Mom: Hi, hun. What are you doing?

Me: Going to the post office.

Mom: Oh, good. Kill two birds with one stone while you’re there, okay?

Me: What? Do you need stamps or something?

Mom: No, I just mean look at the photos of the criminals on the wall and make sure you haven’t given any of them your phone number lately.

Me: Thanks, Mom.

Mom: What? I’m just saying, you never know. You can’t be too careful.

Me: Right. Okay.

Only because she cares.

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Thanks to everyone who has commented and emailed lately. They have all been especially nice and I like that. I like it a lot.

Running wants to break up with me.

That’s how I feel. Rejected. Like I’m in a relationship that has become old and stagnant and the days are numbered. As much as I try to get it back, it doesn’t want me and that feels so strange. You know one another so well and yet, there is an uncomfortable distance between the two of you. You know it’s there, but you can’t figure out why. We have a couple good days and then, wham!, back to the bad days. We don’t even look each other in the eye anymore. We just coexist and put up with each other. I want to talk about it but Running doesn’t want to listen to what I have to say.

In the beginning, it was never this way. Running never made me moody, never irritated me. If there were bad times, I didn’t notice. I was too caught up in the newness of each run. Each new distance brought us closer and more aligned with one another and the world. Each new challenge was taken on with the eager enthusiasm that only a new love can bring. There were memories made almost daily. Together in the sun, the snow, the rain. On a West coast beach, on humid Kentucky pavement, even on a trail at thirteen thousand feet, we felt at home together. It was simple, yet exciting. New, yet comfortable. We were clearly M.F.E.O. Made for each other.

Over the last week, I have had four wonderful outings with Running. The knee injury didn’t bother me at all. There were sunny skies and cooler temperatures, things were perfect. I had begun to see all the miles ahead again. It was almost too good to last.

Today, as I walked down the hall at work beside a coworker, I got the feeling in the back of my knee that someone had sneaked around the corner of a cubicle wall and thrown an axe that had been sitting in hot coals at the back of my leg. I buckled, grabbed my coworker with one hand, the wall with the other and thought I might completely collapse. It was like Running called me and said “oh sorry, I can’t make it to dinner tonight after all. Or tomorrow night. And I don’t know about the night after that, either.” Stabbing pain. The miles I could see so clearly yesterday all seemed to be slipping away in that moment.

How can this be happening? Things have been great for two weeks. TWO WEEKS!

Running just doesn’t want me anymore. It’s acting strange and unpredictable. It’s like that thing some people do when they want to break things off but don’t have the nerve to do it so they just become distant and mean until you go ahead and do the dirty work.

But I don’t care. I’m ignoring it. I don’t accept the break up. Even if I am spending time with a handsome, svelte Elliptical and a shiny, desperate-for-attention Hardtail. Even if I see running giving attention to countless others on the streets, as if it loves them more than me. I don’t care. Sure, we may go our separate ways for a while and the pain I have to endure as I heal and grow will be difficult, but that’s okay. We can work through the hardships and pain, like we have in the past. In the end, I know we will find each other again.

We’re meant to be.

There’s just something about the road. Maybe it’s the consistency. Maybe it’s the idea of beginnings and endings. Maybe it’s everything in between.

Come rain or delayed planes or lack of sleep due to the loud hotel, I was going to drive down

US-1, through the Keys.

Don’t ask me why.

(Please. My mother does that enough for everyone).

Just something I had to do.

Map. Car. Buffett. I was on my way.

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I reserved a rental online. They called it something like an “economy car.” I’m generally very economical.

They ran out.

Here’s what I was issued instead:

Let the cliche begin.

I think it was fate.

I started the drive early, watching the sun rise over Miami.

When I finally hit US-1 past Florida City (I think), I had my first sight of the Two Lane Temptation. I was all Christmas morning excited- you know, where you get that feeling in your gut that you’re in a great moment? That feeling. It would last most of the drive.

The sight of the ocean on the right AND the left never grew old. I was amazed each time I looked out into the never ending horizons.

The Bridge?

Nice.

All Seven Miles of it.

And finally, I reached the end.

Mile 0.

Naturally, it was time for some rest and a drink.

A trip I’m so glad to have taken.

Time well spent.

When I think about my new nephew, I often think of how he’ll see me as he gets older. Will I be the fun aunt? Will I be the smart aunt? Will I be the smartass aunt? Really, I like to think I’m a combination of all these things but I wonder which side he’ll see.

Selfishly, I want him to look forward to seeing me and being around me. Not as if I’m the greatest thing in the world but I’d like to rank maybe less than Santa but more than Grandma. That seems like a good in between place for “fun aunt.”

I have visions of sending him loud toys that drive his parents insane and giving him his first concert tickets. Maybe he’ll call me for advice when he wants to shave his head or when he backs his mom’s car into the mailbox.

Since I’m familiar with the way deep-seeded favortism works (just ask my sister with all her I’m the youngest and oh, look, I was born tactics), I’m starting early. From the time he was in the womb I’ve told my nephew how cool I am. I constantly repeated words like “ice cream” and “no bed time” so he would associate my voice with the idea of everything wonderful. As he gets older, I’ll change these words to things like “tattoo” and “cold, hard cash” so he’ll get the idea that I am the source for everything fun and anti-parent. Sure, his other aunt has a cousin for him to play with but this aunt? This aunt has a Corvette for him to play with.

Take that, girl cousin!

And when his parents get upset because I spoil him, I’ll just remind them that it’s only because I love him so much. Well, that and because they are so completely uncool that I have no choice but to expose him to some of the best things in life. (Some, not all, because some things you can only learn in college. Or, in the bar that’s down the street from your college.)

The way I see it, it’s my duty as the aunt. I would be doing my nephew, and therefore the world, a disservice if I let him go through life believing that his parents knew everything. It’s my job to make sure he knows what fun is. And to make sure he knows he always has a place to go when he wants to run away.

I’ll do my best to only be a good influence but I can’t promise 100% responsibility. I mean, who else is going to buy him his first rock t-shirt?

I saw my ex at the gym this morning.

My ex trainer, that is. The trainer that whooped me into shape faster than a new recruit at Ft. Knox. The guy did all but shave my head and if he could have done that, he would have. Seriously. I called him Sarge.

I said “hi” in my cheeriest voice possible, hoping that would distract him from the fact that I am not the dedicated gym rat I once was.

“Hello, dear,” he said, “how are you?”

“Doing great, ” I said, knowing he could measure my body fat just by looking at me.

“Well, good. You look great.”

“Oh, no I don’t. This year has been one thing after another as far as training goes.”

“Well maybe it’s your attitude,” he said, “because you look well.”

“Thanks, Sarge. You look good, too.”

“I know.”

And right then and there I realized what I got out of that training.

No, your body fat doesn’t have to be super low or your abs rock hard, you just have to feel good about yourself and know it. As long as you honestly feel good, you will always look good.

I didn’t quite know how to recap this trip. I started out writing about it in a start-to-finish style but soon realized -okay, about 5-6 paragraphs in- that nothing is more boring than a play-by-play of someone else’s travels. So, since this is the longest Monday that wasn’t really a Monday I’ve ever had, I’ll do the list thing:

1. Stayed at a fun hotel. By fun I mean, wow, I am probably too old for this Spring Break style of partying but heck if I’m not going to take advantage of it. And it’s not likely I would have been able to sleep early anyway unless my idea of a lullaby was “Pour Some Sugar On Me” at 1:00 in the morning.

2. Had lovely plans of laying on the beach a couple days and catching up on the reading I’ve wanted to do over the last two months. Instead, I fell asleep listening to the waves. Oh well.

3. Took my first drive down (and, consequently, back up) US-1. It was quite the drive, quite the experience. I made sure to play my Jimmy Buffet CDs because I’m fairly certain there is a law that says you have to. It was a beautiful day and I got to drive with the top [of the car] down for most of the way. I know, I’m such a cliche. I’m sure I’ll cover it more in one of my “Windshield” posts soon because I did take several pictures. I mean, when driving over a two lane bridge you’ve never driven before, the smartest thing to do is take pictures while you’re driving, right?*

4. Actually got to see a lot of the Keys. Stopped briefly in Key Largo which seemed straight out of the movie of the same name. Also made quick stops in Islamorada and No Name.
I stopped at The Holiday Isle Tiki Bar (Mile Marker 88) on the way back and let me tell you, I could have stayed there for a good long time if I didn’t have to drive. The people were friendly and I tasted something called a “Pain in the Ass” which was definitely anything but that.
As a runner, I was all excited to drive through Marathon but I didn’t stop because, well, I already know what a strip mall looks like. I’m sure there are lovely areas in Marathon, I just didn’t have enough time to discover them.
Crossed the Seven Mile Bridge and before I knew it, I was coming into Key West. Interesting place, that Key West. And as the day went on, it only became more interesting. I walked around, talked to some tourists and some locals, had lunch/dinner and drinks at a bar I can’t seem to remember the name of and made many stops at some other places. I need to get back there one day when I can fly in and stay a while. I thought I was too old to really get excited about a good pub crawl but clearly, I was wrong.
I also met a guitar player (I know, me meeting a musician, shocking) that splits time between Key West and Colorado. Lord knows how he affords that but I promised I’d look for him at a ski resort later this year.

5. Back on the mainland (or whatever Floridians might call it) I did some shopping and hung out at the hotel bar when it rained and met a couple boaters. One guy, a Philadelphia lawyer that comes down to his boat on the weekends, invited me fishing. Sadly, I did not have the time. Which is really awful because in my world, saying “come and hang out with us on the boat” is the grandest gesture one can make. I do have a name and number should I ever return to the area, which wouldn’t be difficult with an invite like that.
I told my mother about this and she was quite certain that I would have had to “do” something for the invite. I understand why she’d think this but, as I told her, the guy already had a wife and a girlfriend so I had no worries. Ha.

Great trip. Great getaway. I didn’t worry, I didn’t plan, I just went. And it was good.

By the way, bonus points to anyone who understands the title of this post.

* My apologies to Florida. I know your concerns regarding the dangers of the US-1 highway (mostly because of the death toll signs you post on the side of the highway) and it was and would never be my intention to be dangerous on this highway. My photos were taken in a very safe, responsible manner. And the video, too.

Back from the depths of… well, okay, no depths. The only thing that decreased was latitude, which is generally a good thing.

The last four days have pretty much been my own little happy adventure. As I drove home from the airport tonight and watched fireworks in the distance, I had to take a minute to really be thankful for my life and the way I’m allowed to live it.

I am truly amazed that an ordinary twenty-six year old girl can drive over the Seven Mile Bridge* one day and be sitting in the comfort of her own home the next. Not because of the miracles of transportation but because it started as just an idea and as just something I had to do and, by some blessing I’ll never completely understand, I had the freedom to actually do it.

I’m reminded of the sacrifices made for this freedom. I’m reminded of the principles that make up it’s foundation; though what we see on the surfaces today may seem very different, I have faith that those principles will not be forgotten. There are inalienable rights I’m so fortunate to have. Among them, the pursuit of happiness for which I’m so very, very grateful.

* More on the Seven Mile Bridge and other US-1 happenings in a post coming soon!