Saturday, May 1, 2010

I love the beach. And the beach loves me.

I grew up in the midwest. And we had beaches, 10,000 beaches. I spent all my summer time at the beach. It was awesome.

It sucked. Seems that the beach can mean a couple different things, out west it means the Pacific coast. And that beach is far superior to all 10,000 Minnesotan beaches combined.

One of my favorite things about The Beach is that everyone there is happy. Happy all the time. They are joking and laid back, they have all day, too, and nowhere else to be. They build sandcastles and dig holes and sit in them. They make out in the sand and hide in tents. They eat ice cream and buy sunglasses.

I dig my toes in the sand and watch them all. And I am happy, too.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

I'm So Hard on Me

Racing today was a big bummer. I fell, within the first mile. It hurt and it was really embarrassing. Running was really hard. I didn't feel like I was making good progress. I was doubled over at the waist going uphill. Really it just hurt and kept hurting.

I moped about this a little when I got home, like I like to do. And I had a really awesome nap.

But I remembered my friend stopping and giving me a hand off the ground, and that was really cool. And I got up and kept running, I didn't quit. And even though it hurt, a lot, I passed a lot of people on my slog to the finish. I just didn't notice because my face was all scrunched up.

And in the end, my goal was to run in 50 minutes, and that's precisely what I did: 10k in 50:00. While I would have liked to be under 50, I did fall, darn it, and that takes time. And that 8:00 minute pace placed me 75/865 total runners, 28/636 total girls, and 4th in my age group.

So the lesson here is, a little moping and a good nap will fix most crummy dispositions.

Friday, March 26, 2010

Catholics, embrace your inner Pagan

It’s almost Easter. It’s been Easter a lot of times before, but this is the first year that I know why Easter is when it is.

When I was little I loved Easter. Of course, I was catholic. Easter meant Palm Sunday, where we each got our own little imported palm frond at church (I always braided mine and hung it on my mirror). I got a new dress and shoes. Fancy shoes. More church, where everything was draped in white and everyone was in a cheery good mood – didn’t you hear, Jesus died! Then came grandma's: Easter egg hunt, massive amounts of candy, presents, and a huge ham dinner. Easter rocked.

I never could tell you what a bunny and eggs had to do with dead Jesus.

Ah, but now of course we understand the raising-from-the-dead/rebirth – egg analogy. I still don’t get the bunny, they don’t lay eggs. But they are very spring-y.

I had a hard time understanding why Easter wasn’t the same time every year. They don’t move Christmas around. My mom always said “just cuz” or something equally helpful which meant she didn’t know either. This year (finally, whew) I learned Easter is “the first Sunday following the full moon that occurs on or following the spring equinox.” That doesn’t seem very Jesus-y. That seems very pagan. Turns out a lot of very catholic things really are also very pagan. So why do catholics hate pagans so much – don’t pretend you don’t, I’ve heard you talking.

Saturday, March 6, 2010

I ran, so far away

In a week I am running -- I am racing -- in my first organized event, the Shamrock Run. I have butterflies.

I've been running/jogging/sloshing along for much of my life. Only this year did I feel an inspiration to raise the bar. I joined a running club, which for me should be change enough to cover me at least a couple years. But no, I want more. I want it all in fact. My plan this year is to train my buns off (literally, they need a little trimming), run in a number of races from 5k to half marathon, run the Hood to Coast relay late summer, then the Portland Marathon in the fall.

I am aware that this plan is giantly ambitious, and will require some steely resolve. I am going to do it.

How do I know? I love life. I can choose anything I want to do, anything at all, and just by pouring all my energy into it I can make it so. What an amazing gift! It's unreal all the wonderful things there are to choose from -- I want them all. I'd like to sing in a rock band, climb Mt. Everest, learn to surf, speak 5 languages, road trip every weekend, rewire a lamp, change my bike's bearings, kayak down the Pacific coast. Now.

I think it's only because of how much time I spent feeling helpless, hopeless, and lost that I can really feel the truth of this. I have always firmly believed that a full understanding of life comes from seeing, from living both sides. I've been an addict, I've been hopelessly depressed, aimless, unimportant. A wandering soul, watching time float away.

I now want the most of myself in everything I do. The challenge becomes funneling my energy into just a couple of areas so I'm not spreading it too thin. But I'm running and running and running, and I will finish the Marathon, and also this 8k.

Why, then, do I have butterflies?

Friday, February 26, 2010

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Am I bad at time management?

Really, this may be one of the only areas where I feel like I have some talent. But have I gotten too good at fitting in too many things?

I maximize my morning by preparing for it the evening before. I organize during my commute. I set deadlines, create tasks, itemize, allocate, and prioritize at work. Multi-task again during the commute. Exercise manicly, eat home-cooked, organic, veggie meals, spend half an hour with my boys, meditate before bed, and sleep.

I'm tired just telling you.

Where's the time for me? Well, like a pressure cooker I combust a little every now and again. I eat junky hamburgers. I drink beers. I don't run, or worse, I do a wimply little nothing run and call it good. I sleep too much. I stare open-mouthed at the idiot box. But mostly, I melt down in the brain and my ability to multi-task simply vanishes until I am recharged.

That's normal right? Wait, what do I care.

Monday, February 1, 2010

New Post, but Same as the Last One

Please put more hours in the day.


Also, I'd like nachos with tons of jalapenos. Mmmm.

Amen.

Monday, January 18, 2010

Dear god,

Please put more hours in the day.


Also, I'd like a hot fudge sundae. With peanuts.

Amen.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

On Hatred

There's this woman I hate. And I don't hate many people, maybe three or four. But I hate her for maybe the best reason: because she's wrong and I'm right.

Sometimes I run at the track by my house. And she walk/runs there. She always uses the inside lane, no matter what speed she goes; she does not yield. Maybe that sucks a little when you're driving and the person won't get over, but when you're running there's extra effort involved going around and lost time, too. But more importantly it's common track etiquette to yield to faster runners. Also, it's posted by the gate.

Perhaps I over-reacted when she chose not to yield after I passed her for the 6th time. I thought she must not have read the sign. But no, she had read the sign and disagreed with the yielding. She would not move. Words were exchanged. And maybe a couple gestures.

I saw her there at my track in the dark last night and I began hating her again. I hated her real good for four laps. I thought about how I'd catch her and go around her again. I wondered about running with a blackjack in the future. I got real good and steamy, caught up to her, and it wasn't her at all. It was some other woman I didn't hate who was walk/running in the second lane, already yielding to me. And I was big disappointed.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

I hate commercials ...

And don't we all, really? I generally dislike t.v. and watch it intending to become completely numb. But some commercials make me cry, 'cause I'm a girl and stuff.

There's a commercial lately where people are reunioning in airport terminals. They hug and cry and do a lot of emoting. And I cry. Every dumb time. I miss my mom.

The last time I saw her was on a far-too-brief trip back to the cities. We met for an hour at Perkins. I could tell she was freaking out; she seemed hardly able to hold it together for all the emotions inside her: I love you, I miss you, I have so much to tell you, please don't leave again. But she smiled and asked me about Montana. Then we hugged good-bye, a desperate kind of hug. Like the hugs in the commercial.

I don't cry as much as I used to when I miss my mom. She's been gone nine years, and that's just what happens. But I cry every time I see this commercial, and every time I am completely unprepared for it.

It's not fair. Boys don't cry.