On fighting fights and running races....

Over the last year, I've had some pretty emotional days. Big highs, bigger lows. It's been a pretty intense 12+ months. Sometime in early -2012, I decided to put some of the angst to good use and start running. Like, really running. I've tried my hand (or foot, as it were) at this a couple of time and every time, I just give up. It starts to feel like too much or my knees/shins start to feel like they're just going to fall off or a million other excuses. I don't know what triggered me to start running again this time, but I knew I wasn't going to give up. I was just going to power through. So I downloaded some apps and started very VERY slowly. We're talking 20mins at a time, with intervals of 60sec of running and 90sec of walking. I felt like a tool doing it every single time. I have tons of friends that are distance runners (some even ultra distance), but I think what my goal really was this time was to NOT compare myself to anyone and to not have a goal other than to finish the training. I wasn't going to sign up for anything or put some kind of time frame on my training. I was just going to go until I was done.

Then I remember going to the gym at work one day and both the treadmills were taken. And I was pissed. I was annoyed that other people were doing was I wanted to do. I was irritated that I wasn't going to get to run that day...and I was shocked that I actually *wanted* to run, I didn't just *need* to run.

There was one day back in April that I came home from church and the weather was gorgeous. So I laced up and headed out and 3.5miles later (at dastardly pace of about 9:45) I felt like a freaking champ. By that time, I'd found the running pants, shirt, bra, socks, and shoes that I loved so running got that much more fun every single time.

By July, I was fully in love and broke my first promise. I signed up for a race. A half marathon trail run. I don't know what possessed me to do it. Maybe it was the promise of a rad tech shirt. Maybe it was the measly $60 entrance fee. I don't know. But I signed up and talked my Colorado BFF into doing it with me. The training kicked into high gear at that point. I was running every day at lunch and every Saturday, I'd map out a distance run and, well, do it. I never realized how many horrible hills my city had until I had to run up them. Holy crap.

I learned a lot about myself on those weekend runs. I learned that I had more in me than I ever thought I would. I learned that heavy beats are almost the worst thing to run to and that I love actually paying attention to lyrics when I run. I learned that slower is sometimes better and that I can push myself to run further and harder than I usually think I can, but that stopping to walk or stretch doesn't make me any less of a runner. I learned that I hate running through neighborhoods. Concrete is what trails in hell will be made of, followed by pavement. I learned really fast that cotton is about the worst thing ever to run in and that even if my run starts out cold and I wish I'd have worn long sleeves or a jacket, it only takes about half a mile to heat up and know that my clothing choices were correct to begin with. Sunscreen is a necessity, but man does it hurt when it sweats into my eyes! And yes, running with my glasses on is far easier for me than running with my crappy contacts (which I should replace soon anyway). I learned that I love the feeling of my lungs burning for several hours after a run and that a good calf stretch is nothing short of amazing. I love feeling like I just conquered the world and that eating a pizza (a personal favorite) is both warranted and not worth it. I learned to celebrate the small things: my first 6 mile run, my first trail run, my first hydration belt. But probably the best thing I learned was that I am, in fact, a runner.

So I ran 13.1 miles yesterday. Well, that's a bit of a stretch. I ran 8 miles until my knee gave out on me and I had to move between limp-running and walking for the last 5 miles. It was disappointing, at best. I was told not to have a goal time, but I secretly did...and I didn't even come close to making it, despite my best efforts. But you know what? My best friend was with me and she made sure to slow me down, stretch me out, and keep me going. She taught me how to focus away from my pain and run through it as much as I could. The last quarter mile was excruciating, but damn it, we ran. And we got our medal, some pancakes, and a well-deserved beer.

I cried the entire drive home...partly from the pain in my knee and partly from sheer exhaustion and partly because I honestly still can't believe I did a half marathon. Laura reminded me, as we crossed the finish line: "You are now part of only 5% of people IN THE WORLD that will ever do this!" If that's not encouraging, I don't know what is. I may have had a dismal pace, but it was an elite dismal pace....and it can only get better from here!

So here I am. A reformed cold-weather-hating-run-avoiding indoors girl. I'm ready to take on the next challenge...just as soon as my knee lets me.

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On internal bleeding....

It's been a long time since I've really written anything from my heart. I love writing, but with the chaos that has been my life for nearly a year, I've found myself only able to write with the help of "prompts" delivered to my inbox every day. It's like I have to force myself NOT to think about the last year of my life in an effort to write anything at all.

My heart is just incredibly heavy most days. I put on a good front...at least, I think I do. I've always been pretty good at "faking it till I make it," but the reality is that I very often do not even come close to "making it." I've been on the brink of tears every day for at least two weeks, for any number of reasons. Fall is coming and there's one more reason this year for me to be in absolute hate with the season. I'm dreading that day coming. I don't even know how I'm going to manage through it. There's the possibility of calling in sick, but I'm not sure laying in bed all day is the best or most productive way to get through it. It still might happen. I don't even want to think about it, but I know it's going to be the only thing that comes into my head all day long. It's going to be even worse this year because of the actual day of the week it falls on.

I wish I could just physically throw up all of the emotional crud inside of me.

I'm reading a book right now on grief recovery and so much of what the authors say seems so true. I feel conditioned to need to "get over it" and "move on," but I'm not sure it's possible to do either of those things. Ever. This will stay with me forever. It's a part of who I am. It's my experience, my life, my past, and will affect my future. But even if I never "get over it," I'd like to know that it's going to hurt less, be less mind-numbing at some point. I'm a schedule-driven person so I'd like to be able to put that on my calendar. To just write down "Today it will no longer hurt."

Some days, I just feel like Carrie Bradshaw in Mexico. I want to sleep and cry and be ugly. I want someone else to deal with my shit. I want to not feel abandoned or alone. I want my best friend to lay in bed and watch movies with me while I cry at the drop of a hat.

I'm a champion at forcing my feelings away. Even when I'm deliriously happy, I tend to remain pretty composed. I'm tired of doing that. I know it's in my best interest to feel fully everything that happens to me, happy or sad, good or bad, whatever happens, I should really experience it. I haven't let myself do that in a long time. Probably not since my grandmother died some six or more years ago. I lost my cool in the privacy of my own bedroom, but around other people, I kept it together. After all, it was my mom's mom that died...she needed all the support she could get. She didn't need to have to worry about herself AND me. So I pushed it away. I'm sure I could tell you the last time I was so insanely happy, I could hardly contain it...but I did. I kept it under control.

And maybe I'm sick and tired of keeping it under control.

Maybe I want to scream and jump and be nuts when I'm happy and excited. Maybe I want to dive head first into the ugly cry and NOT be in the shower where no one can hear and the tears get washed away immediately. Maybe it's perfectly acceptable to be unweildy ball of emotion from time to time.

I want October to fly by. I want November to get here quickly and linger for a while. I want December to bring me the joy and peace that it so often does (not to mention the happy calories!). I just want to feel okay again.

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On urban hunting....

I'm a bargain hunter. I love shopping around for the best deal, whether it's groceries or a new dress or a flight. I just love it! I'm not sure where the thrill lies in bargain hunting, but it's something of a stress release for me. I have no idea why.

That said, I draw the line at garage sales. I've always hated them. I hate going to them. I hate having them. There's little that's enjoyable about it for me. Growing up, my family hosted more than a few garage sales and we'd end up hocking vegetables from our giant garden during the summer. It turned into quite the adventure getting everything together for those Saturday mornings. It was just exhausting.

Several years ago, I lived with a girl friend of mine who was known for her abilities to garage sale and dumpster dive and wind up with the most amazing stuff you can possibly imagine. She managed - ONE TIME - to sucker me into garage saling with her and I wound up with one of my favorite kitchen items ever. I got my roasting pan. It looks exactly like my dad's but is slightly smaller (as I was cooking only for me at the time and didn't need to roast a 15 pound bird). I love that thing and I still have it...and I use it relatively frequently. It's kind of the reason I love throwing dinner parties. When else do I get to roast a turkey or prime rib? I'm certainly not going to do it just for myself! It makes me want to do a prime rib and have a party right now, actually.

Not so many years ago, when my parents were moving into their new house, they had yet another garage sale. The only good thing about parents having a garage sale is that I can get stuff for free. So I went over to peruse the goods and was shocked to find they were selling my dad's marble rolling pin. WTF?! Why would someone ever get rid of something so amazing and perfect? I took it. It's still amazing, but my dogs, for reasons I cannot understand, managed to gnaw up one of the handles and scar the marble a little. Stupid animals.

Those two garage sale finds are cornerstones for my holiday cooking now. How else would I roll out pie crusts and THE perfect sugar cookies? How else would I gather drippings for what can only be the greatest gravy ever made?

So yes, I hate garage sales and I don't see myself going to another one any time soon...but those were some pretty awesome steals!

On a life of simplicity....

The idea of living a simple life is incredibly appealing to me (hmm...I initially typed "appalling" rather than "appealing"...my subconscious is getting the best of me today). My brother lives this way. Basically everything he owns, aside from his car and record credenza, fits in a hockey bag. It's pretty remarkable. There's a reason he can up and move to another city or country just about any time he wants to.
 

I have an astounding collection of "stuff" that I'm trying to weed my way through. I just don't need most of it. My collection of Christmas crap alone is unimaginable. I'm looking forward to digging all the Christmas stuff out this year for one over-arching reason: whatever I don't put up or out is going straight to the Goodwill. I have high hopes that I'll be able to lighten my load significantly.
 

I still believe that "stuff" regenerates every time I take a load of things to the Goodwill. About once a month, I'll take a trunk full of things to donate and when I come back home, it seems my house and garage haven't gotten any less cluttered. It's a very strange phenomenon. There's always something else to straighten or shred or throw away or give away or clean or sell. It's a never-ending process.
 

I live in a very dichotomous world when it comes to this. I love having "stuff" and "things," but every time I think about moving, I wish I had about a third of the things I have. I hate packing and moving. It would be so much easier if I could just throw all my stuff in a hockey bag, jump in the car, and peace out. Alas...it would take a team of movers (and friends) to get my crap packed up. Sigh.
 

So yes, living the simple life sounds like a pretty good idea to me. Now to clean out the sheds...

On the choices we make....

I was recently asked, "What's the most difficult decision you've ever had to make?" I think it's safe to say I know the answer to that question, but am not willing to elaborate on it. Maybe not ever.
 

So instead, I'll talk about A difficult decision, rather than THE difficult decision. I promise, it pales in comparison.
 

I made a choice when I was a senior in high school that might be the only thing I've ever regretted. I try not to live a life of regrets. There's nothing I can do to change the past, so there's little point in dwelling on it. But this one tends to haunt me from time to time. And it's really not even that big of a deal.
 

I chose to sing in a band rather than be a cheerleader my senior year. I desperately wish I wouldn't have made that choice. Yes, I loved singing with that band and I learned a lot, musically and personally, by being with those people, but cheerleading? That was, by definition, who I was. I fought long and hard to get to that point and I was told by my coach that there'd be no voting, no nothing...her decision to have me as captain was final and certain.
 

Having to tell her that I wouldn't be part of the squad was one of the hardest conversations I've ever had. I wrote a formal letter and sat down to talk with her. Even at 17 years old, I knew it was going to be difficult and I tried to go about it the best way I knew how. It was incredibly painful.
 

Watching some of my closest friends cheer at every football and basketball game sometimes became too much and I'd leave games early (sometimes in tears). I missed out on a lot that year. A LOT. I tried to make it up to myself by coaching a junior high squad for two years after high school and that, in and of itself, was incredibly rewarding. I still get to see and talk to some of those girls and it's fun to hear their stories and versions of stories from when we worked together. But even working with them made it hard not to be a part of "my" squad.
 

Yes, it's probably a very silly thing to have a regret over, but I do. I don't think about it often, but when I see my box of high school memorabilia (which contains a pair of contraband poms), I get a bit wistful. Not the way I'm wistful when I see another box in my storage shed, but wistful, nonetheless.

On a circle in life...

For the last several months, I've had to learn what it means to be alone. I've spent a significant amount of time alone recently. Sometimes that's good, sometimes it's bad. For a long time, I've thought that "being alone" was kind of a bad thing, like something was wrong if I was alone (or if anyone was, for that matter), but what I'm coming to realize is that being alone is kind of refreshing. Almost necessary.

I'm not prone to spending time alone. I like being around people. I like noise. I like distractions. So in the last few months, this being alone thing has taken it's toll on me. I don't have people calling me up very frequently to hang out with me or just to talk. So I find myself spending a lot of time working out and watching TV...and more recently, I've been going to the local brewery and reading for hours on end. I was never one to really go out by myself...seeing movies alone or going to dinner by myself or taking me out for a drink just seemed awkward. Now I relish in it. About a month ago, I took myself to see a movie because a) I could and b) I wanted to see if I could really do it. Turns out, it was actually a lot of fun! I spend a ton of time with my dogs...we wrestle and go for walks to the park and play outside. They are guaranteed happiness.

So while I've found ways to enjoy being alone, I also miss NOT being alone. It's nice to have someone around to talk to or hang out with or have adventures with. It's nice to having someone to go to the movies with and make dinner reservations for.

I think there's an interesting cyclical balance that's struck between solitude and companionship. Being alone teaches me that I need to be around people, while being around people shows me that alone-time is good and sometimes necessary.

On playing by the numbers....

I'm not a huge fan of numbers. I deal much better in letters and words. They make much more sense to me. I think that's because I was born largely without a left brain. Despite my unending love of words, there is a singular number that has held a very special place in my heart for more than half my life.

42

I love that number. It has a funny backstory in my life and it also seems that whenever I see the number 42 crop up in life, something good happens. Several months ago, I went to one of my favorite burger places and my order number was 42. That was a damn good day. It's hard to have a bad day when you get to have an amazing burger followed by an even more amazing massage. Then, two weeks later, I went back with one of my best friends to the same burger place and our order number was, you guessed it, 42. Again, it was a magical day! The 42nd day of 2012 also happened to be a really good day for me. And every 42 days, I get to have a manicure (and several additional times in between).

Generally speaking, 42 just makes for a good number for me. It also makes me curious...what will my 42nd birthday hold? What other instances of 42 come up in my life that I don't recognize or just completely miss?

And if you can guess where my original love of the number 42 actually comes from, bonus points to you!