Rumor had it that another winter storm was on it’s way. After a nice, long day of working while sitting on the couch, a trip out into the land of the living before we’re buried under another layer of snow sounded like a good idea. Turns out I miss people, on occasion.

I wasn’t the only one with this thought. Starbucks was packed. I waited in line, thinking how odd it was that a coffee shop, of all places, could get me into the Christmas spirit better than anywhere else I’ve been so far. A nice couple in front of me, in their wool coats and identical knit CU Buffs gloves, made small talk with me while we all shuffled ahead, slowly making our way to the counter.

The wait for your order was equally long. I didn’t mind, sitting at home all day had made me feel relaxed and accomplished. I wondered if the look on my face obviously said “I got so much done today, I’m definitely getting a gold star at work tomorrow!” Because that’s how I felt. Whatever look it was, though, must have made me approachable. The glove twins started chatting with me again. They were headed to the airport, to go visit their grandchildren for the holidays. They live in Phoenix for part of the year. They have a boat, two dogs, and arthritis. And they liked asking questions, too.

Where are you from, dear? What do you do? Have you finished all your shopping? I answered them all, happy to have such a sweet pair represent my only in-person human interaction for the day. Then, the dreaded question came. It always comes. On airplanes, in waiting rooms, at parties. And in long Starbucks lines.

“And are you married, dear?”

Ugh.

No. And then they usually follow that with “Why?” It’s not that I have a problem saying it, and it’s not that I’m not thinking oh, dear God, why is this so important to everyone? It’s just that the way a kind old couple asked the question sort of made me want to break down right there and tell them I have no idea. The truth might be that I have a lot of ideas, though. Either way—I’m not good on logic with this—I just wanted to make that quarter-sized table at Starbucks my own little confessional booth. And these kind, wool-coated, glove-matching people my new best friends.

I wanted to tell them how I move, both radically and gently, between certainty that I’m doing nothing wrong and convincing myself that there are a thousand reasons I’m screwing things up. One day I tell myself something just wasn’t right, and to stick to my gut. The next day I’m wondering if I’m not just the kind of person that will find something wrong with everything. Maybe I have some kind of rare mental issue to be diagnossed as: Arm’s Length Syndrome, characterized by someone who makes themselves especially busy and preoccupied so they can never really stop and think long enough about what they’re doing, nor the failed attempts in their past to get what they really want because if they did they’d realize it was all them. Then I tell myself that I will know, and not to waste anyone’s time. Then I tell myself to take the time. It is like being forced to run on a treadmill, but without any good music or CNN.

Not to mention any of the little, superficial things that go through my head when I think about meeting the right person. Unanswerable questions. Fears, maybe. Like, will the right person date me if I’m never a size four again? Will he mind if I constantly eat popcorn even though it produces really bad results? Will he like my dog? Will he tolerate a serious, incurable addiction to flip flops? All of this, this little stuff, this is what a girl might think of when someone asks her why she’s single.

Luckily, I think, I’m not yet to the point where I’ll break down in front of strangers over the state of my dating life. That, and I don’t want anyone to try to make me feel better. It is not about sympathy, and matching-glove couple was too nice to end it like that. (Though I am sort of thinking of all the people I know that read this right now, and what they must wonder about me. And that sort of makes me want to be sick.) Instead I just said something light, and airy like “oh, I don’t know. Maybe Santa’s waiting until Christmas.”  (Yeah, that is sort of vomit-inducing, too.)  Then I grabbed my non-fat, no-water, high-maintenance Chai off the counter and wished them safe travels.

I walked out the door, slipped on my gloves and thought one thing: Though I really would like someone around some day that could answer many of my questions, I don’t think we ever need to wear matching gloves.

People are so nice. If I could, I’d just write all day about all the awesome, kind people I come across. It would become boring—because oh look at me and all my wonderful people—but it would be true. And not to worry, everyone, the title in the last post is a line in an Aerosmith song. I’m good, and especially today. Today, I’m living the dream.

Okay, not really.

I’m sort of dreaming the dream, I guess you could say. I’m working from home. I have my fleece pants, a really comfortable chair not at all concerned with ergonomics and not one, but two dogs sitting at my feet. It’s lovely. And no, Mom, I did not go get another dog. I found this one. And I think I know where she lives, but her owners don’t seem to be home. So she’s here, keeping my dog company; and quite honestly, teaching her a thing or two, I hope. Like, oh, I don’t know, maybe that it’s okay to JUST CALM DOWN once in a while. Let’s hope it sticks.

If I had my way some days and were a less rational person more of the time, my home would be an open door to every little seemingly misbegotten animal within a fifty mile radius. It is one thing when you see them and they take off running so fast you have no hope of catching them. But when they follow you to your door (TO YOUR DOOR!) what else can you do? It was twelve degrees outside and the ground is covered in ice—as if there’s even a chance I’m just going to shut the door in her cute little Min-Pin face. And I’m going to type this quietly so she doesn’t know, but I’m not really a fan of the Miniature Pinscher, per se. But freezing-cold cute trumps that any day.

Later, after we’ve had our lunch break nap, when I see her owner’s car in the drive, I’ll go over and bring her home. But for now, I’m happy that both my feet can be warmed and Lola is happy that she has someone else to blame for that smell.

“I keep running a mile every day but it never gets easier.”

This was a search query that lead to this site recently. Almost right away, I felt for this person. It is hard, when you’re starting at a mile, to imagine it ever being easy. You run and you run, and you try and you try, but it is a long road. I want to believe that this person, this poor, lost runner soul, ended up at this post, read it, and then sat and thought long and hard about why they were choosing to run. Then again, this is a person who wants so badly for running to become easier that they actually searched for a how-to on the Internet. In other words, they probably already know why they’re choosing to run. They already want it.

The best response I have, though it may disappoint our little Googler, is that a mile is not easy. A mile is relatively easy. This is to say that a mile, in itself, is a more-than-average distance for a body to move at a faster-than-average pace on foot. So when you’re expecting it to “get easier” it may never, relatively. But oh! Wait! Don’t loose hope! Because I have a recommendation for you: run two miles. Yes, you read correctly. Add another mile to something that is already difficult. If you are healthy, have consulted your doctor, have the proper shoes—yadda, yadda, yadda—then do it.  Add another mile and then you will know that one mile is not easy, but it’s easier than two. That is how it starts.

And I’m only saying this because it’s something I have to remind myself of often. The last several days have been a little rough. My best, most coherent summary is that someone really disappointed me, a bird died, I took a final exam, and someone who said they’d call did not. By the time I walked through the door last night, I could feel the stress rising in my body so strongly that I couldn’t even bring myself to eat. This is how we know things are going down hill. So I sat here, at my little two foot by four foot desk for a good hour before gazing at the treadmill, three feet away, and deciding to get on it.

It was not an easy thing to do, to step on that belt. But I told myself that sometimes you have to work through things. Keep at it, even if it’s hard. Less than a mile in, I found out I really can run and shed tears at the same time. It just took a different experience (or ten) to do it. The run was saved though, because about twenty minutes in, Steven Tyler started screaming in my ear and it was just what I needed to get over the hill that has been the last five days. Part of me just needed to scream along for a few minutes.

So to me, if you really want to run, and you really know you need it, keep at it. If you wait for it to get easier, you might end up disappointing yourself, all the while never having pushed yourself enough to know you truly can get past the hard part. You will never give yourself a chance to realize that there’s always going to be a hard part, and that you can handle it. And if you want to, scream once in a while, too.

Well, it’s been almost a week. My sister and nephew left to go back to their home, back to their husband/daddy and left all of us here in Colorado to miss them, and to freeze. She’s called nearly ten times to say “It’s eighty degrees here,” as if that’s helpful.

Two nights ago, though, husband/daddy did come home, and it was long-awaited and long over due for his family. And knowing that, knowing that they’re all back together, well that makes it worth the times when we’ll really miss them. That, for us, has become what life is about. Not taking any time, apart or together, for granted because you’ve been fortunate enough to realize just how special it all is. There is none of the bickering or misunderstanding –both of which we’d do well given the chance– you’d find in the day-to-day. There is just time. Fading, palpable time.

If there is a message in everything, something to learn from every chapter, I like to think I’ve been able to do that. There’s something comforting about knowing that even far apart, this space and time is relative. If we’re lucky, we’ll be together again before we know it. I might be coating this whole thing with a nice blanket of pretty, but stopping to think about it, what choice do we really have? About anything? Either you have learned to make the best and appreciate every second, or you are holding on too tight to what could be and missing it altogether. Put that way, it makes complete sense.

Thanks to everyone who commented with something helpful (or complimentary, or cute) on last week’s post about my header. (Oh, just imagine the site searches that might end up here now.) It turns out that I not only needed helpful instruction but helpful instruction from several people in order to get this right. And, as I replied to many of you in email, I eventually did figure it out. And, just like the woman I am, I up and changed my mind about the photo I wanted to use anyway.

This new one was taken at the same time as the other however, it was much easier on me, which we know is what really matters.

I know it is of rocks (which are in the mountains very near to my home) but soon I will be beach dreaming (read: beach going) and so the sand and surf is sure to make a come back. Fear not. And many of you told me this, how you prefer the sand and surf, and let me just assure you SO DO I. Nonetheless, red rocks are pretty, too and I swear that blue sky was one of the prettiest blue skies I’ve ever seen, anywhere.

To those of you I owe baked goods or gossip, I think we’ve squared that up in email. If that is not the case, and you want some baked goods or gossip for your helpful deeds, do let me know. Next weekend is baking weekend and, well, the gossip cup runneth over. Or maybe it’s just news and not gossip. I don’t know. There’s also a very good chance it’s interesting to no one but me, because I get excited about finding coins in the couch cushions, too.

Speaking of news, there are a lot more people in my life that have it. And much more than I, for certain. For example, in just a couple months, my very, very best childhood friend is having her first baby. It makes me so, so happy and not just because babies brought into the world by wonderful, good, caring people (as she and her husband are) are a good thing but also because my friend really deserves all the best.

This is the girl that defended us when we were in After School Art Club as fifth graders when all the really cool kids were playing hand ball. This is the girl that told off the boy that was making fun of my flat chest in the lunch room, and then went up to that same boy the next year and pointed at my chest (which had more than caught up with the rest of me over the summer) and said “Bet you want to take that back now, don’t you?” She is awesome. And she’s going to be a wonderful mom.

This is what we woke up to this morning:

It’s about time we got some decent snow. If it has to be cold, I’d rather the snow come with it. I might even get into the Christmas spirit.

Maybe I’ll even put on the Yaktrax and go for a run.

We started out at a good pace. The night sky lit by a staggering amount of electricity that still amazes me. Overhead, the fireworks exploded, lasting much longer than I expected– at least until sunrise. The pounding of feet all around us and my sister and I, finally at the race rather than just training for it.

My only goal was just to keep us on pace. I just wanted her to finish, and feel good. That’s probably what I’ve wanted this whole time. My worst fear was not that she’d train for one race and then never run again; my worst fear was that she wouldn’t enjoy it. The purpose of training, and getting to the race, was to have fun. With all she’s had to deal with in the last year– with all we both have– I just kept hoping that the running would be the escape.

Between mile five and six, she asked me how we were doing. “Pretty good,” I said, “almost at six.” This stunned her, that the miles could go so fast with the help of distraction. I told her it would [hopefully] be this way. That this is how races were for me. Just distracting enough for the miles to pass without notice. It’s one reason I’ll pay a hundred dollars to run.

We talked a little during the last few miles. I, in my ever-emotional state, started watching the clock and thinking wow, we’re really going to do this and in a good time, too. I’d get a little choked up thinking of how proud of her I was. How far she’d come in four months, from running one mile, to running ten and a half (our last long run). I held it together pretty well, until mile 13. She saw the marker, looked over at me and asked “Are we going to make it?” She meant our time, but to me that meant so much more. I nodded and the lump in my throat grew. I’ve never felt like this in a race before. There’s never been that much pride.

“Well then,” she said, “let’s go!” And she took off for the finish. She got about ten yards ahead of me when I had to get over that lump in my throat and pick it up. I didn’t know this, but apparently it’s impossible for me to cry and run at the same time. So I just caught up to her, kept silent and rounded the corner to the finish line. We looked up at the clock, grabbed each other’s hand and crossed the mat together. I’ve had a lot of good races, but this one was all it’s own.