And so I worry

Today, I made seven nervous jokes in five minutes. You know the kind, where you joke about your hair or your shoes or burping or gas or something just to take the attention off whatever the subject is? Well, today the subject was me and the fact that I am freaking out a little.

In case I'd neglected to be blatant to the point of sheer annoyance, let me now cross that line without looking back: I HAVE A MARATHON IN LESS THAN TWO WEEKS. I also have a major event to help coordinate, I have a plane to catch, I have Christmas cards to write, I have binders to organize, I have shopping to do, I have three projects due at work by the end of next week, and I have a knee that, according to my articulate doctor, is "living on borrowed time." No, it doesn't hurt and it's not going to fall off or anything but my doctor says we need to address it A.S.A.P. after the marathon. Ugh.

Never having been known for my quiet suffering or rock-like strength, I apparently have not been hiding it well. I came a little unglued when the hostess set my glass of water on the table at lunch today and when I promptly said "Thank you" she said "yeah, whatever." So I said "Excuse me?" and she ignored me. So then we had to leave the restaurant because I'm certain that, no matter how you've trained, they won't let you out of jail to participate in a marathon if you're charged with Murder One. My poor, innocent lunch companions were kind enough to humor me but I am sure they won't put up with much more.

I'm not sure why I do this to myself. I'm not sure why I freak out internally (alright and a little externally) at these busy times. They are mostly my doing, I know, but you'd think I'd learn to just chill out a little. You'd think I'd learn to not worry. But no, I worry.

I worry about being late. I worry about forgetting something. I worry about not getting the right gift. I worry that I don't have time to read blogs. I worry that this makes me seem like a jerk. I worry about my parents. I worry about my dog. I worry about my money. I worry about my inability to refuse Christmas cookies. I worry about life changing. I worry about life never changing. I worry about the weather. I worry about my legs not wanting to carry me 26.2 miles. I worry I'm not seeing my friends enough. I worry and I worry. I freak out, and get temperamental. I break out from the stress. I get tired. And then, I worry some more.

And I don't know why I worry so much about me. For someone that is calm and collected in a crisis, I sure know how to turn things over in my head at warp speed. Your dog fell off the porch and broke his leg? No problem. Stabilize it, put him in the car and go to the vet. That, I'm all kinds of together about. But with me, I'm totally illogical. I think about how I need to do laundry and pack and send those Christmas cards and, for gosh sake, stop eating so much and then I freak out and start dragging people out of restaurants because I may be stressed but if nothing else, I will demand decent customer service!

Some days I wonder how I have rational thought at all.

Slacker, in many ways

Boy have I been slacking. I go out of town for six days, I barely post, I barely pay attention to anything going on at home (which explains my surprise to the snow here today) and I slack on reading other blogs, too. Anyone care to update me?

In my travels, I've also noticed that I am a slacker in the dress-up department, too. Specifically, when I'm traveling. I like jeans and flipflops and sweatshirts but, my oh my, that is not the norm. People dress so trendily (did I make up a word?) when boarding planes these days. They have the matching purse and tote, shoes and accessories, perfectly made up hair and makeup. It's totally impressive and it will totally never be me.

I was feeling all insecure about this yesterday, on a layover in Dallas. It's true, things are bigger in Texas and, in this case, bigger in the form of fancy travel gear. I was really feeling like a scrub, wishing I'd worn boots instead of maryjanes and a sweater instead of my sweatshirt. And don't even get me started on my hair. I'll never be one of those girls that can just tie it in a knot at the back of her head and look like I just stepped out of a catalog. Don't get me wrong, I'm all about the simple but on me, that's just how it looks, simple. Maybe I need highlights again? Hmm.

Anyway, as I made my way through the concourses from one gate to the other, I thought about my travel attire. Maybe I needed to put a little more effort into it. Maybe I should have worn something else and chosen to bring my leather tote rather than the vinyl one? Who needs comfort anyway? But as I arrived at the gate for my Denver-bound flight, I looked around. There it was: jeans, fleece, knit caps, flip flops, Merrels and clogs... I was with my people, and we were going home.

I may not fit in everywhere, but at least I fit in somewhere.

I Need a Map to Get from the Driveway to the Front Door

It is absolutely official: I have no sense of direction. I may think I do, because I can read maps and I can follow directions, but the sense of direction? The remembering where I've been? The "oh, this looks familiar?" None of that works in my head.

Today, while on a ten mile in the North Carolina woods, I was feeling pretty good. Going from 6,000 feet to sea level will make you all high on oxygen. My brother-in-law was good enough to come with me on the first 2.5 miles and then left me to my own devices for another 2.5 and then, mistakenly as we all know now, assumed I could follow the exact same trail back to the car. The EXACT SAME TRAIL. Well, you know, all them there fire roads just look a heck of a lot alike. (Do you like my new vernacular? It's something I've picked up, just for fun.) So, instead of fire road #6, I turned down fire road #5 ( which I would find out later; the roads were not marked) and then proceeded to get lost and go in one, giant, never-ending, oh-my-god-this-is-my-very-own-Blair-Witch-Project circle.

Eventually, I came across one person. One. In two hours. He was a man in his forties, dressed in camouflage, sitting on a stump eating lunch, next to a chainsaw. Yes, I know how that sounds. But, one person in two hours, you take your chances. Thankfully, the good man had a map and was willing to show me my way out. No, as you probably guessed, I wasn't far. "I always go out with a compass," he said. Yeah, good idea. But probably a better one for me is to always go out on a leash.

All That and a Fully Cooked Turkey

A couple years ago, when my sister moved away for the first time and I was visiting her in her new Kentucky home, we attempted to cook our first solo Thanksgiving dinner. Yes, we had each other but my expertise was green bean casserole, her's mashed potatoes and neither of us had done anything but eat turkey before that day- never pulled out the insides, never greased it up, never even basted. We had to do it, though. We had to pretend life was the same and things hadn't changed, that we could still eat turkey and act like we lived in the bubble of our little family, a bubble that had been stretched over a thousand miles.



What we lacked in experience, we made up for in research and planning, though. Thank heaven and earth for that, because when I called my sister three days before and told her to take the turkey out of the freezer and put it in the refrigerator, she asked me "why?" with a seriousness in her voice that had me imagining us eating our turkey for breakfast the following Friday. Later, she would be just as panicked for me as she said she needed a meat thermometer and I asked "why?" How we staved off e-coli that year, I'll never know.



Talking to her the other night, I knew that we'd never have a frozen turkey at her house, again. In addition to me, she's hosting another eight or so people at her house with the possibility of more. She's not worried a bit and plans to cook all day without, and I quote, "missing any of the football or beer." (We are definitely related.) I'm so proud of her for everything she's done and how far she's come. She continues to grow and amaze me with the choices she makes and the approach she uses in life. As an older sister, I don't know what makes me more proud: the fact that she can do it all or the fact that she believes she can.



Happy Thanksgiving, sister. I love you and I'll see you soon.

As If I Needed a Reason to Make Travel Plans

Coworker 1: When I travel, I have to worry about what my husband wants to do. Sometimes it gets really irritating. And we always have to discuss how the money's being spent.

Coworker 2: Well, I don't have to worry about what my husband wants to do, but I have the kids and they take all the money anyway, so we don't get to do much.

Me: ...

Coworker 1: You, you don't have to worry about either, do you?

Me: No, I don't.

Coworker 2: You get to do everything you want without worrying about your husband, your kids or money. What is that like?

Me: It's pretty great, I guess.

Coworker 1: You need to travel even more than you already do. Take advantage.

Me: I agree.

Coworker 1: Yeah, now, while you don't have to worry about any of the three!

Coworker 2: Yeah, now, while you have the dream trip trifecta!

Just like my mother

I have been way, super busy this last week. I am surprised I have eaten, even. Ha, well that was almost funny because me forgetting to eat would be like Britney Spears forgetting to appear in front of a camera with gum in her mouth. It just would. not. happen. EVER.

Always finding time to waste, though, I've been momentarily distracted (read: consumed several minutes, maybe more) by this little internet psychic: 20 Questions.

Have you tried it? Are you not in pure SHOCK and AWE when it guesses what you're thinking? So far, I have beat it only once when my object was "candle" and it asked me "Is this object round?" and since I have several square and oblong candles, I said "no." It asked me if the object was tall and I said "yes" because candles can be tall but not in the 20 Question world, apparently. It is like when I asked my mom if I could try substituting Splenda for sugar in her cake recipe and she said "not if you still want to call it cake." In her world, it is not "just like sugar." At the end, 20 Questions told me I was wrong and that no, candles are round and short only and I lied and cheated to win. Still, I am in shock and awe.

Lessons

This morning when the alarm went off, I thought it was Saturday. Not because it felt like Saturday but because I heard a different voice on the radio than I'm normally used to waking up to. It's quite inconvenient for a radio d.j. to take vacation, really. It's also a little scary that I've become so used to a certain voice in the morning, the voice of someone I don't even know. The lesson in this: ask for one of those nifty iHome alarm clocks for Christmas. But we won't go there today and talk about the voiceless house, oh no, because there are other things to talk about.

Like knees. My little knee has been upset a little all week- I know, I didn't even whine and cry about it. Much. Just be glad I don't know your phone number, or you would probably be ready to cut the thing off for me by now. It's decided to swell up and was at it's worst point yesterday. The weird thing about it is, unlike a couple weeks ago, there's no pain. I ran on Wednesday with no pain but I couldn't help but feel as though I was being "bad" because, oh my heck, the swelling! Today it appears as though it's going back to normal, which only leads me to believe that the knee issue is work related. Lesson learned: offices cause me injury, I am certain. If I had the option to go and move all day, I would likely have no knee problems and also, a better caboose. But alas, I can't stop buying cute baby clothes (for my nephew) and the dog has become accustomed to food so, I have to sit in this chair.

Other than knees, life is looking quite bright right now. It has everything, okay 99%, to do with my upcoming trip. I am flying, on Thanksgiving nonetheless, East to see my nephew (and, oh yeah, his parents) and duh, of course it's all I can think about. Hence the fact that, I kid you not, I have an entire suitcase of unwrapped Christmas presents already packed. That little kid is a drooling, screaming gift magnet.

Sometimes, it's really tough to be away from him. But it's also incredibly beneficial. Rather than the comfort in having family just up the street like my childhood, our family is now forced to make every moment count. It's not something we grew up doing and it's not something I think our society is accustomed to. We have to learn to deduce what's really important and what really matters to us. Because we're far away and because my brother-in-law's career will continue on that path, we have learned to adapt. I'm thankful to have been stretched in this capacity. I'm thankful to know that distance does not make relationships impossible and that it can, in fact, make them better.

Looking back ten or even five years, I had such a different perspective on adult family life. A life where people separate and generations make more generations. I thought then that it was not my life. I thought that families that came together, gathered around a fire and laughed on holidays were only in LL Bean catalogs. They were there because they had to be, because it looked good. Now, I know different. I know that my family comes together, gathers around whatever they can and laughs (usually about ourselves and how we're utterly shocked that we turned out even half-way normal at all) because we want to.

At the risk of sounding completely ridiculous, nothing feels better than that. Nothing feels better than knowing that the person I am, the person I'm still striving to be, knows that she has finally come far enough to appreciate her place in the world and in her family, equally.

Lesson learned: Be thankful.

Searching

Yesterday, I was sent on a search. I needed to find gold rope. Not just any gold rope, but rope appropriate for the occasion. Appropriate for stringing up just so, for coordinating with the other colors, for looking “nice but not too nice.”

I was sent on this search by my friend, the one with whom I’m attempting to create things. Was the gold rope necessary? Not really. But it is what came from her imagination and I had a spare hour so I searched.

Wandering through the craft store, it all just started to become a little bit much. Not only was I not able to find gold rope, I wasn’t sure I cared. I’m known for taking things on. Projects, people, animals, you name it, I will take it. I will take it and do it well and not rest until it’s done. None of that, however, means I’m passionate about it. Passion, for me, is not a command. It’s not run by a switch that turns on and off when I need it. It’s more of a spontaneous fashion type of passion (excuse the rhyme, I stole it from Barry). When I’ve got it, I’ve got it and, by all means, I need to take advantage of it.

This gold rope wasn’t doing it for me. And more so, all that comes with the gold rope. I’m creating the creations, I’m working on the work but something just isn’t making me gung-ho on this whole deal. My friend assures me that I’m doing fine but I’m not. I don’t have that gold rope passion that she has. And it struck me right there in the store: I need to stop this madness.

No longer purposeful in my search, I ended up on an isle filled with hundreds of Christmas ornaments. I stood in that isle, looked around, took a deep breath and said a little prayer.

Right there, surrounded by the mass-produced signs of the season, I was calm. I was calm and I knew what I had to do.

Later in the evening, I talked with my friend. I told her I wasn’t feeling this. I am working over forty hours a week, trying to meet writing deadlines, sitting on two different boards and training for a marathon. My energy is spread too thin to do the job I think I need to do, which is nothing less than perfection. I told her I’d rather be out extra cash and happy than trying to sell and stressed out with one another.

Being the great person she is, she understood, which is more refreshing than I can describe. She’s busy too, spread very thin, so I was afraid. In the past, I’ve had worse reactions. The reactions that say “no, I’m not mad” but what’s really underlying is “ I am going to be mad for six months and probably not talk to you for at least half that.” Thank heaven and earth I am past those days, those relationships. I had no reason to be afraid this time.

Now, instead, I have permission, from both my friend and myself, to take a back seat for a while. We’re still going to create things together and we’re still going to meet our selling commitments but now, I don’t have to worry. I may or may not be as productive. I may or may not make as much money. But I will still have my sanity and I will still have my friend, and I will not feel the need to aimlessly wander through Christmas décor searching for answers. Answers that, I know, are already in me.

On Sharing

I’m sitting at dinner the other night, having a perfectly good time. There’s a lull in the conversation and my mind wanders. I wonder, all in the span of twenty seconds, when the right time is to share certain things about yourself. When do you tell them your dog’s name or your favorite book? Do you tell them you hate chocolate? When is the right time to share that you’re about a week away from losing your first toe nail?

A monumental, disgusting fact of distance running, I suppose but nonetheless, a fact. I’m guessing you can really go quite some time without sharing this information and some people might never, but I’m a sharer. Not too much, too soon, but eventually, in any relationship, it’s where I find my comfort. It’s not so much what I’m sharing as the reassurance I find in disclosure. I keep and I keep and I keep and the times I can let a little go, well I adore those times.

That’s why I felt so great about my run the other day. Though I understand it’s just a small part of my life, I like to think that some things happen that have significance completely independent of any other force. It’s not true, but how else are things real? How else do we decide between good things and just mediocre? How does one occasion mean more than another? Is it because we choose to make it that way? I think so. And I think we do that by the way we choose to share it.

Which is where I find myself now; really having a lot to share and unsure of where to direct that energy. I’m well aware that a first date is not the time and place for toenail stories. I’m also aware that driving my friends and family crazy with disgusting stories is no wiser. But where does it all go? Well, it looks like right now it goes here, but how long will that work? It would be far more productive to have a place, I think. I’m also, however, aware of what’s under my control, and this isn’t.

I had a friend, that two days ago completed a 100 mile endurance race. His wife, was there for the twenty-eight plus hours and even paced him at the end for the last few miles. His words at the end? “There’s no one else I would want to share that with.” It meant a lot for him to finish, of course, but it meant more that his wife was there with him, to share.

I hear this over and over, that things mean more when you share them but I rarely have chosen to believe it. Sure it can make an experience deeper and more memorable, but it doesn’t make it worth more, does it? Well, turns out now I think maybe it does. Figures, the time this actually starts to resonate is when I realize I’m losing a toenail. How deep and meaningful is that? I know, it’s not. It’s just disgusting.

Undeniable

Me: Have you guys decided where you're going to build yet?

Mom: We're thinking about the land down South. It's warmer down there and a closer drive for me.

Me: Don't you have to have a septic tank out there?

Mom: Yep, but it's already on the property. It's brand new.

Me: Have they changed something in septic tanks or can you still not use Clorox?

Mom: What?

Me: I don't think you can use bleach or certain chemicals with a septic tank.

Mom: Oh my god, I hope not. I would die without Clorox!


There are times when I have no doubt in my mind that we are mother and daughter. Sure, we have the same blue eyes and same color hair but what really convinces me is our need to have things really, really clean.

The Difference Six Days Can Make

Less than a week ago, I had no idea. What to do, that is. Or what to think. Or how to think. I couldn't run and I thought, no was certain, that I would never run again. It was a combination of pain, panic, disappointment and frustration.

I was forced to take Monday off. And Tuesday. Wednesday, I woke up with no pain at all. I still took the day off, figuring it was just a fluke. Thursday I had no pain so after work, I considered a little run. One note about this pain I had: it never hurt to walk or run. My knee only hurt when leaning or twisting from one side to the other. Like when I turned to get out of the car, that about killed me. Come Wednesday, though, and Thursday the pain was no longer. So, Thursday I decided I'd go for a little run, just to see. Well, I did a nice five miles on hills and had no pain at all. I was fearful, still and had still convinced myself that when I woke up Friday, I'd be paying for it.

Friday came, and no pain. So then I had some decision making to do. Do I attempt more running? Do I try to stay on schedule? Most importantly, do I do my long run? My twenty miler.

Well, not as if this is totally shocking, but I decided to head out for my long run yesterday morning. I waited until later in the morning when it would at least be 35 degrees (F), donned some warm running gear, left the iPod at home and headed out. Due to my run on Thursday and my training so far, I knew the first ten or so would probably be fine. What I didn't expect was to feel fine at 14, and 16, and 18. But I did. It wasn't until just near the end of 19 that I felt really tired. Mile 20 was pretty damn tough, too, but I did it. I stopped to walk across the crosswalk toward home and then decided to run the rest of the way home, too. Sure it was probably only 2/10 of a mile but heck, I need to practice that anyway.

All who said to wait and not panic were COMPLETELY AND ABSOLUTELY RIGHT, as usual. Like I said, excellent at avoiding panic in other situtations or other people's problems but totally irrational when it comes to myself. Imagine that.

But let me just tell you, finishing that twenty miles felt fantastic. I am not sure I could convey the feeling in words if I tried. I've always said all those who say "it's not about the destination, but the journey" have never crossed a finish line. Now I think they've probably never had a week like I had, either. Six days before this run, I was wondering if I could ever get back to running, now I feel more like I'll never be able to get away from it.

I will still continue to enjoy this journey, though. If anything, I have even more appreciation for what it means to get to the end.

I might wake up, and then take a nap.

I'm sitting at home today, being lazy, reaping the benefits of working for a semi-governmental organization. I just had some breakfast, chatted on the phone with a friend (who gets to stay home every day- no fair. Well there's that whole child-rearing thing but whatever) and did some dishes.

I'm going to head to a friend's house soon to work on craft projects that we then are going to sell for profit, wish us luck. It is very creative and innovative, but we are not sure, like with any new business, that the market is going to jump all over it. We have some serious interest, but I'm not sure that's enough. Also, I'm not a millionaire and I can't afford to fund this forever. Hopefully, the profit fairies will smile upon us. If not, that's okay. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

I have this optimistic attitude thanks to no knee pain. Yes, to all of you that told me not to jump to conclusions, you might have been right. Might. Seriously though, I am all kinds of good at not panicking until it comes to my body and/or my abilities. Then, I go into freak out, spaz out, break down mode which, thank heavens, is only temporary. So it's either bad day or manic, you decide.

Speaking of deciding, I love how everyone (okay, not everyone) was a political blogger this week. It's refreshing to know that people do care to educate themselves on their ballot issues. For instance, I got a call from my 19 year old cousin who said that he got to vote for the first time and was disappointed that every thing he voted for didn't pass. Ah yes, that is the way of democracy, son.

I wasn't feeling quite so civil in Wash Park last night, though. After meeting a friend for dinner, I came back to my car to find a young parking cop writing me a parking ticket. "Wait, wait!" I said. "Sorry, if you were two minutes earlier, I wouldn't have written the ticket." "But I'm not in a No Parking Zone," I said. "Your car is about a foot past the sign," he said. Seriously, 20 year-old parking cop on a power trip. Cool. It's a good thing the dinner and wine were good.

I'm off to watch the news and drink some tea. Staying home rocks.

Just Once

Just once, I'd like to respond to one of these men in their fifties who email me, a twenty-seven year-old woman, and say things like "I want to make your dreams come true." Really? Because my dreams start with avoiding being freaked out by men too old for me!

But I know that would be wrong, so I just delete the messages. It's like in the old vampire movies: They can't come in unless you invite them.

There are some things in which I refuse to compromise

Thanks for all the great comments on yesterday's entry. It's a tough time and knowing that others understand is comforting, if even in a temporary way. I've not come to terms with it yet as I know it's too soon to make decisions, but today is better than yesterday. I refuse to back down, just yet. I won't compromise what I want for the latest challenge. It will be okay. And I know life will keep going whether I choose to participate or not.

Like this little bit of fun:

I get a note from a potential date the other night. Strangely, not an online dater but another "set up" type of situation. We'd exchanged emails, asked a few questions and all seemed normal. In my note to him, I asked him what kind of music he liked. He listed: rock, heavy, classic, jazz blues, good signs so far. Then, he said this: I absolutely hate country music. Despise it, every bit of it. From the old to the new to everything in between, hate it. I just can't make myself listen to it.

So I emailed, in so many words, back: Sorry, I just don't think we're a good fit. Best of luck to you.

And it wasn't because he didn't like country music. We all don't have to love every bit of music out there. What got me was how closed-minded ("the old, the new, everything in between") and adamant ("hate it") he was. If you're like this about country music, how are you going to be about my dog? Really, open the mind a little. I dislike certain music, I don't "absolutely hate" anything. The only thing I do hate is closed-mindedness. It has little to do with the music.

Except for the fact that, dude, my childhood was built on that stuff. Come on, now!

So, you see, other parts of life go on. I just wish every decision were so easy.

___________________________________

P.S. Hope you voted today! I did.

P.P.S. To all my friends in the PNW, hope you're not getting flooded right now. Be safe!

i have no idea

I don't know how to do this.

I woke up this morning with a pretty severe pain in the inside of my right knee. Yes, the same knee I've had problems with, but different place and different pain. But it's a bad pain. Pain that keeps me from moving my knee more than one degree either direction. Getting out of the car even hurts, twisting is out of the question. And I don't know how to deal with it.

The anger.

The pain.

The loss.

The disappointment, yet again.

The depression I'm afraid it will cause.

All of it.

I am four weeks out from a marathon. Four weeks out of a huge thing I've been preparing for, not just physically and mentally, but with a travel plans. And friends. And pasta dinners. And after race parties. And promises of pace groups, and finish line celebrations.

And today feels like that's all being taken away from me. This is a worse pain than I've felt, ever. It hurts to the point that I've been reduced to tears several times today. Then again, that wasn't just from the physical pain.

I hate the person that it makes me. It makes me not care. It makes me not laugh. It makes me not eat. And for someone that up until now has been fighting the urge to eat everything in the fridge, this is huge. Instead, I just don't care. It magnifies everything difficult I've been dealing with and it makes it worse. It reduces the good to the point where I can't even see it.

That's the feeling that scares me the most. I've never been depressed for more than a couple days at a time, certainly never diagnosed. But that's largely due to my being able to run. Or bike, or whatever gets me moving enough to get things in perspective. Which leads to being able to deal with life. Which leads to being able to be the person I want to be for those around me. Which leads to being present in my life. Which leads to happiness, and family, and friends, and fun. My life. It's all connected.

I feel robbed. I feel cheated. I feel like this thing, the one thing I feel like I really only do for me, is being taken away. When you're doing something good for yourself, it's not fair that it be taken away. It just doesn't make sense. And I know no one died and I know it's not the worst thing in the world but in all honesty, I think it's too hard for me to deal with. Sitting here tonight, I have no idea what to do. There's nothing I can do. I'm helpless and powerless. And hurt. And it came out of nowhere. And it's not fair.

The floor, it's clean

Seventeen years ago, I used to have this argument with my mother about cleaning. Doing chores, to be more precise. My chores, or child labor, as I was convinced it was then, consisted of cleaning my bathroom, vacuuming the basement and keeping my room clean. It would be no stretch to say that I despised every bit of it.

Seventeen years ago, I thought it was because I hated cleaning. I hated the idea of scrubbing a shower and toting a vacuum up and down the stairs. I thought I had better things to do, like homework and extra credit, of which I finished every bit and then some because yes, you must get straight A's and then some, afterall this is the fifth grade and if you're not succcessful now then what can you expect for your future? Also, I wanted to watch Fresh Prince of Bel Air after school everyday, not clean the toilet.

I'd like to say this improved as I got older. I'd like to say I took pride in helping my family keep a clean house, a house presentable to anyone. But the truth is, without a lot of nagging and even some threatening at times, I didn't. Not that I wouldn't do a good job when I did it -afterall, chores are like homework and if you vacuum and dust well, that's like extra credit- but actually getting me to do it was near miraculous. Once, without being asked, I cleaned the entire house for my mother one Saturday while she was working and, I kid you not, she called all my teachers the following Monday to check my grades and attendance. I had just wanted to surprise her, but instead I made her suspicious for at least the next month.

That's right around the time I remember her starting to use the line: When it's your house, you will care. And she was completely right. From the time I had my first dorm room, to my first apartment and even now, I can't sleep if my bathtub is dirty. I can't walk into my house and sit down if the vacuum needs to be run. I can't look at the television if it's got a spec of dust on the screen. I no longer have homework, I have housework. And what's better, I am starting to like it. I don't like it when I'm dead tired from a day at work or a week of running, but once I get going, it's quite nice. If my life always stays this busy and I can justify the cost, I would like a little help to get my floors clean but until then, I find it quite theraputic. It's like running, except I am capable of actually being the best. I can't be an elite runner, but I can totally lead the pack in cleaning. The best, really. Clean clean, all the time. The Queen Cleaner, even.*

To my surprise, this isn't a secret to those around me. Along with some dinners and sweaters for my birthday last month, I received a couple gifts that could very well have me eating off the floor. And liking it.

What's more, it solidifies the fact that I am not the stereotypical don't-give-me-appliances-as-gifts woman. Yes, diamonds are beautiful and of course I would not refuse them but shiny gifts come in a variety of packages.

_______________________________________

*I am now the Queen of Stretching and Floor Cleaning. No need to bow.

Twelve Good Things

1. My sister got to welcome her husband home from Iraq a month early last night.

2. This is a drop back week for my long run. This means I only have to run 10 miles, not 18 or 20. I highly recommend drop back weeks when you're marathon training or just doing long runs in general. Your body needs a break, just like your mind. It's like vacation, you come back stronger.

3. I get to go to a hockey game tonight.

4. I am getting Christmas shopping finished early this year.

5. I'm hanging out with my Grandma later.

6. We're having Chinese food for lunch.

7. It's in the 50's today and the sun is shining.

8. My laundry is done!

9. Just found out one of my very best friends is coming to visit in ten days.

10. Someone gave me the new Alan Jackson cd and let me tell you, I am not sure I could love it more. Even if you don't call yourself a "country fan" you should take a listen. Good stuff.

11. I leave in just 20 short days to see my nephew again!

12. Injini's are good for your feet. Serious. All you blister-getting runners ought to try. You won't regret it.

Training = Empanadas, sometimes

I am so forgetful. Here I am, beating myself up about being a major pig lately completely forgetting the hunger that comes with training. I eat a bowl of cereal for breakfast- the high protein, low fat cereal- and thirty minutes later, I'm starving. And not just the oh-I-want-something-to-eat-because-I'm-bored hunger but the stomach-growling kind. So then I eat my mid-morning snack. At 7:15.

For anyone who has ever trained really hard for something, you know how this is. You know that when you say you're hungry, it's because you really are. Yet, in the little body image mind game constantly going in my head, I forget this. I forget that your body's fuel needs change when you're depleting it like crazy. I forget the feeling that says GET ME SOMETHING TO EAT NOW OR I WILL EAT YOUR ARM AND QUITE POSSIBLY THE CHILD STANDING NEXT TO YOU is serious, not hormonal. Instead I eat when I'm hungry and don't always make good choices and feel bad about it later. I don't know why I do this, but I do. Like the empanadas I ate after my long run last weekend. They were so very good, but I didn't let myself completely enjoy them, which is sad. But honestly, empanadas are way too good to care anyway.

That all ends today though. I forget no more. I will eat, I will eat well. I will enjoy it. Today I have eaten the following (sorry, I know this is thrilling): 1 bowl of oatmeal, 1 apple, 1 banana, 1 soy chai tea, 1 green salad, 1/2 cup of lemon pepper tuna, 1 cheese stick, 1 piece of whole grain toast, 1 handful of pretzels, 1 pack of 100 calorie crackers, 5 strawberries and 1 yogurt. And it's not yet 2:00 p.m. Tonight I will have ravioli and asparagus, which I've been looking forward to all week. It's okay though, because along with eating enough for a family of four, my pants are loose and requiring a belt. Marathon training is not meant to be a diet plan, but it sure is a nice side effect, as are the empanadas.

Sillier than I thought

To: JustRun
From: Potential Date
Re: Dinner

Sounds good. So we'll meet at 7:00. Looking forward to it.


To: Potential Date
From: JustRun
Re: Dinner

Okay, me too.


The next day

To: JustRun
From: Potential Date
Re: Dinner

Do you mind if my roommate joins us? I'd like him to meet you, too. See you at 7:00.

To: Potential Date
From: JustRun
Re: Dinner

Uhh, you hang with your roommate tonight. Maybe we can get together another time.

___________

Oh, this is already so much fun.

Call me crazy

There are fifteen pool tables in this place and probably fifty people. I don't think it was me dropping my napkin on the floor that caused your bad shot.

Sorry, that's just how I rationalize.






(It should be noted the accuser is a friend of mine, not a date.)

Like writing a resume, but harder

Last weekend, my mother ran into some old classmates from high school. Never having been the Keep Up With The Joneses type, she tends to brag endlessly about her children without regard for the perceptions or beliefs of others; even to those with doctor sons and magazine editor daughters. She's very happy your son saves the vision of orphans in third world countries, but did you know her daughter "gets paid ridiculously for sitting in front of a computer?!" It's true what they say, about mothers seeing only good.

I thought about this the day I finally decided to try the online thing. It sort of feels like a competition. A competition with people you'll never meet. I'm no good at this. Sure, there's a brain surgeon that models Hooters t-shirts on the side but did you know I can run slowly and read code? Honestly, who could resist me?

But a competition, it is not. I know I gave the impression that a day of stir-crazy boredom and cruel temperatures drove me to the "scary" world of online personal ads, but that's not the entire picture. Some of you know I've been thinking about this for a while, because I asked for your opinions (thanks, by the way- to those I know in real life and to those only by blog). So instead of making assumptions and listing reasons why it wasn't right, I could do something new and sign up. Now, I may be right, I may be wrong, but at least I'll have tried.

Also, it makes sense to have crossed the bridge before you go doubting the potential of what's on the other side.

I believe Mean Emailer (I'm getting one on nearly every post these days) said it best: Good. Get dating and find someone. I'm sick of reading about all the reasons this guy or that guy just isn't right. Just don't completely lose touch with reality. I cant stand one more psycho dating blog.

Precisely, Mean Emailer. Me too. But I'm a little more optimistic than that. I don't just want to stop writing about the wrong people, because Heaven knows I have met them, I have this silly idea in my head that one day I'll be able to write about something that's right. And don't worry, I won't go losing touch with reality. I know what's right for me, as I always have. If I forget, I'll just ask my mother.

Eighteen miles worth

Yesterday morning, I returned from a very torturous eighteen mile run. It was so hard, I spent the better part of the last half looking for the giant cement blocks tied to my legs a la sleeping with the fishes.

After I spent twenty minutes crying, trying to remember why I'm doing this, I sat on the floor of the shower -I couldn't stand but more so because of the light headedness and less the legs- and tried to think of the people I could call for some sympathy and/or advice.

I have a lot of runner friends and while that's always a great source of inspiration I more wanted to whine than anything. So, I called my sister.

She answered and I went right into my pity party. "Why am I doing this, " I asked?

She didn't know. A few seconds of silence passed and then she said "I know! Get over to Grandma's house now. I just talked to her and she has cinnamon rolls. Go eat some!"

And so I went and ate 18 miles worth of cinnamon rolls and didn't feel one ounce of guilt.

The simplest solutions are often the best.

Watch Dog

Alternate Ways to Stay Warm

When most of your city is snowed in, you have extra time.* You might clean your closet. You might work. You might realize your electricity has gone out and you no longer have heat. You might start to get a little cold and then you might remember you can actually do something with your hands other than type. So you might make a fire.


Sure, it's pretty simple but you were never a boy scout, or a girl scout, for that matter, so it takes a while. But you get it going, and your house is warm again.

You read a book. You take a nap. You have silence, but you might not be entirely comfortable with it. Time to think isn't something that you've had a lot of lately. And now it's all you have. Or maybe all you can't ignore.

So you think, but not about anything in particular. You remember warmer places you've been, trying to fool yourself into believing you don't live in Colorado.
You close your eyes and think of warm sand and gentle waves.

Or maybe you make a grocery list and clean the bathroom by candlelight. Cleaning is a good way to stay warm.

Eventually, though, your mind drifts again. Like back to last Sunday afternoon when you were at home, folding laundry, with football on the t.v. and you thought to yourself "this is really nice." Except, when you walked down the hall to put towels in the closet, you told yourself it was sure nice, but something was still missing. Your mind wandered then, as it does now, and you realize there are just some things about you that can't be denied.


And when that get's old, you open a bottle of wine and sit by the fire. Soon the electricity returns and you realize your house has been at a balmy 56 degrees (F) for a few hours. Should have opened the wine sooner.

So you enjoy your wine, watch some mindless television and wander around your house a little. You check your email, chat with your mom and revel in the beauty of a working furnace.

Then, you create a profile on an online dating site because when it comes to finding ways to stay warm, you just never know.




* A LOT of people worked today and had absolutely no extra time to think, muchless stay warm. I appreciate that and I take electricity for granted way too much.

Blizzard

This is a really tough day for me. It's 28 degrees (F) and snowing. Blizzarding, to be exact.
And I'm freezing. And you know how I feel about that.

I have a list of things running through my head that I could do:

Watch movies
Clean
Write my article that's due next week
Work
Sleep
Organize the pantry
Laundry
Read


But none of those seem particularly interesting. The only thing I'd really like to do is catch the next plane out of here. But good luck finding a flight to take off anywhere in this mess.

If you were stuck in a blizzard right now, what would you do?

Because

It was nearly 8:00 p.m. I'd been up since 5:00 a.m. I was up late the night before. I'd been taken to lunch, and dinner. I'd had two beers. It was a long, busy day, they have all been lately. One have-to-do turns into the next. But I had to run. I had to.

Because I felt fat.
Because I felt unsettled.
Because I needed to hear my own feet under me.
Because I needed to hear my own breath.
Because I needed to be outside.
Because there's a blizzard coming tonight.
Because I don't want to fall behind in training.
Because I want to set an example.
Because I want to feel good.
Because I like the sound of the leaves on the ground beneath me.
Because I am training without a partner for the first time.
Because running between the shadows makes me feel adventurous.
Because I don't want to take it for granted.
Because my knee is finally comfortable on the downhill again.
Because Fall is as good as gone.
Because my life feels full.
Because sometimes I feel a little lonely.
Because I've figured so much out.
Because I still have a long way to go.
Because I need to relax.
Because I needed to get excited.
Because I didn't need to wear gloves.
Because I run faster in the dark.
Because I'm quite certain that whatever it is I'm waiting on may never come.
Because five minutes later I remind myself that can't be true.
Because I wanted to have fun.
Because I had pizza and ice cream and beer in the same night.
Because I have faith that I'm doing the best I can.
Because I want to work hard.
Because I have a name to live up to.
Because I never really know when I'll get another chance.

Do I know how to party or do I know how to party?

Sixteen and Twenty-seven

There's nothing easy about running sixteen miles. Except for seventeen, eighteen, nineteen and, well, all that follow. This particular sixteen had a few other tricks up it's sleeve, such as 28 degrees with wind and an I'm-going-to-pick-you-up-at-ten-thirty-be-ready call from my mother. Translation: wear layers and hurry.

Miles one through ten passed like any other. I got into some music, enjoyed the rising sun and remembered how the benefit of cold weather is that you have to wear gloves and therefore, have built-in snot and sweat wipers. How convenient. Then, mile eleven. I started to feel the cold. My legs started to feel tired. Really, really tired. I stopped to walk a little, that helped some. Same thing in mile twelve, and thirteen. Walked twice in mile fourteen, once in mile fifteen and the majority of mile sixteen. All in all, the run took about twenty minutes longer than I'd hoped. But, the sixteen miles were covered. I'm not entirely sure how to look at it. Not a complete failure, but not a complete success. Something in between, something unsure.

Somewhere in this uncertain run, I had a chance to think about today, this last day of twenty-six. I thought of the seasons, the travel, the work, the friends; all of it. It was a year of saying goodbye at times, and welcoming the new. It was a year of many firsts, and a few lasts. A year of learning and change and yet, a year of becoming better at being me; I did twenty-six pretty well, I think. Birthdays are so unlike long runs because they don't get harder. I suppose, though, they're just as beneficial in that each time one comes around, you're a little more prepared for what lies ahead.

I never really put much stock into those 'getting older' phrases that seem to surround us. I never thought much about the way we (hopefully) collect knowledge as we get older. Thankfully, wisdom is forgiving and allows you to posses it, even in doubt. It really does get better all the time. Or maybe that feeling is age, I don't know. The best thing is, I don't have to. That's what I really feel. The unknown is allowed now and it's not as scary as it once seemed.

I'm not sure what twenty-seven will bring. Sure, I'd like it to include good times, success, family and friends; some new, some old, some running and some beaches. Those are all things I'd like but really, I know I'll get what I need. It may not be a complete success or a complete failure, but appropriately, it will land somewhere in between.

A plan is just a plan

Running has taught me many things. First, and foremost, plan ahead. You never know what the weather, your stomach or your mind is going to do until you're actually out there in the middle of it all. You need to be ready.

That said, it's also taught me to change plans. I've learned how to be okay with six miles instead of ten or twelve instead of four. I listen to my body now. Mostly. The knee injury that plagued me over the summer is now gone (hear that? That's the sound of me knocking on wood.) and I can run again. Obviously, I'm thankful. I'm not shattering any land speed records here, I'm just happy running isn't trying to break up with me anymore. But there's still a little sting there.

On Sunday, October 22, 2006, I was supposed to run the Chicago Marathon for the first time. It was a long, hard decision to give this one up. I wanted it badly, but my knee had other plans. Since there were days in the Just Run Knee Injury '06 saga in which I couldn't even walk without pain, I know it was the right decision. It was safe, and logical, and smart. But it still bums me out.

On Sunday, I'll be running sixteen miles. Yes, I know, nothing to scoff at. But it's not a marathon, it's not in Chicago and I'm not going to wake up on Monday, October 23, 2006 with the ability to say "I just ran 26 miles on the last day I was 26." And that sort of sucks. Because that was the plan, and also some of the motivation.

But I know I have a choice on Sunday, still. I know that I can wake up in the morning, go about my day, run sixteen miles and feel just as good about Monday. And 27.

Afterall, it was only a couple months ago when I could do nothing at all.

___________________________________

Good luck to all of you running on Sunday. I hope, pray, and cross fingers that it's a great race for you, all 26.2 of it.

Nerds Have Scandal Too

NOTE: This story did not happen in my current office!

There's a story, of a wicked lady, who worked in a land of very lovely cubes.

The wicked lady, we'll call her Brenda, is generally a bad fit amongst all the other residents of Cubeland. Brenda's motto is Talk All the Time, Even When It's Not Appropriate. Due to this motto, Brenda's neighbors, even those on the other side of the building, know all her business.

Years ago, Brenda married a well-to-do man, we'll call him Chuck, who owned a car dealership. He built Brenda a beautiful home, bought her beautiful clothing and jewelry and even paid her credit card bill without ever actually looking at it. He should have looked at the bill. A mere three months after swearing to love and honor him forever, Brenda was unfaithful to her husband and managed to charge dinners, hotel rooms and even an airline ticket to her credit card for three more months without Chuck ever noticing.

Well, Chuck was finally tipped off when Brenda claimed to be going on a "business trip" and while Brenda was on the "trip" Chuck ran into several of her coworkers at lunch.

"Do you all miss Brenda," he innocently asked?

"Yes, she must be having fun with her sister," they responded.

"Sister?"

Chuck, being bright but not altogether sharp, finally caught on.

Brenda and Chuck subsequently divorced. About a year later, after she was certain anyone on her floor could recite her dramatic story of Love Gone Wrong from memory, Brenda started something new. Donnie, we'll call this one, was her newest "victim." (They aren't necessarily victims as they have to know they're making bad decisions on some level, but you can't help but feel bad for a guy who makes a bad decision but never dreams that it would be broadcast to the entire world- but that's Brenda.) Donnie, also a local business owner, apparently became smitten with Brenda very early on. He bought her gifts, sent her flowers and even called her during the day just to say he was thinking of her. Could it be, a true love story? A story of a changed woman? Maybe.

Except there was this one thing about Donnie that made this impossible. He was married. There is no way Brenda and Donnie's love could be the true, wonderful, happily-ever-after thing she made it out to be, because Donnie already had a wife. "Oh, that's just wrong," you say. That's wrong? What about this:

...

...

wait for it...

The wife? The woman to whom Donnie was married? His supposed happily-ever-after? Yeah, her. Well, she worked with Brenda.

That's right, the wife, let's call her Kristy, was a fellow resident of Cubeland. Kristy was smart, put together, kind and fun. And obviously, not privy to a huge part of her husband's life. Until one day, Brenda, the Queen of Brazen, brought in a memento for her desk. A photo of her new boyfriend. The boyfriend she'd openly admitted was married but was "planning on leaving his wife."

Well, Donnie never got around to actually doing that. Luckily, in saving herself, her children and her reputation of actually possessing a brain, Kristy beat him to it. Way to go, Kristy. Someone had to have a brain in this story eventually.

So now, Kristy works in another department and is happily married to a man she can trust. Chuck, also remarried, has two kids and a wife who stays home. Brenda has recently married Donnie and, as she tells it, -because you knew she would- a fairly detailed prenuptual agreement will accompany them on their journey of love. Fairytale endings are just the best, you know?

And you thought IT people were boring.

Because it has always been true

As autumn is all too soon coming to an end, I'm reminded of how I've always loved it. It makes me happy and it's not just because my birthday is this month. It's just a lovely time to embrace change.

It's also a lovely time to look back on Summer. On all the summers, really. The good times that were had, the warmth and the freedom. If there's one thing that I've always been true to, it's my love of summer.

And it seems we really are always true to ourselves. Yes, we can change but at the same time, what we honestly feel at the core of who we are never really does.

Winter is coming, and I'm not happy about it.

My Windshield on the World, Part 5

Over a month ago, I drove from Seattle to Vancouver (and back). Of course, I took pictures. So many of you already know what this looks like (which I find very cool) but for those that don't, my point of view:

Seattle, just beyond the trees.

Some water alongside the road.

I don't know where this is, exactly.

Under a bridge.

Almost to the border.

Canada, here I come.

Obligatory rearview shot.

Welcome to Surrey.
Why, thank you.

One of many bridges in and around Vancouver.

And there you have it.

The Pacific Northwest was very dry around that time. Have you all had more rain/snow since? Still, the drive was beautiful. I recommend it and really, what more reason do you need? Ha.

Part of me feels like I've had enough of this road thing for a while. Next time I go, I want to go and stay put long enough to forget what day it is. Maybe next year.

Parts 1-4, if you must.

Part 4

Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

I'm So Vain

(Not to be confused with blogger JustACoolCat who is also so vain, but much more stylish than I.)

This time last year, I had to renew my driver's license. The one I held before was the best I.D. photo I'd ever had. It was taken the day I turned twenty-one and you could see the excitement all over that photo. I don't know what key to the future I thought I was getting that day, but the pay off was a decent photo on my I.D., so very hard to come by.

When I renewed my license last year, the woman at the counter was mean. She screeched out "next!" and the flashbulb was going off before I even had warning. I knew it was going to be bad and when my new license arrived in the mail a couple weeks later, well, bad would be putting it kindly. I had a half smile, half open eyes and, quite possibly, seven chins. Awful. I mean, if I were a missing person and anyone attempted to look for me using this identification photo, they would be in search of a 40 year old woman on drugs toting around a quart of Jim Beam.

So I carried this I.D. for the last year and each and every time I've had to hand it to someone, I've cringed. I've thought, over and over, about excuses I could use to get a new one. Could I "lose" it? No, they store the photo. Could I move? No, they just make you put a sticker with your new address on the back. Maybe I should change my name? As if I don't have enough "funny stories" on dates these days. The other day, it hit me. I no longer have a vision restriction! The information on my license is incorrect! Guess I need a new one!

So yesterday, I hoofed it over to the D.M.V. and stood in a remarkably short line. When I got to the counter, I told the woman (a much nicer one) my situation. "Oh," she said, "all you need to do is have your doctor put a sticker on the back saying you're no longer visually impaired. Or, you can pay $15 and renew it."

Best $15 I've ever spent.

As Real As It May Seem

When I was eighteen and moving out on my own, out of the only home I'd ever known, for the first time my mother waited exactly five days to rearrange my bedroom. Not because I wouldn't be back for holidays and summer (because I was, and more) but because she wanted room for her "crafts." Not like witch craft, think dried flowers and hot glue guns and paints, oh my!

It would be putting it mildly to say I was offended. I felt like that was still my territory and though she took care to put everything back where it was upon each and every one of my returns, I still felt like it was being taken away from me. Did she know me at all? Did she know I was in college! For the first time! In a dorm room! With people I didn't know! Going to classes! Really tough classes! With a lot of reading! With all this new pressure! And though in my mind I knew I could always go home, in my heart I felt like I had no place to go. Nothing was mine anymore. My belongings consisted of clothing, books, Target bedding, a shower caddy and a mini fridge. Nothing was the same.

Eventually, I settled into this new life. And by settled I mean tried out three colleges before I found one I liked, but that's beside the point. I started to accumulate things little by little which eventually found their way into an apartment with a roommate and a shower with shelves where you didn't have to ever move your soap if you didn't want to. It felt good to have my own space and I embraced the independence. This, apparently, was the signal flare my mother was waiting for to GIVE AWAY MY CHILDHOOD FURNITURE.

Yes, that's right, give it away. The bed that I slept in for fifteen years. The dresser in which I'd so carefully inscribed the lyrics to my favorite Debbie Gibson songs with a permanent marker because I was just so into her music. The night stand where the photo of my very first boyfriend stood, even after we'd parted ways. And she wanted to give it all away. "Because they need it more than we do" she'd say. "Because you have ABSOLUTELY NO SENTIMENTAL VALUE ON ANYTHING!" I'd accuse.

It seems a little silly now but at the time, that furniture was mine. It was the only thing I could think of that represented me and the fact that I'd lived in that house for eighteen years. It held memories and at twenty-one when just about everything felt new and uncomfortable, that stuff was old and accepting. A constant.

It took me a long time to get over that. The furniture was nothing spectacular and mom was even kind enough to hold off for a few months while I got used to the idea. But that's how long it took for me to realize that it wasn't the stuff I missed, it was the familiarity.

Today, thinking back on that, I completely understand. I didn't want a beat up dresser, she's Deb-ra Gibson now anyway. I didn't need a bed that was three inches too short. It was the familiarity, that's all. And that's who I am. I need familiar things. I need a center in the midst of the spinning circus that life can become. So when something familiar comes back to me, I can't help but give it a special place in my heart. But now, I have experience on my side. I know that "familiar" doesn't necessarily mean "fit."

When I graduated from college and landed my first big-girl job, my mother bought me a new bedroom set. It's big and beautiful and made of heavy pine. Sure, there are no frames of first loves adorning the shelves but it's got it's own story. A newer one, a less familiar one. One in which the best is just yet to be.

__________________________________________________
And now, the soundtrack to a fifth grade broken heart:

Debbie Gibson, Only In My Dreams

every time i'm telling secrets
i remember how it used to be
and i realized how much i miss you
and i realize how it feels to be free

now i see i'm up to no good (no, no, no)
and i wanna start again
can't remember when i felt good (baby)
no i can't remember when

chorus:
no, only in my dreams
as real as it may seem
it was only in my dreams

couldn't see how much i missed you (now i do)
couldn't see how much it meant
now i see my world come tumbling down
now i see the road is bent

if i only once could hold you (no, no, no)
and remember how it used to be
if only i could scold you
and forget how it feels to be free

no, only in my dreams
as real as it may seem
it was only in my dreams

The Fish Still Exist

What's the best way to not think about a guy? Go out with another one.

So that's what I did tonight. I met a guy for coffee and for an hour and a half, we talked about all kinds of stuff. Most important, though, is what we didn't talk about and therefore, I didn't have to think about. Other guys, of course. So that was nice.

Unfortunately, that's likely all that will come of that little meeting. Sorry to those pulling for the firefighter from the grocery store but I just don't think that's going to happen. (Short story short: nice guy, good conversation, something missing.)

I'm glad to have had the distraction, though. When a girl's feeling any sort of pressure, she needn't do more than to remind herself that yes, there are in fact still fish in the sea. Sure, somedays it feels like all those fish are of the sucker variety while other days it feels like she lives miles from the nearest shore but nevertheless, the fish exist. And they are willing to have coffee with her. And she's not likely to die alone with only her dog to witness.

I also gotta say, this blog thing? It's a good little thing to have in your corner. All your thoughtful comments were a good thing to have while getting over this speed bump that is a necessary evil in dating life. Which, by the way, I am so unacustomed to. I am not a serial dater. To have met several new people in the last couple weeks is so very foreign to me. It's making my life seem all "social experiment" and not in an entirely good way. But that, I suppose, is another story.

So thanks for your insights. I appreciate it, I really do. I've especially been reminded that one, it's okay to have a hopeless romantic side, two, I am smarter now than I was in February, and three, I can always just not answer the phone. Dear internet, you teach me so much. You really, really do.

Also, I ran 6.5 miles today at a pace 30 seconds faster/mile than my normal "fast" so I'm feeling pretty flippin' good about that too. Just saying.

And I Still Don't Know

After eleven hours at work and another two at a team meeting for a charity event I'm helping to put together, I walked into my house to the phone ringing.

I answered on the last ring. It was him. We've talked occasionally and seen each other only socially over the last six months. No detail, just friendly chat. The kind of contact you're supposed to have with a guy it took you a year to get over. Short, sweet and not at all emotional, adorable or caring. It worked. I got over it, finally. I found a new crush. Went out with others; a doctor, a banker, a soldier. All has been well.

"Hi, how are you?"

"Hi.... haven't heard from you in a while."

"Yeah, I know."

"What's new?"

Did the little catch-up-before-we-can-get-to-the-real-reason-I-called game here.

"Well, do you have a minute?"

"Sure, I'm just walking in the door."

"Well, I just wanted to call... and say..."

"Is everything okay? Are you okay?" Always the caring person, I am.

"Yeah, yeah... I'm good. Nothing's wrong. You're always so sweet. You're just too nice."

"Well, just making sure."

"Look, I just wanted to call you and tell you I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

"Yeah."

"For what?"

"For letting distance come between us. You've always been so good to me and I am stupid for not seeing that."

"Uhhh, okay. What are you talking about?"

"I just mean I let the opinions of someone else make my decisions for me. Even when it felt wrong, I did it. And I'm sorry. "

"... okay, I'm not quite sure what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, really. I just wanted you to know. I guess, I guess I just missed having certain things in my life and it was time to let you know."

"Well... I, I don't know. I'm a little stunned." Stunned would be putting it mildly.

"Look, I know, and I'm sorry. And I wanted you to know that. And as for Mary, we have been finished for a very long time."

"Okay..."

"Not that that's supposed to mean anything to you. I just wanted you to know that I've made up my mind. It was wrong. It always was."

"Okay, so what? I feel like you're calling me because you're bored."

"No, not at all. Please, please don't think that."

"Well, either that or you've joined AA and you're in the 'making amends' step?"

Laughing. "No, not quite. I knew this would be weird. But it felt wrong to not apologize."

"Alright, well, thanks."

"Okay. Well, I would like to get together, if you can."

"I don't know."

"Look, no pressure. I just missed out on some things when I was wrapped up in all that and I feel like I have some making up to do. Not just with you, with a lot."

"I still don't know."

"Okay."

"I'll call you soon, okay?"

"Okay. I hope so."

"I will."


And honestly, I don't know if I can. I don't know if being over someone and only thinking of them on occasion can be permanent if you start seeing them again. Are you better now? Are your glasses clearer? Are you ever really over them?

He never knew of my real feelings. He never knew that I found his shoulder so comfortable. He never knew that all those times we were in a crowd, I'd wish it could have only been the two of us. He didn't do anything to me; he wasn't unkind or harsh. The only thing he didn't do is have the same feelings I did, at the same time.

So when I think about having dinner, about sitting across the table from him trying to catch up on life, I just don't know.

70,000 +

Denver Race for the Cure

Fine

When a girl, specifically this girl, meets a guy for lunch, she does a lot of things. She might choose her outfit the night before, only to change twice that morning. She may get up ten minutes earlier than normal to spend more time on her hair. She walks around wondering if anyone else can tell that she's got a date at noon. She throws herself into work that morning hoping to be distracted. (Nothing does overcome pre-date jitters like and SQL manual, you know?)

But mostly, she wonders. She wonders how it will go. She wonders what he'll be like. Will she say the right things? Will he? She wonders what she'll order, she hates eating in front of people she doesn't know. And usually, there's nothing she can do to stop the wondering. She's not nervous, not even scared. It's normal, really, because she's always been that way. She has wondered since she can remember if there's really someone meant for her to meet, someday.

Her mind trails off and before she knows it, the wondering is wandering down the same path it always does. She goes through a laundry list of wonders. Not for him, but her own. Who will put up with her? Who can possibly compliment her? And who will understand her?

Is there someone to understand her moods? Will he understand that she gets upset when there's nothing good on the radio? Will he understand that she can't sit still if there's a load of laundry to go from the washer to the dryer? Will he get that she would trade cable television for a shelf full of good books? Will he understand that her idea of a perfect day would be floating in the middle of the ocean on a boat and not saying a word? Would he bring her a drink on the boat? Will he understand that while she used to cringe when she walked by the playground at the mall she's now finding herself relaxed by the idea of family? Will he know that she lets her dog sleep at her feet on cold nights and will he hate it? Will he know that she's as passionate about good music as she is about fighting for a good cause? Will he make her heart beat a little faster and her fast pace a little slower? Will he be able to leave her alone in the morning and to high five her after an afternoon run? Will he let her go on baking binges in the Winter and drink-mixing binges in the Summer? Will he?

She knows it's overwhelming. But that's just it, that's what she wants. She wants to be overwhelmed. She wants to bake her cake and eat it, too. And share some with a guy that, dang it, thinks it's the best cake ever baked. While she's far too old and intelligent to mistake lust for true chemistry and interest, she also knows the difference between overwhelmed and just fine. Overwhelmed is all the wondering questions ceasing because you're too excited about that very moment. Fine is when you have great conversation, a few laughs and, an hour later, realize all the wondering questions seem to have no answers. Overwhelmed is when she runs to check her messages at the end of the day. Fine is when she decides to stay at home and away from the phone on Saturday night. And that's okay. She wasn't looking for the answers all at once, she wasn't really looking for them at all. It wasn't until they didn't show up that she realized she needed them.

She knows it's a tall order. She knows she shouldn't be quick to judge. She knows it was just the first date, and that maybe he was wondering, too. But also, when a girl gets ready for a lunch date, she's sure to remind herself that if it's even a little bit right, she will know.

Life Is Full of Questions

When I posted answers from the Q & A post last week, I forgot to check emails and therefore, did not notice there were some other questions.

Without further ado:


My only known Southern reader, Celina, asked:
What's the coolest (your Most Favorite) place you've ever been, and why?

I feel the need to say that I'm so lucky. I've been able to travel a fair bit and honestly, I've loved every minute of it. Even the crowded airplanes, slow busses and busy freeways. If I could find a way to get paid to travel, I would. I'm working on that one.

Anyway, I'd have to say my Most Favorite (do capitalize your Most Favorite, it makes it seem that much better) place is the Caribbean. The islands. The water. The shore. The boats. The drinks. The people. The mood. The music. The weather. Everything. Love it, love it, love it. I'm partial to the U.S. Virgin Islands and the British Virgin Islands but I also wouldn't mind some Bahamian or Grenadian exposure and the Western Caribbean also has it's fair share of charm (and good beer).


My only known Aussie reader, Sister Buckle, asked:
So I was wondering, was there a time you just had so much cabin fever you ignored the weather warnings and ran out the door into climatic oblivion?

Yes, I've done this a couple times. Snow and freezing temperatures aside, it's really a nice time to be out. No one else is on the road. The first time I did this, was on my first run ever, as an adult. It was mid February, fifteen degrees and snowing. I ran about five blocks and had to turn around. It didn't matter though, I was hooked. As far as the "oblivion" part, that, I expect, is closer to how one feels after a marathon than after snow.

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I also got an email from a person I like to call "Mean EMailer." He/she asked:
Do you think anyone reads your blog for fun?

Yes. Me.


(I get an inappropriate amount of satisfaction from calling Mean EMailer a "he/she.") Ha.
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Today, the girl at the counter at the juice place asked me if I wanted to try a new green tea concoction. Except, she said it in a way that made me think if I didn't answer her with a yell from my gut and a high kick, I would be escorted out.

It was like HI!!!!!! WOULD YOU LIKE TO TRY THE NEW TAHITI GREEN TEA BLAH BLAH BLAH?!?!?!?!!!! IT'S AWESOME!!!!!! I said sure so she blended it up- at the same time doing a couple cartwheels and also spelling out my name with "gimme a" preceding each letter.

She then asked me to taste it because, and I quote, "I AM ALLERGIC TO CAFFEINE SO I CAN'T TRY IT BUT I BET YOU'LL LOVE IT!!!!"

All I could think was, seriously? This is you without caffeine?

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This is for all the gals out there that think running is gross:

You are right.

Today, on my 7 miler, I noticed there were a lot of bugs in the air. It's gnat time, apparently. Anyway, I got home, walked into the bathroom and noticed that I had a gnat on me. Where, you ask? The miniscule but disgusting little creature was dead and stuck to my forehead. I do believe this is the first ever death caused by drowning in sweat.

That ought to be an overwhelmingly charming story to tell on my lunch date tomorrow.

Wait, did I just say that?

I Just Can't Get Enough

Covered

Gold is in Again

And Again

And So Is Red

I Don't Have to Rake

Fall Canopy

Almost As Good as Sand

In which I'm either an old fuddy duddy or just a decent human being

I just gotta say, I cannot believe there's a song out there that's based on a man talking to a girl on the phone while his other "girl" is "in the next room."

Maybe it's just me and maybe I'm getting old but ew!

I know the music business is tough but is that what you really want to be known for? Singing about being a cheater? Or damn close. With all the "I have to whisper" and "you make it hard to be faithful" I'm just disgusted.

I don't even want to type the name of the band or the song (for fear a Google search land some fifteen year old here looking for those lyrics, which I'm sure would get me lots of mean emails) which is a shame because a. dude can sing and b. the song has a decent hook but still, so not okay.

Should some teenager land here looking for those lyrics, I'll say two things: 1. Cheating is not cool, ever. 2. If you are talking to another girl while your girlfriend is in the next room, she knows. She may not act like it and she may not care, but she knows. In which case, you are screwed either way because she will either break up with you and smash the headlights out of your Camaro or you are dating an idiot. See, screwed.

Alright, I'm finished.

Fallen

Sometimes, you just love something and you really can't put into words why you love it.

It's amazing, fulfilling, entertaining and fun. It's a warm afternoon and a cool night, all in one. You drive down the street or you look out your window and you're in constant awe because of the way it captures you even all these years later, just like the first time.

The crunch of the leaves, the color, the change in the air all seem so familiar. It's the gentle yet obvious reminder that change is coming. It happens, whether you want it to or not.

I have such a propensity for comparing seasons to relationships, you know. Why should this one be any different? I feel like Fall (or Autumn as you refined types like to say) is like an old love.

It's something you met long ago, but are still surprised by it's ability to last. Time and time again, it is there for you and often, just when you need it. It's that soft place to land after you've been high on Summer and when you aren't ready to face the dread of Winter.

The color in the trees and the change of the winds are all a way of reminding you that the road you travel, though seeming the same each day, can really be different. If you're willing to see the beauty, it will be there for you to find it.

And all the while, it's just a reminder of how temporary life can be. The leaves that were green yesterday, are gold today and will be brown tomorrow. The problems that were new yesterday, are losing their power over you today and will be all but dead tomorrow.

So you love it. You aren't sure if it's because of the color or the cool breeze. You aren't sure if it's for the comfort or the change. But you are sure you love it because, if nothing else, you just can't help yourself.

Grandma on Relationships

My grandma is cool. I wouldn't hesitate to say, no hard feelings, but she's cooler than any other grandma ever. She just is. She's 80 and she tells it like it is.

Sometimes we have IM conversations.


Me: Hi Gram, how are you?

Grandma: Hi my sweetie!!!!!!!

Grandma: I am doing well. At least fair to midland.

Me: That's good.

Grandma: How are you?

Me: I'm fine. A little tired from my run today.

Grandma: Well you should come over and I'll give you some soup and then you can take a nap.
Me: I wish I had time for that. You do have the best couch for a nap though.

Grandma: Are you having trouble sleeping?

Me: Not really. I try to catch up during meetings at work. Haha.

Grandma: Really?

Me: No. But I wonder if I could sleep with my eyes open like I used to in college.

Grandma: Just practice, you'll get it. I haven't tried in a while.

Me: Since when do you sleep with your eyes open?

Grandma: I was married, you know.

Me: Hahahaha. Is that the secret to a happy marriage?

Grandma: It's the secret to staying out of jail.

Me: ....

Grandma: So you had a good run today?

Me: Yeah, I guess. I ran part of it with a boy.

Grandma: A boy. Who is this boy? And why wasn't this the first thing you told me?

Me: A boy I met while running. And I don't know the answer to your other question.

Grandma: Well what's this boy's story?

Me: He's my age, runs, and only stayed with me for half the run.

Grandma: Why?

Me: He said his mileage wasn't up to what mine was. It makes sense.

Grandma: No, it doesn't. If he likes you he should run 100 miles.

Me: We just met Grandma. It's okay.

Grandma: No it is not. He should run 1,000 miles. Like that song says.

Me: That song says "walk 1,000 miles."

Grandma: Don't change the subject.

Me: It's really okay Grandma. He asked for my number and promised me a slower-paced meeting next time.

Grandma: Well he'd better pay for dinner.

Me: Yes, okay.

Grandma: And he'd better not make you fall asleep, either.

Me: I hope not.

Grandma: That's actually a good test for any date, come to think of it.

Me: What do you mean?

Grandma: The person should not bore you.

Me: Yeah, I guess. But what about that whole thing you said about sleeping with your eyes open?

Grandma: Oh, that's a different story.

Me: How?

Grandma: When you get past the nice part of the first year or two, then you have to start ignoring the boring moments and just sleep with your eyes open so the other person feels like you're listening but you're not.

Me: What are you doing instead?

Grandma: Whatever you want to do. Think. Dream. Sleep.

Me: But don't you want to listen?

Grandma: You'd be surprised how little you need to listen to your spouse after the first couple years.

Me: So maybe he's stopped listening to you , too?

Grandma: See, that's your mistake.

Me: What?

Grandma: He never started.

Take What You Can Get

Ran twelve miles this morning. I wasn't hard but it sure wasn't easy, either. I keep wondering if I'll ever have a time in my life when training doesn't equal pain. I know in a post a couple days ago, I told RunnerGirlFL that training doesn't stop hurting but sheesh, I guess someone should have told me.

Yes, I know, it's a good pain. Still, I want one of those float-on-air long runs one day. I seem to get a few miles here and a mile there, but never an entire long run. If I do have a great few miles in the middle of a run, I tend to consider that a good run but really, I'm selfish and want the entire 12 miles to be perfect. And if I'm being really honest, I'd like a negative split, too. Until then I will have to take what I'm given.

Speaking of taking what I'm given, I had a Driver Shout Out this morning on my run. Most runners will tell you that once in a while, at least, someone going down the road in a car feels the need to shout something out their window at you, the runner. Sometimes it's encouraging like "good for you" and "go go go" and sometimes, like when I was running down a long Kentucky road one Spring it's "hey good lookin', someone chasin' ya?" (I told him yes, by the way). But today was a first. I approached a crosswalk right in front of a truck. The truck was nice enough to stop for me but as I made it around the front on the driver's side, a man in a suit leaned out the window a bit and said "Should be on your way to church, young lady" as if I were out on the corner selling something, if you know what I mean.

This infuriated me. Who was he to tell me when to go to church? This stranger? This stranger who knows nothing about my faith or which services I may or may not attend. This man in this truck had the nerve to judge me? Me, minding my own business, running down the road on Sunday morning. Honestly? I rolled my eyes, took a deep breath and kept running. I wondered who he was though. I wondered why he said that. I wondered what I was supposed to get from it. Was I supposed to get some sort of message from this? I wonder if he knew that when I rolled my eyes it was my faith and beliefs- not to mention, manners- that kept me from doing something worse.

That was the most exciting thing on the run today. Otherwise, it was hot and clearly, Indian Summertime here in the Rockies (it's 80 degrees). When I returned home, covered in a combination of sweat and dried sweat that makes it look as though I took a dip in the ocean and then let the water dry on me, I saw an unexpected site.

My single, slightly scary and mysterious neighbor's car parked in the street with "Just Married" decorations hanging all over. This guy always struck me as a little odd and the times we talked, I kept it at a minimum. He wasn't overly friendly and, I guess, neither was I. I never saw a lot of people at his house, he'd just come and go quietly. So, to see that he's now married is a little surprising. But maybe this is my lesson today: don't assume. I usually don't do this, I generally feel like I'm very accepting and nonjudgemental. But I don't want to be like the guy in the truck and judge people I don't even know. So I'll be more careful to watch myself and not assume I know something about someone based solely on my perception.

And maybe one day, I will build up enough Karma or good vibes or energy to have a long run that feels fantastic from the first mile to the last.

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I've added a few names to the blogroll on the right. I am so sorry it has taken so long. Thanks to the new visitors and commenters. It's great to have you.