JustRunJustLiveJustBe

Would it even sound believable if I’d said in the last 48 hours I’ve both worn tall, uncomfortable heels (though I did love the dress) and watched ballroom dancing until very late into the evening and worn jeans, drank beer and watched a baseball game? The weekend did feel very contradictory though.

The mood I ended the week with on Friday was not good. My first instinct, of course, was to find a place to put the blame. After all, there is a cause to unhappiness as much as there is happiness, right? This mood was happening to me, right? It was not my fault.

Well.

That might all be true. But having that attitude for more than a short time feels a little like a cop out. Telling myself that only a change or the presence or absence of something would improve my mood was not getting me anywhere. While I agree that we all need our moments, I don’t seem to be the kind of person who can live in those moments for very long. Not that I was admitting this on Friday. Oh no. I hadn’t gotten that far on my own. Good thing for me, there was help coming.

A friend of mine who I adore more each time I’m around her invited me to watch part of a ballroom dance competition over the weekend. I accepted without hesitation because, as I mentioned, I’d get to be around her and also, I can never pass up exposure to new things. Now, I really can’t get into the whole dancing part of this because a) I move with the grace of a moose, and b) I know nothing about dancing at. all. What I will say, though, is that it was fascinating. The entire time I just could not get over how some people are able to move their bodies so gracefully and with such control. Some people even manage to blink gracefully. My gosh.

After a late performance by a professional pair on Saturday evening, a woman sitting across from me asked me if I wanted to dance after seeing a show for the first time. I told her no, not really, but that I wouldn’t mind watching it forever. I also wanted to add that if we come back in next lives, I’d ask to come back with rhythm.

Sunday afternoon I went to a Triple A baseball game with a group of friends. There are few things better than baseball in the afternoon in the summer. I think I may have mentioned a few times that this scenario is just the kind of thing that would make me fall in love with something. The breeze across the field, the ambiance of happy people, the relaxation induced by sitting and just being. It’s all so good. I also might have mentioned (and posted to Twitter) that I loved summer so much that I’d marry it and have it’s babies. I’d had half a beer at this point, so that’s my excuse.

After being made fun of for half a beer getting to me and for wearing a shirt that said “I Hug Trees” (don’t ask) I found myself realizing that my entire weekend was an attitude adjustment. New experiences, old experiences, friends, I needed every bit of it. I feel like I spent all last week (and probably several weeks before) absorbed in a state of pity all the while not realizing that my mom’s advice was, of course, right on: no one situation ever defines you. I just needed to open my eyes a little and remember that the rest of life doesn’t stop because I have a bad attitude or because I’m depressed over something. There is still life to live and people that want you around, even if you have moments when you can’t bring yourself to answer the phone at night.

I’m not sure of how much confidence I have in this feeling lasting, I am hesitant to make any promises. But it feels so good that I’m going to tell myself that it was more than just the weekend. It was more than just a break. It was the help I didn’t know I was waiting for. I don’t know if I can remind myself of that often enough, but I’m really going to try.

This last week has been rough. And no, not illness or death or tragedy rough, just life rough. The truth is, some parts of life have been tough for a while now and while it didn’t do much to me at first, it’s starting to have an effect on me now.

When I get home at night, I’m exhausted. I know this is common, I know that’s what work does to a lot of us, but what’s different is me. I’m reacting differently, and I don’t like it. I put off returning emails and often I don’t answer the phone. I don’t avoid these things because I’m avoiding people, I am doing it because I’m afraid of what I’m going to be like. To make a long story short, I’m not very much fun to be around lately. And if there’s anything I can be counted on to be, it’s fun. A bad day here and there, sure, but not long stretches of them. I’m not used to this and I’m afraid the people around me aren’t, either.

I know the people that love us will love us even in the hard times. I know that this is temporary and that it will pass. I just don’t like who I am in the mean time. I’m doing everything I can to get past it, and I’m good at that part. I’m just not so good at being in the middle of it.

Earlier this evening while I was walking my dog, I told myself to think hard– really, really hard. I like plans of action, and I need one now. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, probably looking a little crazy, and made myself make a list of five things that I’m doing right, right now. I needed to remind myself that one situation, one disappointment does not completely define me. With all the energy I’ve been spending on what’s bad, I needed to force myself to see the good. So I stood there, made my list, and took a deep breath just as the sun was beginning to go behind the clouds.

Yeah, I know. Silver lining, right? That’s what I thought too.

So right now I’m sitting at the airport and oh, how I wish I could tell you it’s because I’ve finally had enough of it all and I left work this evening and drove straight here and bought a ticket on the next flight to Anywhere.  Sadly, and maybe moreso for everyone else than me, that is not the case.  Rather, I’m here to pick people up and because we no longer live in the land of Air Travel Make-Believe, I’m now a victim of last-minute flight changes and shortages of who knows what.  Obviously I’m very understanding and not bitter, though enough of these expensive airport drinks and, well, you never know where the night could go.

But, in other, similarly bitter but much more important life, I also wanted to address bike commuting.  Specifically, that I’ve began riding my bike to work a few days a week and how, even with all it’s challenges, I’m liking it a lot.  Except, that’s a lie.  Aside from the gas savings (let’s be honest, reason #1) and the fitness benefits (a close second), bike commuting has not made me a better person.  Instead of finding that Zen-like place where those miles to and from work create moments of peace and time for myself, it’s starting to wear on me.

Here are a few reasons why:

1)  People don’t pick up after their dogs.  About 75% of my route is on a local trail (read: paved path), and every day I see piles and piles of you-know-what that someone just left in the middle of the trail.  This bothers me everywhere, of course, but especially at dawn when the light is just beginning to illuminate all of nature’s miracles left over from the summer’s evening walks of the day before.  Needless to say, I’ve come in contact with or very close to these piles more than once which, believe me, is no way to start a ten hour day.  (For those not famililar, if you run over a substance with a spinning tire, that substance goes one way:  UP.  See where this is going?  Not pretty.)

2) If you have road rage in a car, do not take to riding a bike in or around any kind of traffic.  It is nothing like those little video tapes we watched in the fourth grade where cars politely stop at intersections and crosswalks and make sure there is no one coming.  Far from it.   Those videos lied.  For one, no drivers know bicyclists’ (wow, did I just date myself with that word?) hand signals any more.  They think you are waving.  Which, apparently, is an invitation to take you out at the calf with their bumper.  Even in a city with more cyclists (there, that better?) per capita than most, people do not know these things.

3)  You will eat bugs.  If you don’t like to eat bugs, this may also be a bad way to start/end the day.  (Unless you have somehow managed to ride mile after mile with your mouth closed.  Which, if that is the case, teach me.  Apparently I’m a mouth breather.)

4)  Having to “gear up” and hop on your bike at the end of the day is less glamorous than it sounds.  When you’re ready to leave work and you’re not in the best mood, it is far better to go bombing out of the parking garage with your windows rolled down and Aerosmith blasting from your car stereo than it is to pedal through ten blocks of city traffic just to get to the trail only to drop your chain.  I’m sorry, it just is.

And this was all last week.  Did it stop me from riding in a few days this week?  No.  I guess because once in a while, when I’m slogging up that last hill before home after a ten hour day and a three hour meeting –that should have been titled I’m Your New Leader, and I’m a Tool– I’ll pass another commuter.  We’ll nod to each other, and though I don’t know what they’re thinking, it makes me feel better.  Because at least someone knows.

• Just this week alone, I have witnessed three women up and leave a restroom without washing their hands. Who does this? I mean, I know there are several studies that prove that a door knob and your computer keyboard have more germs than the bathroom, but there is just no excuse for a grown woman to not wash after peeing. In all three cases, I didn’t see these women, but I did see their shoes. Now looking at shoes in the hallways at work has become like a second job. I don’t know what I’ll actually do when I recognize a pair. Possibly gag.

• Is grunting while lifting weights at the gym really necessary? I mean, I understand the occasional sound, and even a deep breath. But when you’re starting to sound like maybe you should be in the bathroom rather than at the squat rack, it scares me. Dude, we get it: WEIGHTS ARE HEAVY.

• And now for something you’ll really love! Earlier I was visiting her site where she introduced me to this site, at which point I promptly made it all about me and whined “make me an outfit! make me an outfit!” At which point she did. Aren’t internet friends the best?

  

Gee, I wonder where she came up with those ideas.

This actually works out really well because I already have a lot of this stuff, like socks, and Corona.

My long runs are getting a little longer right now. (Or is it harder? Sometimes I get confused.) I’m trying to go easy on myself because not only do I want to remain uninjured but should I decide to actually participate in a race beyond a 10K this year, I’d sort of like to wait until I have set that goal. If I just start increasing mileage now for no real reason then when it comes time for it to be for real, I might burn myself out. Part of me is not sure if that’s a reasonable person talking or if it’s a lazy one. Ah, yes, do not run too much. No. Wouldn’t want to burn out before something that may or may not happen. Yeah. I’m gonna go with: it is wise.

Anyway, yesterday my long run (which is, of course, relative) was just over eight miles. In a lot of ways, I’m a different runner than what I was a few years ago. Nothing is really new, I know everything well enough to know what to expect. I’ve learned to take it as it comes rather than wanting every run to be perfect. Still, there are also some things about my running that haven’t changed. For one, I like to be entertained on a run. Scenery, music if I’m running inside, or conversation all help me get through this grueling task I do completely by choice.

I left my house yesterday morning and headed for a local trail. For about a mile, before you cross to the trail, you have to run down this tree-lined sidewalk. It’s cool and shady and, during this time of year, very loud. There must be a hundred bird’s nests in those trees and I think every single egg hatched on the same day. Now, as you pass them, what sounds like 500 baby birds squeak and scream. Yes, it is a very cute concept, I suppose. The not-so-cute part, however, are the parents. The adult birds, ever-present and even louder than their offspring, do everything they can to let you know you are in the wrong place. Apparently missing the fact that I don’t have wings, anywhere between five and fifteen of them are flying no more than a yard or two over my head in this frightening swooping pattern. They have this oddly loud chirping/warning signal and it is all no doubt a carefully constructed play probably called Get This Human Out of Our Territory. You know, like a Sweep but more intimidating. And more dangerous.

Thankfully, this was the most eventful part of the run. For as often as I choose to whine about runs that don’t go well, I try to remind myself to appreciate the ones that do, even if they’re just okay. A lot of things are either changing or about to change in and around my life right now, and if a good run wants to come along in the middle of all that, well by all means. Sometimes things can get so distracting or weigh so heavily on my mind that they get in the way of running. It’s nice to have running interfere with everything else once in a while.

About three years ago, every Tuesday I’d run with my friend, Lisa.  Speedwork Lisa is what I’d call her, because every Tuesday would find me running 4-6 miles at a pace notably faster than my comfort zone.  No way was I going to slow down, but something has to be sacrificed when you’re doing speed work, and for me it was breath. 

Because I could barely breathe much less talk during those miles, I ended up doing a lot of nodding along and asking questions.  (This is a little trick I have, if you’re running with me and I need you to slow down:  I ask a lot of open-ended questions.  Sometimes baiting you enough to go into long, emotional, drawn-out stories.  I feel very tricky, and not at all bad about it.)  Often, Lisa and I, both being runners and both being women, would settle on the topic of weight.  No surprise to anyone, an entire run could be absorbed by our talk of flab, pants size, and diet.

I always feel like a novice compared to Lisa when it comes to fitness and weight.  Not only is Lisa a faster runner than I am, she was a competitive gymnast through college, and now teaches Pilates in a studio that she owns.  Lisa rules.  And in the case of our running conversations and with my only natural feeling of inferiority, I drool. 

During one of our last runs together that summer, Lisa mentioned she’d like to lose three or four pounds.  “I just feel different,” she’d say.  And I’d tell her she looked great and that I understood that feeling (probably a good fifteen pounds over weight myself at the time), though really I didn’t.  Because she had no visible excess weight, to me.  She had no extra inches, in my eyes.  I couldn’t see it, not compared to me.  I was blinded by my own excess weight, by my own “different” feeling.  By my own tight pants and thighs that rubbed together.  It was nothing new to my life, oh no.  And it would be nothing that would go away any time soon, either.

Growing up very athletic and carrying your weight well does great things for an ego.  Namely, you can ignore a lot. It’s only during swimsuit time or when you’re alone, staring naked into a mirror that you have to see the truth.  The truth that is and has been for a very long time.  Minus a couple bad break-ups, and a couple intense seasons of training, a little (relative word there) extra weight has always been a part of me.  I couldn’t tell you my “real” weight if I tried.  I have muslce, I run a lot, and yeah, I could stand to lose some weight.  This has been who I am for most of my adulthood.

A few months ago, I decided I was done with it.  That’s when I joined what my friends, family, and I have now affectionately named “the Dub Dub” or “Chub Club” or numerous other terms for  Weight Watchers.  I won’t say this is right for everyone, and I won’t say it’s right forever.  What I will say is it came to me at, apparently, the exact right time and you know what else?  It’s the only thing that’s worked for me.  It is not perfect, and no way am I, but it has worked.  I have struggled, I have cried, I have lost, I have gained. I’ve admitted more to myself than there is room for in this post. I think this will always be how it is for me—tough. 

But, I have also learned.

I have learned what it feels like to have that difference. I have learned that one day, one week, or even fifteen of my sister’s best home-cooked meals does not ruin everything.  I have learned that when it comes to food, the food I eat, life is life. Sometimes it works perfectly and other times you have to fight harder, and still other times you have to let it all go and learn how to pick up the pieces.

Does this fix everything?  Of course not.  Does it mean that I have completely stopped criticizing myself and now have all the confidence in the world?  Um, definitely not.  Right now, though, I’m staring down the barrel of the last three or four pounds and as far as I feel I’ve come, and as hard as I know the work will be ahead, I can’t help but think yeah, now I know what Lisa meant. 

Me: So I just threw out about six Roma tomatoes.

Mom: Had you eaten any?

Me: Yes, over the weekend. But I figure why push it?

Mom: Well you’d know it if by now if they’d made you sick.

Me: Yeah. Hey, have I ever had food poisoning? I can’t remember.

Mom: I don’t think so. I think we’d remember that.

Me: I’d think so too.

Mom: And with all that eating you’ve done from places parked on the side of the road, I’d say tomatoes are your last concern.