chicken*ish

This was a glorious morning, I woke up to the bright sunshine peeking through my blinds after a blissful 10 hours of sleep and a day of no set plans ahead of me.  It was 9 a.m.  I laid in bed, drank my coffee, read my daily Bible verse, and caught up on all 104 Words with Friends games {why does it seem like games multiply like rabbits on that thing?} and decided to head out for a little neighborhood run.

But.  Then.  As I stepped my left foot outside the front door, I became aware of the ominous clouds quickly approaching.  Because I am overly dependent on all things portable and electronic, I dutifully checked the all powerful iPhone weather app only to discover an impending chance of rain.  30%, in case you were wondering.

And then it happened.

The mental block.  Motivation disturber.  Game changer.

The thing is, I kind of like running in the rain.  And I don't love the treadmill.  And I didn't want to drive to the gym.

But I'm apparently a chicken.

So I gave in and drove to the gym.  I ran on the treadmill.  I drove home.  It did not even rain one little drop.

Today I'm gave in to the what if monster and now I'm temporarily surrendering my runner's card.

back from the abyss

Ya know how sometimes, when you take a break from something, you cross the threshold from "break" into "hiatus" and then into "abyss"?

Coming back from the abyss stage is kinda hard.

Which is why this little ditty will probably be short.  I just don't have my sea legs quite yet.

Luckily, my girl Julia is still hosting her Thankful Thursday link-up.  Being thankful will take the first-post-back pressure off, I think.

Here we go:

I'm thankful for...

{treadmills}

In addition to the blogging abyss, I fell into the running abyss as well.  Eleven holiday pounds had me weeping on the scale come January 1 and back on track {sort of literally} as of January 2.  Between the super cold days and the early sunsets, I'm thankful I have safe, warm, if not crowded and stuffy, treadmill on which to save my soul one mile at a time.

{LinkedIn}

There comes a point when a person, especially one who is surrounded by teenagers every day from 7:10-2:13, needs a space to learn and connect professionally.  Facebook is nice, but I relish social network that requires adults to be adults :)

{Overdrive}

While I have this nifty little function on my car, gas is far too expensive {as was my recent speeding ticket} to really get out on the road and pay it the attention it deserves.  I'm talking about the fabulous little app on my iPad that allows me to check out library books, read them, and then let them disappear when they are due.  No overdue charges.  Which is super good because I am currently banned from checking out real books from the brick-and-mortar library due to my excessive charges.  

{GTD}

I love love love love love making lists and organizing and labeling, and, well, you get the picture.  I love David Allen more because he taught me how to make big lists and not be intimidated by them.  I actually had to buy this book.  And.  It was worth it.  I feel all productive and ish for the new year.

It's good to be back, lovelies!  Toodles,

it's the little things

It's Thursday again, y'all.  The second Thursday in November and right now that's a little bittersweet.  On one hand, I'm pretty pumped to be linking up with my blogger-buddy Julia and being thankful and all; but, it just hit me that this is only my 3rd post this month.  I guess I'm still suffering a bit from my 31 Days hangover.  At any rate, I've had tons to be thankful for this week.  So, let's get this party started...

feelin' all prettified 'n stuff
Very little makes me feel prettier than looking down at my hands when they are painted pretty.  Usually, Tuesday night is my nail 'n Hart of Dixie night.  Monday night, however, it became clear that my nails just could not make it to Tuesday {honestly, they shouldn't have even made it to Monday}.  I treated myself to a new color and painted away.  I'm still smiling at the cute new color and polka dots :)

repeating numbers
Some time ago, I decided that 11:11 was not enough.  The way I figure it, whenever a number is repeated three or more times, something special is happening.  In my world, it's a little love note from God to remind me that either I'm on the right track or that everything is gonna be okay.  Sunday, I received a phone call that came unexpectedly and answered a little prayer I've been praying lately.  When I hung up the phone, the time read 2:22.  I do not think this was a coincidence. at. all.

chivalry
I'm a strong, independent woman who believes enough in her own invincibility to occasionally attempt to break up fights between students.  Yesterday was one of those occasions.  Luckily, two male teachers saved me from myself and intervened, thus saving my fragile notion of invincibility and the bag of M&M's I was eating.

more chivalry
Upon the retelling of the incident to my principal, two Army recruiters, who happened to be in checking up with another student, overheard my peril and jointly offered their assistance.  They even volunteered to teach a class for me.  Complete with PowerPoints.  I love PowerPoints.  They are men after my sweet little heart {at least in my mind, anyway}.

running ridiculous distances and the cheering squad
I ran my fifth half-marathon with my super-duper running buddy on Sunday.  Last week was horrible. Not only was I able to leave the nonsense on the course, but I had an amazing and humbling outpour of support wishing me luck, cheering me on, and congratulating my finish.

Happy Thursday lovelies,

day 13: accept

I was supposed to run 10 miles on Saturday morning.  I ran 4.  And I'm honestly not sure what if I did could even be called a "run".  But there were 4 of them.  Nothing more.  Nothing less.  4.  Four.

Last Thursday, I ran five miles like I was a rock star.  No, really.

It's funny how one day can seem like the only possible limit might be the sky and then, in a matter of seemingly minutes, that same limitless sky seems to be falling faster than my poor heart did after hearing that my alma mater lost their homecoming game this weekend.  ugh.  and to a mean team.

The fact is that not every day, run, or body for that matter, is gonna be perfect.  In fact, perfection isn't probably ever going to happen and we just have to accept that.  Undoubtably, it is when we do finally figure this out that we learn how to truly love.

For as long as I can remember, I've beens searching for approval.  striving to be perfect.  because my underlying belief has always been that I was not enough.

This is painful to write, to see it in print on this screen, because for 32 years, I've known this wasn't true, I just, for the life of me, can't seem to believe it.

And then, Saturday, while I was cussing a little about how I should be doing better than I was, a little voice cut through the anger and self-condmenation and said, "hey, let yourself off the hook!"

Sometimes our high expectations and aims for perfection prevent us from seeing the truth in ourselves and in others.  We can't really be sweet to someone if we can't accept them for who or what they are.  And really, how sweet can we be to others if we can't be sweet to ourselves?

day 11: relish

It was as the end of second hour today when, while patrolling the classroom, I looked back up at the board as a reference to the point I was making and experienced a small surge of joy run through my soul.   What, you might I ask, could a girl possibly see that could possibly bring so much excitement?

This:

I'm bringing diagramming back, yo!  

Then, ya know how there's always those people at the gym?  Today there was that woman who could not for the life of her seem to pick up her feet while she ran.  For reals, I could her the squeaking of her shoes fighting the belt on the mill over the Eric Church I was rocking out to.  And, a couple of weeks ago, I was on a machine next to that girl who used the treadmill like it was a ballet bar {for the record, I love me some fluidity bar workouts, I just tend to think it best to use a *bar*}.  At any rate, I think I became THAT girl tonight, right next to the squeaker, while I mouthed the words to every song {and maybe, possibly threw in a couple of head bobs or arm movements} over my whole. entire. fifty-five minute. workout.  and ya know what?  I don't care.

Earlier in this series, I mentioned the charming little objective of having a life that hugged me back as a priority to becoming more sweet.  In order to have this, a girl needs to relish in the things that build her up and while those things are different for everyone, the tend to fit into at least one of three categories:

• Things I love and I do not mean that I like them.  I mean I love, love, love them.  The reason doesn't matter, just the love.  
• Things I need.  I did not need to make pecan pie last night, although I do need to eat, but I love pecan pie and so I did make it and then ate it for dinner.
• Things I use.  Not the things I'm going to use when..., but things I use now or for a particular occasion, like my Christmas tree.

Of course not everything is going to fit into one of these categories, like say, the dear beloved who drives me batty with crazy talk about things that are not usually very important to me.  I do not love him, probably don't need him, and find very little applicable use in him {although once in a blue moon, he reveals tidbits of information that I find intriguing} BUT I do value him as a human and as a beloved and so it is important to me that I am sweet to him.  

You know the old adage about dancing like no one is watching, it's about creating that life that hugs you.  It's about relishing in the things that bring us joy.  Because as I realized while I mouthed along on the hamster wheel marinating over this post, the more I surround myself with and relish in the things that really matter, the more my life hugs me; and, the more my life hugs me, the more easily my sweetness flows.  When my life hugs me {for me it's when my relationship with God is open, my running is regular, and I've been able to, if only for a short while, let go of the what-if's that often plague me}, I feel balanced and that I can grin and bear the not-so-sweet aspects of life for just a little bit longer.  I may not particularly love that dear man, but I do love the peace that comes from an amicable relationship with him.  It becomes a cycle y'all. 

better than i was

Some exciting things are happening in my life and I've been encroaching on some new territory here in the last couple of weeks.  First, I've made it four whole dates with a potential suitor and have kept my crazy in check the whole time!  AND.  I completed a race today with a wee faster time than my A goal, making today's race my fastest.  ever.  Go me!

And so, in tribute of my recent triumphs, I thought that it would be fitting to recap some of the important lessons that have made this place possible:

• Hard work and constistancy are necessary ingredients for achieving any goal, although hard work doesn't always mean or look the same in every situation.
• The way your body is used to practicing is the way it will perform.
• Old habits and ways of thinking die hard.
• Things cannot be removed from our lives without replacing them with something else.
• The only real peace comes from knowing that God is in charge.
• People who care about you will want to know who you really are.  Cherish them.  
• You owe the loved ones in your life the time it takes to truly get to know who they really are.
• Sometimes we relapse into bad habits so that we can remember not only how far we've come, but also how far we still have to go.
• There is no shame in being a nice person.
• When you feel pretty, you act pretty, and that is the pretty that matters.
• Honesty and a good sense of humor about your shortcomings will put a lot of things into perspective.

Cheers,

remission

Two days ago I contacted a potential suitor after a brief, hmmm, hiatus, shall we say.  I don't know why I did it; and even though I'm glad I did, I don't really know how I feel about breaking my leave-the-boy-alone rule either.  But I did it.  And I learned something about myself in the process.  

So,  you should know first that I have a history of being ditched by potential suitors.  In hind sight, most of them were doing me a favor.  I'd like to think that they are all just intimidated by my awesomeness, but let's be real.  My crazy probably drove them away.  Not to worry though, y'all, my crazy is in rehab.  I'm certain after my little relapse that all is well in the anti-crazy kingdom.  

At any rate, this PS did the ceremonial disappearing act after a fantastic conversation where he complimented my beautiful smile, made tentative plans for a future date, and called me sugar.  Swoon for real.  It is so hard to remember the rules of crazy rehab when a boy is telling me such sweet things, ugh!    However, upon constantly reanalyzing reflection of the situation, I have determined that my crazy was well in check during our entire, however brief, get-to-know-each-other period.  

And so he disappeared.  No explanation, ok, well sort of, but determining when an explanation is just that and when it's an excuse is a whole other discussion.  The not-so-gradual fade-away.  We're well acquainted.  This is where the first piece of proof that crazy boot camp is working: I didn't text or call or anything.  No twitter.  Nothing.  Just this deserves me a trophy!

But then the relapse.  

It was just a little text.  I was actually surprised that he responded, truth be told.  At first, I caught myself having fantasy sequences about how he missed me so much and how he was going to realize my amazingness.  He simply responded, acted like it hadn't even been three weeks, and didn't even make an apology.  Abort fantasy sequence.  But this post isn't about how he should have acted or what he should have said, hell, it's not even about him.  It's about me and my journey and about how this little incident marked all new territory for me.  Because the remarkable part of this whole interaction was that, despite the pitter-patter that he made my heart go during that conversation before the fade-away,  I was able to see him for who he was, hear what he was really saying, and deduce that regardless of his choices, I AM FINE!  HA!  

Who knows what will happen with this guy, maybe he'll prove to be someone different than he has recently come across and maybe not.  What I do know is that whatever he decides, I have entries to write, miles to run, an iPad cover to decorate, and other PS's to date :)

Pretty soon, I'll be able to say that my crazy is in remission. 

i don't wanna wear pants

When I was a kid, my mom consistently fought with me over two pieces of clothing.  Turtlenecks and dresses.  Eventually, she gave up both fights.

Flash forward thirty odd years.

I've been back at work now for a whole nine days, and I've determined that I'm over pants.  I'm sure they have their place and that I'll love them again someday.  But even my good 'ol worn-in jeans are just not doing it for me right now, it doesn't even seem to matter how high the heels or how cute the shirt.  The world just seems better in a skirt.

Currently these are the reasons why I hate pants:

Wearing pants means going back to work.

Going to work means that my leisurely mornings and morning runs have been deduced to being haphazardly fit in.

It's so hard to feel fun and flirty in a pair of pants.  At least it is for me currently.

Driving my car is not nearly as much fun in pants.  I don't know why, I know this is an odd one, but there's something powerful about wearing a cutie sun dress while driving a muscle car with windows down, hair up, and the music loud.   I'm also aware that this makes me a boarder-line train-wreck.  I'm not at all bothered by this.  possibly proud.  

It is still hot outside and I really do sweat more in those things.  eew.

I'm pretty sure that I am not as sweet or patient in pants.  This is a big deal.  I need all the help that I can get.

My mom thinks this is hilarious, by the way.  I'm glad she does.  Really.  Really, I am.  As I drive my car to work in the morning, constricted at the waist, all business like (I know that's what I'm supposed to look like, ugh, I know) and ish.  She's laughing.  

Tomorrow, I'm going to Macy's.  Toodles.

happiness is an adirondack chair... or I used to be funny

Yesterday's post both depressed and freed me.  Sorry if it depressed you, but hurray if it made you think even just a tiny bit as much it did me. Here's the thing: I used to be friggin' hilarious y'all.  For reals.  I'm not completely sure that I am anymore and this makes me sad.

Ok.  I think the funny is still underneath all the ridiculous that has clouded over me in the last couple of years.  I thought about it while I was cleaning out of my classroom.  Well, actually, I think about it and how to get it back a lot, and I've been getting little clues, especially lately.  What do they say, when the student is ready, the teacher will appear?  Truth, I believe.

Anyway, every morning that I run, I make sure to run past my favorite buildings, they relax me and make me happy.  That's what it's all about anyway, right?  One of my favorite houses sits on corner in a big, inviting yard and on the porch, that seems like it would the perfect place to watch the sunset, bright yellow adirondack chairs are situated, contrasting beautifully against the bluish gray of the house.  There is something magically charming about this house, but I decided this morning that without the chairs, this house would hardly stand out.

And so, it occurred to me, that while the classic picture of white adirondack chairs on the beach is similarly and absolutely a picture of relaxation and peace, it is the chairs themselves that make the dream almost tangible.

The thing is that the chairs are simple, vibrant, relaxed, and sturdy.  In a word, they are confident.  Those yellow chairs on the porch or white ones on the beach aren't afraid that the sun won't always shine and they know that they will always find proper footing no matter how unleveled the ground is beneath them.  They do not advertise for people to join them, but their welcoming nature makes doing so easy and enjoyable.

Ok, so the chairs are not funny.  But they are authentic.  And authentic can be, at the very least, humorous if it is, in fact, authentic.

God already knows that I'm a little bit of a big-headed type-A chica who would rather be in control of, oh I don't know, everything.  I'm sure that it has been no coincidence that everything I've encountered today, from my daily Bible verse to my Aquarian horoscope, have focused on the concepts of simplicity and patience; two words that, when authentic, scream confidence.  I guess the lesson here is that in order for me to get my funny back, I need to regain my confidence.  In order to regain my confidence, the true confidence that God's got a perfect plan for me, I have to be patient with that plan and quit trying to complicate things by forcing square pegs into round holes.  In short,  I need to relax, let my big head chill out in one of those phenomenal adirondack chairs, and watch God's plan unfold.

photo credit: Rosa Say via photo pin cc

wealth

Last May, I quit my second job in effort to save my sanity.  It's been quite an adjustment these last couple of months, I do not have a lot of money now.  At.  All.  I mean, it's a little dire y'all.  But you know what?  I'm so rich.

I will dedicate today's post to a list of the things that have increased my wealth now that I have only one job and zero extra dollars:

I can turn up the music and have a dance party across the hardwood floor, which I am absolutely, whole-heartedly, and completely adore, in my living room.

I have read more books this summer than I have read in the last two years.

I have been able to spend so much more quality time with so many of my ABs that I'd lost touch with.

My Goddaughter and Godsons know who I am.

I have, on more than one occasion this summer, played in the sprinkler both with and without a kid to join me.  

I have been able to spend more time writing again.

I have time to actually taste the food I eat.

I have to cook on the cheap, which means lots of creative concoctions involving eggs, spices, veggies, and tortillas.  Oh, and grilled eggplant.  Uh, YUM!

I have run more miles more consistently than possibly ever in my life.

I have had the opportunity to strengthen my faith and am gaining such an amazing sense of peace and balance.

Money may be tight, but I have not once regretted my choice!  What simple things bless your lives?

you just might find, you get what you need

Sometime in the first week of January 2009, I signed up for my first half marathon, to be run in April and for my first marathon, to be run the next January.  On that day, I had never run straight through more than 4 miles at one time and had participated in exactly one organized race.  A 5K.  In over my head?  A little, but in this case, ignorance was bliss.  I had no idea what I was really in store for.

Over the months I trained my butt off, finally got real running shoes, and asked more questions than a toddler from everyone whom I could possibly glean a sliver of insight - even the dentist.  In the world that existed then, there were no paces to calculate, no splits to aim for, not even a PR to beat.  I had no idea when I would finish the race or how I was going to make it 13.1 miles without music.  All I knew how to do was run and pray that I didn’t die.

Then it came, the April morning I had worked so hard for.  And it was raining.  And I was petrified.  Thankfully, between the enthusiasm radiating between my mom and my aunt, I mustered up the courage to line up in my coral.  As I stood there, protected from the rain by my motley garbage-bag-poncho, I surveyed the crowd and tried desperately to figure out what last minute preparations I was supposed to be making while I stood in line.  My mom has always told me that God would take care of me and even though this was the furthest thought from my mind, I had the luck of making eye contact with another lone runner.  We struck up what turned out to be a 13.1 mile conversation.

On that day, a stranger became a beloved and together we pushed each other to triumph.  Without her help, I would not have been able to run the whole race and with my help, she was able to beat her time goal.  I’ve often considered her an angel who showed up when I needed the support the most, even though I didn’t really think I needed it.

Today, on a glorious Easter morning, almost exactly three years to the day since that race, I ran with my Anonymous Beloved again.  It is only the second time in our lives that we have run together, or even spoken face to face, in our lives and yet it all just fell so naturally into place.  And again, we pushed each other passed our road blocks.

One of my favorite images of God comes from the “Footprints in the Sand” poem, when God tells the speaker that the places that only show one set of footprints are from when God was carrying him.  Maybe old friends, new friends, and strangers who become friends are the arms of God.  We weren’t meant to carry the weight of the world on our shoulders alone, sometimes we just need to be reminded.

starting from broken

Starting to run from scratch was difficult.  There were times when I did not think I could do it.  And there were many more times when I realized, in awe, that, despite the odds, I had.  

I remember dreaming of effortlessly running for hours and then the devastation when my lungs and muscles were screaming after minutes.  But I remember the progress, too.  I remember the first time I ran for 3 miles straight through - I was on a treadmill and I thought for sure that it was going to explode as I wondered if anyone had ever run that far before!  Ha!  I remember the first time I ran 7 miles.  I was at my favorite park, which I had been trying to conquer for years; I couldn’t stop smiling when I realized I had made it the whole way around, and then more when I realized I wasn’t even as tired as I thought 7 miles should have made me.  I remember when I finished my marathon, I cried as I crossed the finish line.  My dad had been very sick through most of my training, so sick that I almost stopped training all together; but, I am happy to say that he was there on the other end of the phone, waiting to celebrate my finish with me.  

It was this time last year that I started to feel the pain in my legs.  I was confident in my ability to run the distance that I was starting to work on my speed.  By the end of April last year, I was out of commission with surgery scheduled.  Nine months after surgery, after 13 odd weeks of physical therapy, after countless stretches, lunges, and squats, I am ready to start training again.  I have my sights set on a half marathon in June - the one I was training for last year when I tore the labrum in my hip.

Now, I am starting from broken.  And I think this time around it is harder.  It is humbling to set out for a 3 mile run, a quick, down and dirty workout before, and realize that I can’t do it yet.  I feel like I’m the chunky little kid of my childhood who wants so much to be athletic, but whose dreams are bigger than her ability.  My runs are leaving me frustrated and previous landmark triumphs taunt me.  I’m trying to be forgiving and understanding, reminding myself that I am starting from scratch again and that there will be good and bad days.  But I’m not starting from scratch and the bad days seem to be taking over and the mental scripts that I thought I had conquered are fighting to comeback.

This time, progress is going to be a mental battle.  I tried to remind myself today that even if I had to walk, I was still moving forward.  I have to remember that I am capable of the physical aspect, that is what drove me before; now it is time for a mental triumph.  It is a call to take accountability and control in a way that I have lost track of as so many things in my life are willy-nilly.  I learned once upon a time, in my non-runner life, that the cure to almost all ills is to keep my attention focused on the present.  I still have my sights set on that hometown half in June; but right now, I’m focused on three quality miles.  

improvement

During the training for my first half-marathon, I was reeling from a bad break up and filled with rage at him, at the way it happened, and at being single.  AGAIN.  I remember wondering, as I pounded through the miles to angry music pumping through my earbuds, what would happen to my running when I was not so fueled by rage.

Over years that followed that race, the rage-fueled runs peaked and valleyed and I clung to any type of artificial adrenaline pumping I could find.  Please read: angry music.  I did not enjoy the running, but was in a way addicted to the anger and animosity; kind of like the gas tank of a car, I kept picking up more angst to keep me going.  I thought of myself as a positive person; but in hindsight, there was no peace for positivity to settle in -- not while I was filling up my tank with aggression anyway.  

The crazy thing about that time of my life is that I thought I was working hard, and I was, to a degree.  I did increase my endurance and conquered distances that I had previously thought impossible (when I started running at 18, I couldn't run the distance between two suburban driveways without a walk break), but I relied so much on the outside motivation that I sold myself out in way.  Just before I got injured, as I began working to increase my speed, I noticed how reliant I was on the music, how quick I was to ease off of a hard workout, and how the sound of my own heavy breathing brought on a walk-break-required anxiety attack.  

I learned a lot about life and running while I waited for and recovered from surgery.  I learned about pushing myself gently, about not giving in when things are tough, and about not shying away from my own inherent greatness.  I learned about using serenity and acceptance, instead of hostility and defiance, to move forward.  So far, I've carried these lessons with me in life and back into my runs.  I'm building my endurance base and will officially start training in the next couple of weeks for my 4th half-marathon.  I'm faster, stronger, and more at peace.

My resolution is the same this year as it was last, and probably will be again next year also: to leave the year better than it found me.  I was successful last year and plan on succeeding again and again, mostly because to live is to grow.  Just as equally (and maybe more), to grow is to truly live.

life. in training.

When you train for a race, you do it for a lot of reasons: the crowds, the energy, the challenge, the finish line, the medal.  For every race that I have run, I have been lucky enough to have at least one member of my Anonymous Beloved Cheering Squad on the course to cheer me on and waiting at the finish line to share in my joy.  Race days are special, they are like my personal princess-for-a-day holidays; training days, however, are often times a different story.

We all have struggles, things in our lives - sometimes minor and sometimes earth shattering - that attempt to bulldoze us off of our path, knock us out of our comfortable chair, and turn our lives pear-shaped.  What jars some people doesn't even phase others and sometimes, what seems petty to us in other people's lives can leave us breathing in a paper bag when we are presented with it in our own.  Training days are the ones where struggles seem ginormous, where we doubt whether or not we have what it takes to keep going, where sometimes just putting one foot in front of the other is a success.  There are no finish lines on training days and many times the people who will ultimately be there to support us are the first ones to point out our short-comings.  Training days can be discouraging.

As I diligently mounted the treadmill and trotted through my warm-up, I could not help but to let my mind settle on one of my Anonymous Beloveds and the rough string of training days she's been having recently.  Today, each interval seemed to be just a bit more difficult than the last and my AB's story hung just a little more heavily around my shoulders.  We have had our share of turmoil; done things, knowingly or not, that has left the other burned and broken; and we have supported each other at times when it seemed no one else could or would.  It was with each thought of her story, my story, and ours together that my resolve to see the weighty run through with strength, courage, and serenity so that I can help her do the same.

Today, as my mind carried her and my heart tried to comfort her, it occurred to me that maybe training runs aren't just necessary for race day, they are necessary in order to make it through the next training day or to help an AB through theirs.

Of course, they ain't Tiffany's...

...but then again, sometimes a good run can be even more adorning than diamonds.   My run on Monday left me and my shins feeling like someone's skin looks when they wear cheap silver on a hot day.  But these turquoise beauties seemed to do the trick!  

Getting back to running has been quite a little process!  I'm finally running more than I'm walking during a workout and feeling pretty good about the pace I'm able to sustain.  It looks like surgery and all those weeks of physical therapy are going to really help me meet my sub 2 hour half marathon goal!

Until next time, happy running :)

Sticks and stones

I've been feeling very temperamental these last few days.  Maybe I'm torn in too many directions, burning the candle at both ends, getting too much sleep, not getting enough; really, the possible explanations are endless.  Tuesday morning, I couldn't wake up soon enough in anticipation of my first run since April and this morning I almost talked myself out of it.  The only things that seem to be concrete right now is how short my fuse is getting and how much I end up changing my mind in a short time.  I am, right now, in a word, crabby.


This morning, once I finally committed myself to the cause and pressed "start" on my Garmin, and started running I waited for the euphoric runner's high to wipe away my bad mood.  And then I waited some more.  My current regiment calls for three rounds of 2 running minutes and 8 walking minutes; after the initial 2 running minutes, I was certain that my morning jaunt was going to haunt me more than release me.  What felt freeing on Tuesday, felt cumbersome today; what motivated me then, had begun to daunt me; the disappointingly short 2.5 mile loop began to seem like 25.  But I trudged on, obediently switching gears according to the beeps and I finished in what seemed to be a shorter time than Tuesday.


I did finish quicker than Tuesday, by almost 2 minutes; and that first cumbersome interval, turned out to be the fastest pace I've been able to sustain possibly ever.  All of a sudden what seemed at first to be a rough start to the day became a ray of hopeful light.  Isn't it funny how a simple definitive result can affect a whole experience!  This morning it was a good thing, but what about the times when the end result shadows the joy?  It has been said that true rewards are found in the journey, not the destination.  This morning, the reward was defined neither by the run nor the effort, but by the Garmin.  Even thought the feeling was brag-tastic it was external, none the less.


I always think that running is a metaphor for life; that whatever I experience in life can be explained and examined through a run and whatever lessons I learn from a run can be projected into life.  In a strange way, my handy dandy GPS watch has become an interloper; another metaphor perhaps.  Maybe electronic feedback can be just as disheartening as public opinion, that is, if I choose to allow it.  As Eleanor Roosevelt, so famously, said, "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent." 


Ultimately, I want to feel good; we all do.  Maybe the lesson is that I've grown to depend too much on the data, the external sources, to define happiness.  Maybe the various directions that my life seems to be pulling me, the burning candles, and my sleeping habits aren't really the cause of my crabbiness; maybe its that I'm depending on the external feedback to define my journey after the fact instead of using my internal barometer to help navigate the course. 

And so here I am...

There are several ways to build a character, it seems I am one best built in media res and so I will tell you that it is generally my constant effort to free myself from my calculating J. Alfred Prufrock mind and drink the "free spirit" that dances in my soul.  Ok, so I'm a bit over the top.  I guess that's a start.

At any rate.  I'm a runner.  Sort of.  I wasn't, then I learned.  I fell in love, then I got hurt.  Now, I'm waiting on surgery that will *hopefully* (those are my fingers crossing) allow me to run again.  I wish I could tell you that it was some fantastic accident that bore some type of unsung triumph.
Nope.
Apparently, I was born with a deformed femoral head.  Yup, a square peg in a round socket that just finally took my hip cartilage past its breaking point.  That's all there is, folks.  And while I know hip joints are pretty necessary for running (and so I've learned, just about everything else as well) it seems like such a minor thing compared to what other human beings overcome.

So here I am.  It's 11:51 on a Wednesday night.  For the second night in a row, I'm having anxiety about having this surgery and what my life will look like if running is still not a viable option for me.  Maybe I would feel differently today if I had known on that April morning that it was going to be my last painless run (albeit, pumped full of ibuprofen) through my neighborhood.  Maybe if had been ready then, this wouldn't be so hard now.  But.  I wasn't.

And so this is my story, as it unfolds, of how I overcome my square peg and learn, despite the limitations and inconveniences along the way, to stop measuring my life in coffee spoons.