A few days ago, when I asked for opinions about the cities you call home, I was very impressed by all the responses. Sometimes, I think it’s easy to forget that home, like many things we love, can both drive us crazy and amaze us.

This weekend, I’m off to the lake with some friends. They are nice to invite me although they all seem to agree there is something wrong with me as I actually enjoy living in the small space of a trailer. Either I’m low maintenance or I’m just overwhelmed by how “cute” everything is. Seriously, a house squeezed into forty feet of sheet metal is cute. Have you seen the oven? Adorable.

Of course, my excitement isn’t just about miniature appliances and toilets. I get to hang out with friends, float around on the boat and soak up some sun, too. Sometime in the past few years, when I wasn’t paying attention, I became one of those people that says “where has Summer gone?” The difference between me and most people is that the idea of Summer being more than half over sends me into a panic.

I feel a sense of urgency to soak up even more, hold onto it as if it’s slipping away. Sure, I’ve done quite well with enjoying it so far, but I can’t help but feel it’s being taken away. So I’ll head out to the lake, and off into the mountains. I’ll have drinks on patios and you know I’ll wear the heck out of the flip flops and I’ll keep asking you if you’re doing the same. We can keep it alive, right?

And if that’s not enough, at least I know when the cooler days start to sneak in here, there’s also a land of endless summer I have look forward to.

Enjoy it, y’all.

And don’t make fun of me for saying “y’all.”

Yesterday, against the odds, I had a fantastic run. As I was out on the roads, chugging away and feeling surprisingly good about it, I found myself almost elated. I kept thinking how I was going to come home and call some of my running friends and tell them “woot! I am back!” How happy they’d be- how tolerant.

I thought of how I’d write a story on my blog that though it was ninety-five degrees and drier than fire, I still managed to keep a good pace and, gasp!, enjoy myself. I thought I’d talk about hills as if they were nothing and how my body felt powerful and strong again.

No matter who I encountered on the run, I wanted to tell them all how great I felt and how happy I was. I felt the need to grab them by the shoulders (yes, even the elderly lady and her poodle) and tell them exactly how fantastic it was and shout DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS TO ME! I was fully charged, like I could have run all night.

Then, I got home, drank a half gallon of water, ate some dinner, watched thirty minutes of some new-fangled* Candid Camera, and went to bed. No need to get ahead of ourselves.

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* It is too a word. I don’t care what spell check or anyone else says.

If you have siblings you know that of everyone in the world, they probably know you best. You might not admit it and, heck no do you talk about it but you know. And they know, too.

Along with knowing you so well, siblings have this way of bringing you back to reality. No putting on airs, no going to extremes. No matter what cloud you might be on and regardless of what their intention might be, no one puts your feet on the ground faster.

The following is from an email I recently sent my sister:

… I’m so glad you guys are going to be here soon! I’m looking forward to the time we’ll get to spend together, unrushed, unhurried. It’ll be like we get to know each other again, and better. And I’ll get to be an aunt. A full-time aunt. I’m so happy to do that! It’ll be great. It means so much to me that we’ll be such a part of one another’s life for a while. It’s such an important time for that. We’ll always remember this…”

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And on I went for another paragraph more.

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The response from my sister:

“I’m excited, too. Were you drinking when you wrote this?”

At times, I very seriously toss around the idea of moving. Of just picking up life and going somewhere different and new. I long for something new, more diverse, richer. Different.

Mostly for curiosity (but also for that little nagging voice that’s always saying “go go go”) I look into things like climate, crime, the job market, proximity to mountains/trails/beaches and whether or not the town has a reputable microbrewery nearby. Like I said, mostly for curiosity.

The thing is, I really love my town. I love the hot summers and the cool mountains. I love the lifestyle people embrace here. I love that my family is nearby. I love that there’s an airport close that will take me anywhere I could ever think to go. I appreciate the winters (though you know I do not love them) and I look forward to Spring and Fall. I am involved in the community and have good friends here. And SUN! We have so much sun.

But I still wonder.

I think about the Northwest- would I be lost without all those sunny days? I think about the Midwest- is it true what they say about the bugs? I think about the Northeast- could I find good trails? I think about the Gulf- could I take the humidity? I think about it all. Carolina? Texas? New York? Georgia? California?

Honestly, there are some places I would not live. This number, though, is far outweighed by all the places I’m willing to try. Not that “trying out” a new city is realistic for me, but it’s good to know.

So how about you? How about your city? What brought you there? Why do you like it? Why do you love it? What drives you crazy about it?

One thing we learn about where we live are those little things that you really don’t know until you live there. Here in Colorado, for instance, we often find transplants that don’t know much about the basics of Winter driving. An example: Ice is slippery.

Say I’m going to move to your city, what would you want me to know? What wouldn’t I “get” until I lived there?

For the past couple weeks, running has been the least fun thing I’ve done. After the wonderful relay experience, I just lost it. It was like the wall of all walls. Every time I’ve put my shoes on and stepped onto the road I’ve been nowhere near into it. One day, my knee would hurt, the next day, a shin. I had a nagging tendon for a while and then an angry ankle. It was too hot, then too windy. Worst of all, my head wasn’t in it.

I’m always the runner to say “I don’t care how fast I’m running, I just don’t want to walk.” I hardly ever will stop a run to walk, even with pain. Over the last couple weeks, though, I’ve gotten somewhere around two miles into almost every run and felt the need to stop and walk. So I did. Some days, I’d complete all my miles by walking them. And I never once felt badly about it.

I don’t think anyone should feel less-than for walking, of course, but this is just highly unusual for me. It’s been frustrating that it’s lasted a while. I can’t really figure it out. I thought it was just one bad run, but then it turned into two and three and four. It kept happening. I thought the dangerous thoughts like maybe running isn’t for me anymore or maybe I’m just a two miler. Nothing wrong with that, I told myself. I just stopped looking forward to it.

I came up with a few plans. Drop the mileage, then build back up. Cross train more. Get more sleep. I tried a lot of plans.

But then, today, forty minutes after I’d worked through lunch and eaten at my desk, I went to the locker room, changed my clothes and headed out. The skies were dark, the kind of clouds that open and pour for hours. I breathed in and waited a minute, but I didn’t turn back. I’d just eaten, I could have gotten cramps. I didn’t turn back. I just started running, letting the cool air blow my hair back and the noise of traffic fade into the background. I felt good after a mile, and still after two. Into the third mile I knew the rain was coming, so I headed back.

Just a 3.4 mile loop in all, but I felt like it could have been 10. Finally, I thought, a run that means I still know how to run. I’d hoped it was in there somewhere, even after all my end-of-the-world-as-I-know-it talk. And it was.

Of course I don’t know how the next run will go. I don’t know that it’ll be pain free or exhilarating. But I’ll go for it anyway and try to remember that running is not only part of life but is just like life. Sometimes it’s up, sometimes it’s down and sometimes you just need a minute.

“Does his shirt say I heart girls that do curls?”

“Yeah, looks like it.”

“What is that? What do you say to a guy that wears a shirt like that?”

“I love you, too?”

I like things on time.

I’m not afraid to admit it. I like when 6:00 means 6:00 and ten minutes actually turns out to be ten minutes. I like meetings to start on time and more so, end on time. It is less because I am uber-important and I have a scientifically orchestrated schedule and more that I just like things to go as planned. (Hello, do we notice a theme this week? Yes, I know. Thank you.)

This is odd because I do consider myself a spontaneous person. Just last night, in fact, I pushed a fully clothed friend into a pool just because I could. How is that for spur of the moment? I am not the person who knows what they’re having for dinner a week from tomorrow or how many miles I’ll run on Saturday (though please, God, let it be some miles because the running lately has not been stellar- but we will discuss this another day). I’m all for just going with what feels good, within reason, and letting the rest happen.

The thing is, it’s dangerous. Something not starting or ending on time equals me, slightly afflicted with all things hyperactive, to be left to my own devices. If I have a block of time that I thought was accounted for, who knows what could happen. There’s a long list of things I’ve done when I had unplanned spare time including clean the oven (good), “invent” my own beer tap (not good), and write a song about thongs (oh trust me, way before any other song about thongs came about- remind me to share it sometime, you’ll love it).

I guess what I’m saying is, if anything you have planned ever involves me, please be as on time as possible. If you’re going to meet me for a run at 4:00, know that I will be ready at 4:00. I cannot be responsible for any ridiculousness that might occur if you’re late.

Exhibit A: