If last week were, say, part of a contest- a really not fun contest where a family could compete with other families, or a twenty-seven-year-old woman could compete with other twenty-seven-year-old women- to see who could have the worst week ever, my family and I would have been fierce competitors. Or maybe, if there were a television show called Worst Week Ever and they featured people that were really having a really bad week, we might have been one of the top stories.
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The loss of a family member started the week. Then, a much beloved couple close the family have decided to separate. Then, a family member attended and then, subsequently, was stranded at a wedding-gone-wrong. In Kentucky. Kentucky, where none of us is right now. And we thought that was it; we thought we had our Unfortunate Things Happen in Threes trifecta. But then someone had a heart attack and all my theories of threes just went out the window, along with the cake I’d tried to bake but couldn’t because the middle kept sinking. Twice. Thank you. (The upside to that is, you have to do something with all that icing you made. I opted to eat it, rather than slapping it directly onto my thighs. Yes, thank you, again.)
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So many times in the last week, I’ve found myself just shaking my head, trying to think but not really being able to get anywhere. I’ve written a thousand things, most of which make no sense now and the rest of which will probably make very little sense in the days to come. I’ve gone for countless runs (yes, more than once per day), thrown myself into work only to come out feeling drained and guilty, and tried passing the time with friends and drinks and catching a little bit of sunlight. It’s incredibly challenging to catch sunlight in between all the clouds, by the way.
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While I know this is not the worst plight in life (I’m well aware more people than me could be on the Worst Week Ever) I’d be a complete fraud if I didn’t admit to what I’m thinking right now: I have a break coming in seven days and my gosh, I feel like I’ve earned it.

Happy Mother’s Day to a mom who taught me to see the beauty in everything.

The day I bought this camera, I knew exactly how it would be. I knew I’d be the girl walking around with her camera ALL THE TIME. I knew I’d take it everywhere and I knew I’d annoy the heck out of everyone I know because of it. When I was a kid, Unlce Joe was just about as in love with his video camera as any man should ever be with an electronic. We’d joke that he’d “follow you into the bathroom with that thing” if you didn’t stop him. He’s still a little like that today, though sometimes without the camera. Weird.

At any rate, the point is that Uncle Joe and his camera? They ain’t got nothin’ on me. And to be honest, I totally love it. I love looking at life through a lens, I love taking pictures of everything I can and I love taking pictures that other people end up loving. It’s a joy that I completely expected and yet, a brand new feeling. If that isn’t some version of love, then I couldn’t tell you what is.

It is a fact, however, that I love the people in my life, too. Therefore following those people around constantly clicking away can get a little old for them. I understand, I’ve been there. As a result, I’m stuck mostly with inanimate objects and random pieces of life in front of my lens, which couldn’t make me happier.

Just today, while walking the dog, I noticed all the yellow that popped up to signify Spring has started to change.

Slowly, the brightness is fading into the little puffs of seed- at least an afternoon’s worth of entertainment.

I remember, as a kid, always wondering how a thick, yellow dandelion could turn into such a perfectly shaped round orb.

We called them ghost flowers.

Even the dog gets it.

I took nearly one hundred photos during this walk. I will likely be boring you with them over the weekend. They are mostly of blooming trees and flowers and puffy white clouds, though.

Because even if she’s supposed to be my constant, animate subject, even Lola has had enough*.

*This is not just some lucky shot of my dog gazing into the trees, she is actually refusing to look at me.

Okay, here’s the deal: I want to change this blog. I don’t know how or where or what, though. I do have a lot of ideas but before I do anything, I want to know what some of you think.

Should I switch to another service? Should I just mess with the layout and the header? (In which case, who knows code?!)

Any thoughts? Anyone? I have some friends that can/will help me but none of them have blogs. It’d be nice to know what others think.

Thanks for the help- I will find a way to repay! Promise!

Once again, I am in a place where I feel like I need a little escape. Once again, I find that escape through running.

Over the last several days, I have run with one goal in mind: just keep running. I didn’t want to stop because anything hurt, because I was tired, because I felt as though I couldn’t breathe or because my head got the best of me. I just want to keep going. I want that feeling back, that feeling of freedom; that my body is capable of carrying me for miles, comfortably. I’ve left the Garmin, the iPod and the watch behind. No music, no beeping, just me. It has been good.

I feel as though I’m re-learning, almost like a new runner. It seems like I’m in a new body that hasn’t run ten, sixteen or twenty-six point two miles. Things feel very foreign and uncharted. But I feel strong, both physically and mentally. The physical is attributed to my dedication to the weight gym, 2-3 times per week. The mental, I suppose, is just naturally building in time, as well. One is purposeful, the other more happenstance.

In many ways, it is good to feel as though I’m new to this sport. I find new reasons to explore and new sources of inspiration. This morning I read Lia’s race report. It is one of the best and definitely most poetic race reports I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading. I found inspiration, humor and honesty in that report, and it will be one that stays with me for a very long time.

Lest this come across as if I’m a runner completely at peace with all around me, I give you the following story. Yesterday, while out on a quick three miles, a cyclist passed me, twice. First, coming from my right hand side, where he had no problem bumping into my arm as he squeezed through on the wide path. Why he chose to pass me in that manner, I’ll never know. I was irritated, but still kept my pace and eventually just let it go.

Then, about a mile later, I’d turned on the path to head back toward my starting point. I hear pedaling behind me once again. This time, there’s no “excuse me” no “on your left” just a grunt and another shove to my arm, this time on the left. Mind you, this was a very wide trail. He could have passed me without so much as leaving a breeze if he’d wanted to. But he didn’t.

I, of course, was twice as appalled and twice as irritated. I tried, quickly, to think of something to say as I watched him pull ahead of me. I was struggling, I was mad, I couldn’t think of anything. Then, my gaze fell to the back of his shorts, where his shirt and waistband should have met. There was a gap, it wasn’t a pleasant sight.

“Hey, buddy!” I yelled, out of breath.

He turned slightly around, slowing down but not stopping. He glared at me over his shoulder as if to say “what?”

“Crack kills,” I said, and turned down the opposite fork in the path and ran as fast as I could.

Blogging, online journaling, writing and putting it out for anyone to see… whatever you want to call it, it’s a strange thing. It seems as though the longer you do this and the more comfortable you become, the more cautious you become, as well. Maybe not so much because of the Big Scary Anonymous Blog-Reading Stalker (though I understand that is a valid fear) but more so because you start to wonder what’s good and appropriate content for your blog.

Whether you try to or not, a blog sort of takes on it’s own personality. Some become largely political, some are strictly and purposely nonsensical while others (like, oh, say maybe THIS blog) just seem to throw everything together and sometimes wrap everything up neatly in the end with a cute little bow.

I’m not going to lie, I like the bow. I like the way a good conclusion sounds and the way I can share how I took a less than ideal situation and found that it really turned out better than I could have ever anticipated. I like saying “look at all these beautiful things, oh how I love them! Aren’t they great? Isn’t everything just remarkably wonderful?” Because most of the time, life is just that.

But sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes things happen and you find yourself wondering not only if you should share them on your blog and more importantly, how you should do it. Sure, the content of this site isn’t always hearts and flowers bursting from sunshine and rainbows, but it’s not often far from it. Or at least my mind isn’t, anyway. So then life hands you some bad news, you deal with it and feel like you’re working with it well but you say to yourself “I won’t write about this. Not only might it be too private, but I don’t know how to do it anyway.” And it’s true, you probably don’t know how to write about it. But you sit down, ready to write about anything and guess what? Nothing else comes to mind. So now, you have two choices: writing about the bad or a blank screen. I’m never one to keep my mouth shut for long, so of course a blank screen isn’t going to last.

Three days ago, an uncle of mine passed away. It was not a unique situation, as he was sick and had been for a very long time. His death was not a shock and yet, it is still very difficult. I find myself in the place of wanting to support other family members who were close to him while trying to make some peace with it in my own heart. It’s a difficult situation and yet, very simple. It is a reminder to me, though I like to believe I don’t need it, to value my family. To be very thankful for them, as they’re the only one I’m going to get. I’m very proud of the way we support one another, regardless of feelings about the situation.

It’s a reminder that time will heal and it will also reveal. While there are so many questions, there are also some answers. It’s comforting to know that we can be relieved from our suffering, when it is our time. It’s a reminder that we are given so many choices each and every day and that we can’t let those pass us by. That, though it may not seem like it, does make a pretty decent bow on the top of the otherwise not-so-neat package.

I spent many hours of last week on what seemed like a scale. I teetered back and forth, weighing things in one side, then the other. The good and bad, the action and the consequence, the effort and the reward. Much of this was, of course, due to the marathon I was “missing.”

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I no longer consider my knee pain an injury. My knees, like much of my body will continue to be in life, I’m sure, are now just a challenge. Something I have to take special care of most, if not all, the time if I’m going to keep doing what I love to do. And I do love running.

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The product of loving running, though, is sometimes not running. This is what I decided on this weekend. Last week’s decisions and vacillating were so difficult because I was focusing on all the things that wouldn’t be if I didn’t run. I wouldn’t see the course, I wouldn’t see the beauty, I wouldn’t be with other runners, I wouldn’t cross the finish. But, on Saturday morning before I left for the trek up to Northern Colorado, I met some friends for breakfast (Sidebar: they are truly a breakfast club. If, you know, the breakfast club were made up of four older men in their forties and fifties that both befriended and defended me for the first two years I was out in the “real world” working my very first Big Girl Job in a very male-dominated organization. They are like my uncles/brothers/fathers, depending on the need. And, they are great.).

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As we were talking about the race and me running or not,I still hadn’t really made up my mind. Not completely, anyway. We were walking out of the restaurant and uncle/brother/dad #3 looked at me, put his hands on my shoulders and said “kid, there are worse things, you know.” And I did know.

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I remembered that all weekend.

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As I drove up North with a friend in the car, singing loudly and badly to Bon Jovi.

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As I drove across the still somewhat empty Northern plains of Colorado, past the heifers and the sheep farms.
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As we mixed drinks and ate an obscene amount of grilled food at another friend’s home later that night.
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When I stood at the finish line and watched people cheer, cry, rejoice and smile.

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When we giggled in bed that night, as if we’d stepped back in time fifteen years. As the sun shined and the clouds stayed away. As we traipsed through the little college town, gazing at the boys we’re now way too old to date. When we told stories in the car, laughing until we cried. When my jaw hurt from smiling for all the cameras.

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I didn’t see but the last mile of the course. I didn’t cross the finish this time or wear the medal. And I didn’t like it, but I didn’t mind it either. There are worse things.