JustRunJustLiveJustBe

Recently, someone was introducing me to a friend. For whatever delightful reason, this person (the ‘introducer’) always finds a way to not only introduce you but share something about you at the same time.

“This is Bob, he’s an architect and cross country skis with the blind on weekends.”

“This is Doris, she’s a singer and owns a small cabin outside of Telluride.”

“This is Doug, he’s my friend from college and is in town promoting his new line of pet clothes.”

I think this is a brilliant way of introducing people, and really should be the only way. What’s better than to meet someone for the first time and yet, feel like you already know them?

When I was introduced the other day, the words that followed X, meet Y, Y, meet X, etc. sort of stopped time for me. “She works with Steve. She’s a good one. The real deal.”

The real deal.

Forget for a moment that we were in an extremely high-pressure, high-profile situation (for the two of them, anyway, not so much for me- I find it hard to feel like anything is that big a deal these days) and I think those words could probably be enough to keep me going for a very, very long time. As hard as we try to be what and who we want to be, I think mostly, we want to be perceived as authentic. I am friendly, outgoing, open and honest but mostly, I’m just trying to be me. No b.s., no skirting around issues, and no worrying that everyone likes me or what I’m doing. It’s good to know that sometimes, that’s what actually comes through.

Last night was intended to be the night where I’d arrive home from a productive day at work, get laundry finished, catch up on some emails, eat a quick dinner and turn in early. It was appropriate for a rest day after a long run, I thought. Instead, what last night turned into was a night where the laundry got moved from the washer to the dryer and not much further, I ate a dinner that I heated in the microwave, went to bed at 6:00 p.m. and then woke up two hours later and proceeded to eat the entire contents of my house.

Seriously, and while I know this is about as boring as blog fodder can get, I ate a LOT. I was in the mood for something comforting and with nothing to blame but who I am and the occasional unpredictability of my mood, I made toast. Lots and lots of toast. It’s one of my favorite foods (I was not kidding about that bread thing) and even more, warm toast straight out of the toaster makes me feel like I’m under a warm blanket on a cool but not-too-cold evening. And when I thought I’d had enough toast, I had a glass of milk. And then another piece of toast.

While most people would consider a carb over load combined with a “splurge” to be more along the lines of cookies or cake (both of which I also enjoy) I stuck with my toast. Of course, it helps to have a place to lay the blame so I’m going to attribute it to the increase in running mileage over the last few days. I ran more in the last four days than I’d run in the previous fourteen. The math is easy: I hadn’t eaten enough (which is a shock within itself) and I was using last night to make up for it. Running can really do strange things to your body’s pattern. But finally, after the toaster popped up and down several times, I felt full.

Then, as if I wanted my own version of a horror movie, before I headed back to bed, I stepped on the bathroom scale. Yes, because I wanted to see what half a loaf of whole wheat bread weighed. Duh, right? Did I mention in three weeks I’m headed to a beach on the East coast in which a beach house is being rented where things like “hot tubbing” are done? Oh, I didn’t mention that? Well, silly me.

But balance, right? Balance. Which is entirely how the next few weeks and my approach to getting back to a regular running routine ought to be summed up. I’ve forgotten how important that aspect is to a healthy training schedule. Which probably explains why I wanted to fill the feeling of recovering from ten miles on Sunday with multiple slices of whole grain tastiness. Or not, I’m not sure.

But it’s something to reach for. It’s a plan and if there’s anything I love, it’s that. A goal, something to remember. Something to remind me. Don’t have too much, don’t have to little. Work hard, rest hard. Balance.

Yeah, it’s no secret, I’m ready for Summer. Dying for it to get here, actually, which became quite apparent to me when I was cooking this weekend and started having memories of last summer. Food memories, which explains the asparagus. I haven’t had asparagus since last summer which is not really significant except I’m reaching for just about anything I can right now.

Along with the asparagus, I also made turkey meatballs and whole wheat pasta with chipotle cream sauce made from this recipe. If I may be demanding for a moment, TRY THIS SAUCE. Be ye not afraid of sautee and puree, it’s not difficult and it’s entirely worth it . So worth it, in fact, that it was used on both the pasta and the aspargus and while I won’t go so far as to call myself any sort of supercook, there were certainly no complaints from the eaters.

Anyway, so Summer. Yeah, I’m ready. And anything that reminds me of Summer, or makes me feel that it’s near is welcome, anytime. (Hear that, 40 m.p.h. windgusts? You are NOT welcome.) As the wind gusted on Saturday, bellies full of good food, I sat down to go through some 2006 travel photos. I’m finally getting around to organizing them into some sort of non-digital format. I’m nothing if not eventual, I tell you.

The photos of a Vancouver trip seemed to be better than I’d remembered. It was such a whirlwind trip of quick sight seeing and driving, that I’d nearly forgotten the days I was able to soak up everything around me. In particular, I remember feeling very summery during a visit to Granville Island Market.

On a sunny day, under a very pretty Summer sky, we pedaled borrowed mountain bikes over to the ferry, hopped on and rode across the water to the market.

I know it’s really not going to be a shock to see that I had to take pictures of everything. But really, how much better does food look and taste when you’re in some far off place, padding around in sandals in warm weather with a light ocean breeze? A lot better, I think.

The fruit was all particularly beautiful. It’s possible it might have been sweeter than normal fruit, too. Or maybe it was just the entire day.

I’m also nothing if not a sucker for foods arranged in a manner pleasing to the eye, especially vegetables. Those tomatoes? Went on some burgers later that were the kind of burger that makes you want to unbotton your pants so you can eat that one last bite. Of course, that might also be the way we grilled them outside and and ate them on the patio, while drinking homemade beer.

Also, the bread. Oh my Heaven and Earth, the bread! I think, if I were to allow myself, I could go on for a good eight to ten paragraphs easily about my love for bread. I will never, ever go on a no carb diet. Never. And if you were to take bread away from me, well there would be a lot of hostility. Let’s just leave it at that.

Let’s not forget dessert. Mass quantities of reasonably priced, beautifully arranged desserts is about all I needed to get down on one knee (okay, two) right there and ask the woman behind the case to please, marry me and if she wasn’t the baker could she please find him or her so that I might marry him/her, handcuff them to me, and drag them back across the border and home to Colorado. Because then, I might be happy forever.

Thank goodness we’d biked twenty miles there and back and I was able to a) come down off my high and b) get it out of my head that marrying someone who would get up at 3:00 a.m. to make cheesecake for breakfast would actually be the answer to all my prayers.

We all know that is silly. They would also have to have a boat.

Last month, I posted about a run I was just grateful to have. It may have been the sun, or that I could actually put in some miles without pain, I’m not sure. I just know that those moments and experiences where gratitude is actually tangible, well I have to make something of them. And as I get older, I realize quite literally, the opportunities are everywhere.

Several years ago, I sat at the funeral of a phenomenal woman. I woman that, if everyone in the room would have been rated on how well they knew her on a scale from one to one hundred, I would have fallen somewhere between 5 and 10. However, had they measured with that same scale how much everyone in the room admired her, I would have broken the scale with the 100 mark appearing only as a faint spec. At the time, I don’t think I even completly understood why I admired her so much. It’s only lately, looking back with some more life under my belt, I can begin to see it. She was incredibly grateful.

She embodied the feeling and effortlessly made obvious to everyone around her that she was grateful for her life. She was grateful for her family, her husband and children. She was grateful for her beautiful home, her lime green Volkswagon Beetle and her diving certification. She was grateful for her dog, her dark-rimmed reading glasses and early morning tea. She spent most of her time with a smile on her face, an Ace up her sleeve and a joke in her pocket, in case someone might need it. She was completely who she was, flaws and all and yet, still able to put forth a rather contagious attitude, lacking almost all worry and panic.

She was most definitely, more so than I could be accused of at this point in my life, looking for the pony amongst a box of crap.

Sitting at her funeral, those years ago, I remember so many feelings flooding through me. Seeing how her family gathered together, seeing the pain in her husband’s face and knowing the love they’d shared. And I found myself envious of this woman who’d lost her life thinking, selfishly, about how they were lucky to have that love; wondering, more selfishly, if I’d ever know it. That feeling, though, was mostly fear. And the fear came over me a little that day, as I began to cry. It was such a great loss. And not just to me, or the people in the room, but to the world. I wondered what logic this dreadful path had followed, trying so hard to make any sense of it. It was cancer that took her and though it won the war, it did not beat her. She lived every bit of life the way it ought to be lived. She used it. “She fought the good fight,” her husband said at the service, and he would know best. I think that statement applied to her entire life. What I didn’t know then is that it was a message to me, too. I know that now, of course. I’ve learned that now.

Many days, life can seem like a fight. We ought fight it well. And when you’re presented with every little (or gigantic) box of crap along the way, dig and dig and dig through until you find the pony. I’m going to keep doing that, I’m going to keep being grateful for moments of sun and little runs around the neighborhood. I’m going to keep being grateful for the fluff in my hair on a particular day, and my neighbor that waves to me every afternoon. I’m going to keep being grateful for cards in the mail, the price of gas going down a cent and a good-fitting snorkel mask. There’s no reason not to. And the ponies, once you commit to digging, are everywhere.

I think tomorrow might be the day. The day I run again, that is. Since getting this cold five days ago, I’ve barely been able to hold my head upright, much less propel my entire body at anything that might be considered a rate of speed.

I haven’t run since Sunday, when I pushed a jogger stroller and baby weighing a good eight-hundred pounds (okay, maybe forty) up and down the hills of La Crescenta, California. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to that area of the country but summing up the terrain is pretty simple: steep uphill, steep downhill. Those are the only two options. You are either working your calves and hamstrings (and your behind, ahem!) or your shins and quads. To death.

I am not kidding, the next day after my first run on those hills I was more sore than after any race I’ve ever done. After any 20 miler, after any weight training session, ever. Sad, isn’t it? And frightening, too (to me, anyway). There is a silver lining, though, and one I didn’t think would come. Certainly not from hill work, anyway. My knee feels better and stronger than it has in months.

I suppose it all makes sense. It’s logical that working those muscles out on a couple runs, albeit small in mileage but so very, very huge in incline, might actually encourage those muscles to be stronger. I just didn’t think I was ready, but I’ve been wrong before.

And so tomorrow is the day. Although it’s still a little tough to breathe, I’ll get through it. I will pound the pavement (read: trail; because I am no dummy, I want my knee to stay good) and I am sure it will be a struggle but if I come out of the entire thing with no pain and both lungs intact, I’ll consider it a success.
______________________________

* Also known around here as gloves.

A boy more cute than any other I’ll ever know.

Sitting back at work for the second day in a row with a box of bricks for a head, I’m sort of realizing it’s getting near time for a change. Maybe it’s just the fact that I’m sick, frustrated that I can’t think clearly and have watched one too many beach breaks, but something just feels off. Of course, it also could be the fact that nothing smells good, tastes good or sounds good right now, either. You could put a bacon cheeseburger buffet (four out of five of my favorite things) in front of me right now and I’d be only mildly impressed.

I’ve been accused before of being a planner- always thinking about and plotting the next step before the current one is complete. Right now, though, I’m less in the mood to plan and more in the mood to do. No doubt I will be just as anal as ever about it, but that feeling of accomplishment might actually push me a little further than just thinking about it. Imagine that.

The little “business” a friend and I sort of started a couple months back is just that: little. It’s a fun hobby that brings in extra cash but I feel now just as I did soon after we started, it’s not going to be the main event. But maybe that’s it, maybe there is no one “main” event. The common thread in anything I have done, do, or will do is ME. So somehow, I need to get a handle on that. I know what I want to do, and what I’d like to do, but can I do it? Can I keep the wheels turning? Can I take steps I’ve never taken before?

The short answer, I think, is yes. But not because stars are aligned (though that would help) or magic is happening (also helpful) but because I’m willing to do it. I’m willing to do the work. It’s different now, at least I hope it is. I think my expectations are real, and my heart is in it. Sure, I’d still like to go back to school or fill my time with doing crafty-type things (as several of my blog readers and I have shared with one another in the past) but now, I want to concentrate on a real shift. A real move toward something different.*

______________________________________________
*I don’t actually plan on physically moving at all. For now.

.
______________________________________________

Housekeeping:

Help me, please. If you fancy yourself at all a smarty or blog superstar, I could really use some info. I will repay in cookies- promise.

Did anyone, when switching from old to new blogger have issues with their sitemeter or statcounter? Where did you put the code in the new format? Am I missing something or am I just slow? ‘Cause it ain’t workin’ for me.
Thank you, thank you.