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

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.

Life is more like a river than a lake

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.

A Whole Mess of Gratitude

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.

Living Anyway

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.

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

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.

Things You Can Learn in Virginia

You can recover from an injury and train for a race and complete it, even if you don't completely believe you can.

You cannot use curse words. You can get a $50 fine (I did not).

You cannot speed on the highways, even by a few miles. You can get a ticket (I did).

You can hang out with friends for five days and it can feel like five minutes.

You can see snow at the beach.

You can drink beer after a race and never really know if you're pronouncing it's name correctly. (Yuengling; which, by the way, is made (I believe) in the home town of the fabulous Bre.)

You can spend five hours in a car with someone and not stop talking the entire time.

You can walk with your friends arm-in-arm to the starting line to keep warm, and then run off into the sunrise.

You can get over your fear of hot tubs.

You can eat and drink more in five days than you have in the last two months.

You can realize how great it is to have people that tell you you look nice. Every day.

You can be reminded how much you truly adore someone opening a door for you. Every time.

You can realize that renting a house with stairs is not a good idea for marathon weekend.

You can be lucky enough to witness someone making great changes in their life, and at the same time, see you have the power to do the same in your own.

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.

Looking for the Pony

Last month, I posted about a run I was just grateful to have. It may have been the sun, or that I could actually put in some miles without pain, I'm not sure. I just know that those moments and experiences where gratitude is actually tangible, well I have to make something of them. And as I get older, I realize quite literally, the opportunities are everywhere.

Several years ago, I sat at the funeral of a phenomenal woman. I woman that, if everyone in the room would have been rated on how well they knew her on a scale from one to one hundred, I would have fallen somewhere between 5 and 10. However, had they measured with that same scale how much everyone in the room admired her, I would have broken the scale with the 100 mark appearing only as a faint spec. At the time, I don't think I even completly understood why I admired her so much. It's only lately, looking back with some more life under my belt, I can begin to see it. She was incredibly grateful.

She embodied the feeling and effortlessly made obvious to everyone around her that she was grateful for her life. She was grateful for her family, her husband and children. She was grateful for her beautiful home, her lime green Volkswagon Beetle and her diving certification. She was grateful for her dog, her dark-rimmed reading glasses and early morning tea. She spent most of her time with a smile on her face, an Ace up her sleeve and a joke in her pocket, in case someone might need it. She was completely who she was, flaws and all and yet, still able to put forth a rather contagious attitude, lacking almost all worry and panic.

She was most definitely, more so than I could be accused of at this point in my life, looking for the pony amongst a box of crap.

Sitting at her funeral, those years ago, I remember so many feelings flooding through me. Seeing how her family gathered together, seeing the pain in her husband's face and knowing the love they'd shared. And I found myself envious of this woman who'd lost her life thinking, selfishly, about how they were lucky to have that love; wondering, more selfishly, if I'd ever know it. That feeling, though, was mostly fear. And the fear came over me a little that day, as I began to cry. It was such a great loss. And not just to me, or the people in the room, but to the world. I wondered what logic this dreadful path had followed, trying so hard to make any sense of it. It was cancer that took her and though it won the war, it did not beat her. She lived every bit of life the way it ought to be lived. She used it. "She fought the good fight," her husband said at the service, and he would know best. I think that statement applied to her entire life. What I didn't know then is that it was a message to me, too. I know that now, of course. I've learned that now.

Many days, life can seem like a fight. We ought fight it well. And when you're presented with every little (or gigantic) box of crap along the way, dig and dig and dig through until you find the pony. I'm going to keep doing that, I'm going to keep being grateful for moments of sun and little runs around the neighborhood. I'm going to keep being grateful for the fluff in my hair on a particular day, and my neighbor that waves to me every afternoon. I'm going to keep being grateful for cards in the mail, the price of gas going down a cent and a good-fitting snorkel mask. There's no reason not to. And the ponies, once you commit to digging, are everywhere.