JACC's* comment on my last post cracked me up. He is always saying I ought to do this but I never do. You'd think all the threats of zombie invasion and cellulite aliens would have pressured me. I love zombies and, someday, I'm sure I'll have to learn to love cellulite. Or was it aliens?

Here's what my little silver iMagician wants to play today:

1. Feels Good Don't It- Brooks and Dunn
2. Give Me All Your Love- Whitesnake
3. And So It Goes- Billy Joel
4. Jump- Van Halen
5. Don't Leave Me This Way- Thelma Houston
6. Always On Your Side- Sheryl Crow
7. When I Close My Eyes- Lizz Wright
8. Come Into My Life- Jimmy Cliff
9. Over The Rainbow- IZ
10. Fire and Rain- James Taylor

How is it that the little magician knows 10 people/bands I would give (or would have given) one of my kidneys to sing duets with? Amazing!

As for other things that crack me up, Dawn's post on proper pronounciation is great as is EB's post on "parenthood" and moms. More people ought to read these ladies, they're good.

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*I know there's something else I'm supposed to do with this, but I'm not sure what. When I figure it out, I'll do it. UPDATE: I did it.

High Diving

When I was three, I started taking swimming lessons. It was at the same pool, same teachers, same lesson mates and it went on for years. By age five, we were well on our way to treading water and not choking on it every fifteen seconds or so. We thought we were pros.

Then came the "big" pool. It had laps and a "deep end." A really, really deep end. With a high dive, which scared the living crap out of me all summer. Just staring at that thing made me want to jump out of the pool, grab my towel, slip on my jelly shoes and high-tail it the heck out of there. Thankfully, we did not have to go off the diving boards that summer. That sweet, wonderful, seventeen year-old swim teacher didn't even mention it, bless her soul.

A year later, I walked into the pool again, having completely forgotten about the high dive. But there, sitting on the deck with my innocent little six year-old feet hanging over the edge I heard the chilling words: "this year, we'll learn to jump off the diving board." What? Diving board? High? Above water? Oh yes, and more. They started us with the "short" board. A mere three (maybe four?) feet above the water, what could go wrong?

Nothing, really. I was all about the short board. Heck, I'd take a running start at that sucker, no problem. Go off backwards? Sure. Bounce twice before jumping in? Yeah, alright. Do a handstand and then fall head first over the edge? Challenge me, puuuhhleeaaase!

All the while, people were just over goin' off that high dive all morning long. I, being the excellent avoider I have always been, just chose to ignore it. That is, until one of the kids in my class mentioned it. Stupid Dusty Reynolds and his high-fallutin', wannabe Superman attitude wanted to go off the high dive. Though I don't remember the exact words I said to him then, if I were to go back to that scene and help myself respond with the benefit of my current vernacular, it would have gone something like dude, you must be on crack!

And then, the most ridiculous moment of my year spent as a six year-old happened. The teacher told him he could, if he wanted to. Then, as if attempting to make me pee in the pool right there, she also said that anyone else who wanted to could also go off the high dive. We just had to follow the rules (no fancy tricks on that one) and go one at a time. Wouldn't you know it, all but me and one other kid lined up. Slowly, one after the next, they took the plunge. Some going down in straight lines and screaming, others looking like jacks sprawled out and creating a smacking sound as soon as their bodies came into contact with the water. Left at the bottom of the steps there was only me and one other girl. She asked me if I was going to go and I told her I didn't know. She then said that she was and me, always the chicken at first but never one to be completly beat, raced up that ladder like it led to Disneyland.

As I approached the top, I was hardly able to stop and ask myself what I was doing. I remember slowly pacing out to the edge of the board, feeling the gentle bounce that I was certain would send me plummeting with even the slightest misstep. I remember the itch in my legs from the chlorinated water dripping down from my swimsuit. I remember the distant calls from the kids below, though I couldn't tell you what their words may have been. I remember thinking to keep my legs together and my hands by my sides, straight like a pencil. I remember stepping off.

I unexpectedly hit the water in a deep plunge, eyes closed the entire time. When I finally felt myself stop, my toes just grazing the bottom of the deep end, I opened my eyes. I remember looking up and thinking I'd never get to the top. I kicked my feet and held my breath. I kicked and kicked, held and held. I didn't have enough air, I wasn't going to make it. I was about to gasp and still, in my six year-old head, miles and miles under the water. I wanted to panic, but had no where to panic in, no one to panic to. So I kicked and kicked, and finally my finger tips felt the air, then my elbows, my shoulders, my face. I took one deep breath, then another before I began swimming to the edge. I turned, looked up at that high dive and grinned, because I knew I'd do it again.

And maybe that's sort of how things are right now. I'm afraid, yet don't want to be left behind. I'm plunging in, and not knowing what to expect. I'm looking up, waiting to get to the top and with every second, doubting I'm going to make it. Doubting I'll ever be able to breathe again. But maybe I will, and maybe I'll go back for more when I do.


______________________

Apparently, it's de-lurking week in the blog world. Not to be presumptuous (yeah, right) but if you're here and you don't comment, maybe this week you can. I suppose nothing bad will happen if you don't but, you know, I saw a hexing book at the library today and nothing would entertain me more than to check it out because then, a girl I went to high school with would have to look me straight in the eye while she scanned the book and my card and resist the urge to say I was right about you all along.

Days Go By

It's been nearly a year since I began this blog. While that's not much for some, it's quite significant to me, if only because I've found a place to dump thousands of the billions of thoughts constantly swirling around in my head.

When I woke up this morning I watched and read some news and wondered if it was bad to feel like this, 1/1/07, were just like any other day. I still have the same thoughts, same goals, and same worries as I did yesterday. What makes this different? Should I feel as though I'm standing at the edge of something? Anything?

In two days, I have an appointment with the top sports medicine doctor in the city. He is supposed to help me with my knees (yes, knees, plural. In addition to my right knee being swollen and now painful, my left knee has followed suit since my Christmas Day run). I have had it, I am ready for help. I'm overwhelmingly motivated to run right now, and I can't. I think (and also hope) this doctor will scope both knees. I've had the xrays and MRI's, it's time to do something more drastic. I need to run. I have a half marathon scheduled in March, a full in May, another half later in the summer and probably another full in the fall. I may be injured, but I'm not losing hope. I definitely need this doctor to understand that.

Over the past two days, I have eaten enough to support a family of five. Or twelve. I credit this to football games and my grandmother requesting I bake her some more of my perfect cookies. Obviously, I could say no to neither. Sandwiches, pizza, cookies, pizza, taco salad and pizza do not make for a "hey, look at me, I've lost seven pounds" attitude, so I sure am glad the weekend is over. Not-so-secretly, though, I am glad it was here because I am reassured that I was always right about two things: cheese melted on anything makes it better and, putting bacon on pizza is culinary genius. However, I know and am okay with the fact that this has come to an end, because feeling the way my pants fit sans seven pounds, well, that's almost as good as bacon and, in my case, lasts a heck of a lot longer.

In just four short days, my sister will, once again, have to say goodbye to her husband and send him off to the danger of the Middle East. I can't even begin to express how this makes me feel. He's been home less than two months. I don't care that the President says "there's a job to do" and then proceeds to dump thousands of troops back into a war without a clear plan. I don't care that an evil dictator was just hanged. I'm glad he was captured, yes. It doesn't make up for the fact that men and women are leaving their families for "undetermined length deployments," some for a third or fourth time in two years. It doesn't change that death tolls have reached a milestone, again. I cannot write eloquently about this. It is not something I have understood from the very beginning, and I doubt I ever will. I was raised and believe leaders, elected leaders, should be respected and supported. That is what makes a country strong. Now, that's changed. It is, perhaps, what angers me most.

In about sixteen days, my sister will relocate to the West coast to finish school and be closer to family while her husband is away. Sure, I could go into all the reasons why this is a good, positive thing and the only good thing about the entire situation but really, all I can think about is how she and I will don mouse ears and recreate scenes from our childhood at Disneyland this summer.

Over the past, oh let's say 358 days or so, I've had the privilege of "meeting" some fantastic people. It's you, fellow bloggers and readers. You have opened my mind to new perspectives, new stories, new parts of the country and the world and your lives. I feel as though it's no accident that you and I have stumbled upon one another and the bits and pieces of this last year we've shared and the connections we've had are far more than I ever expected. Plus, you're super cool.

So it is okay, after all, to feel like today is any other day. Our hopes, our prayers, our laughs, our connections and our struggles are what make it so. That's the significance. Without those, I suppose, we wouldn't mind the passing of the days anyway. We might not even notice at all.

I Am Terrible With Crushes

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I could never pick just one crush
But if I could, it would be YOU!


Sorry to Miss Sizzle, I have failed. I could not pick a "crush", it's just too difficult. There are several insightful women and men I "know" in the blogging world and, even if it's just in my own mind, I would feel bad for choosing only one. Not so ironically, this is how I operate in life, as well. Rather than picking just one to admire, I often give myself several choices depending on my mood. Hopefully, my ingenious poetic talent will make up for my indecision!