13.1 Miles Later

On Sunday I did what I said I would in a previous post. I ran a half marathon. Thirteen-point-one miles later, I am still here to tell you the tale. And aside from the run itself, the weekend was lovely. I set off with two of my girlfriends on Saturday morning; Google maps in hand, snacks a-plenty, with everyone in agreement that I should not be allowed to drive under any circumstances. I’m a slow, scared driver. It annoys California people.

We arrived without glitch, picked up our bibs for Sunday’s race, and then headed straight and without hesitation to lululemon. Just like many people, the Clark-Bonks are on a lock-down type budget right now. But the emergency fund has been set aside, and I’m not in the vicinity of a lulu very often. And those crack-peddling bastards are the last retailer on Earth to have no online store. In other words, my hand was forced. I left with some running capris and a headband that won’t slide in my hair. Such restraint was show by all.

A healthy mix of hotel lounging, pasta gorging, gelato binging, nail polishing, and 48-Hours-Mystery watching went on. And of course, sexy pajama pillow fighting. It was a typical girly sleepover. Unfortunately it was followed up by a six a.m. alarm, and a furious scramble to consume some fuel, get to the starting line, and stretch our short-legged bodies in preparation for the road ahead.

I’ll skip the suspense and tell you that Ashley and I both finished the race in times we are proud of, and Jenn’s moral support gave us the boost that kept us from quitting.

The next 2 hours 15 minutes and 17 seconds were simultaneously exciting, hilarious, painful and incredibly painful. The first mile included a 45 degree incline. The next few miles were scenic and quaint and lots of runners were still yelling ‘Wooo Hooo’ every once in a while. By the turn at the halfway point, I was feeling rather competitive and was at the peak of my runner’s high. By mile 10 I was reconsidering this entire endeavor. Around mile 11 an elderly man, and by elderly I mean approximately 80 years old, passed me, forcing me to pick up the pace and subsequently pass him. He remained hot on my heels for at least another mile, but my inner voice said “I’ll be DAMNED if my finish line picture shows me running alongside someone’s great grandpa.” I left that geezer in my dust. The last mile leading up to the finish line included the 45 degree downhill slope that was the flipside of the torturous opening climb, and most of us were bordering on losing control of our legs and tumbling down the asphalt hill. I crossed the finish line triumphantly, but immediately after retrieving my finisher’s medal (which I wore to bed that night) I started walking like Bambi right after he was born. Sidenote: Aspercreme does wonders to keep your joints feeling good during the race. But it burns like a mother when you take a hot tub after the race.

By the time we got home, the pain in my knees felt like nothing at all when compared to the knot in my stomach. Apparently, after approximately 13.1 miles my entire digestive system goes on strike. Stops moving. Despite the fact that running 13.1 miles seems like it would give you the right to eat whatever you want, absolutely nothing sounded good to me. The pain and hunger strike endured into the night, and even though I was able to eat the next morning, I had to substitute teach first graders so my knees definitely did not get a rest.

Three days out from the great race, I am finally feeling normal again. A little stiff, but able to walk and eat. And I'm scouring the internet for my next great race. Wine country in March? Michigan in June? Perhaps Chicago in August? I'm almost 100% certain I could never do a whole marathon, because that would literally have meant turning around and starting over after I reached the finish line at 13.1 miles. Considering that I limped to line-up for free breadsticks, then limped to the car, then barely was able to get myself into my bed, that doesn't seem like a good idea.

Finally, if you care to see how frighteningly cheerful I look throughout the race, you can go here and type in 8744, my bib number.

I Don't Hate My Body, And Neither Do You

As I grow older, I have a definite tendency to become more health conscious. As children we were always active and our parents fed us mindfully, but the last six or so years have found me giving up meat, taking up running and practicing yoga. Perhaps most importantly, I've accepted the fact that weight and health don't have to be correlated. At my skinniest, I've not necessarily been my healthiest, and vice versa.

The irony of life, perhaps specifically the lives of women in Western culture, is that we spend what should be the most carefree, high metabolism times of our lives, a.k.a. the living hell that is adolescence, hating our bodies and worrying about what we eat. I look back at myself at 16 and realize that not only was I pretty and fit in that awkward terrible fashion/bad hair way, but that I probably could have subsisted solely on cupcakes and pats of butter without having much of an effect on my dress size. Even friends of mine who didn't have the metabolism of a field mouse in high school had a youthful glow on those pimply cheeks and innocent smiles that even braces couldn't obscure. Now, years later, we use makeup and teeth whiteners to try and replicate that natural beauty.

We all nod knowingly when we hear 'youth is wasted on the young,' but it seems painfully poignant when I see my peers today finding themselves with an acceptance and even respect for their figures despite the real or perceived flaws. We dress to our body shape, we go to the gym, we buy Spanx and watch our portion sizes. We have moments of pizza-induced weakness and thigh-loathing, but overall we realize we are not, nor will we ever be, the genetic freak that is Heidi Klum. We flaunt what we have, whether it be breasts, bum, clavicle or calves, and we strategically camouflage the other bits.

I can't speak for all of us, but as I see 30 in my future and realize 20 isn't even visible in my rear view mirror anymore, I work on seeing myself as a constantly perfected work-in-progress. I don't mean that to sound conceited, but I think many a man would be shocked and women would be saddened if we truly added up the time spent worrying about our flaws. Sure, I'd love to be a little thinner in the area I refer to as between-the-belly-button-and-knees, but mostly I just want to fit into my favorite jeans for a few more years and live as long as possible. The 27-year old me, unlike the 16-year old me, realizes that the primary purpose of my body is not to provide eye-candy for men or to serve as a mannequin for tiny t-shirts. Even with so few years logged in, I've seen women beat cancer, battle M.S., birth children with great ease, birth children with great difficulty, run marathons, care for loved ones and stay standing through it all. If I'm having a good day and turn a few heads, I won't complain. But our bodies clearly have a higher purpose than pleasing men (or women, for that matter).

I can't get back the time I spent as a teen hating my body. I also, unfortunately, can't get back the time spent watching 'Speed' repeatedly just to let Keanu make my palms all sweaty. Or those hours wasted bawling to Jewel when my first boyfriend dumped me. The point is, I've learned my lesson. From now on I, nay WE, will accept our lumps, be more forgiving of both real and imagined cellulite and/or hair on the upper lip. After all, life is bigger that that...and we have self-tanner and wax to deal with the other matters!



Source.

Auld Lang Syne, whatever that means

I stole this list from my friend Holly, but it seems like succinct and easy way to reflect on last year and roll into the new one. I'm not one for resolutions as concrete as pounds to lose or miles to run, but I am all for the idea of constantly bettering myself. What's the point if life if not to at least put in some effort? 2008 was a wonderful year for us, with ups and downs as can be expected in any period of 365 days. The picture above is me, walking out of 2008 and into 2009 with a stolen balloon arrangement. There's no other way really.

1. What did you do in 2008 that you'd never done before? Crow pose!

2. Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year? I can never remember if I made any the year before. This conveniently dissolves me of any guilt of breaking them. This year I'm giving up any products containing leather.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth? Yes! Bernadette and Shannon!

4. Did anyone close to you die? The Fabulous Peggy Brown.

5. What countries did you visit? Germany, Czech Republic, Canada.

6. What would you like to have in 2009 that you lacked in 2008? A winning lottery ticket, thinner thighs, more time with my family.

7. What dates from 2008 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? August 5th, our first trip to Mount Rushmore, our second anniversary and the day Grandma Brown passed away.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year? Getting a real job, then quitting it for real reasons.

9. What was your biggest failure? Missing my friend Kristy's wedding.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury? No.

11. What was the best thing you bought? Stacking dolls and Lululemon pants.

12. Where did most of your money go? Travel, easily.

13. What did you get really, really, really excited about? My cousin's wedding in Denver, moving back to Bako, Christmas with my family.

14. What song will always remind you of 2008? Johanna, Du Geile Sau

15. Compared to this time last year, are you:

a) happier or sadder? happier

b) thinner or fatter? same

c) richer or poorer? same

16. What do you wish you'd done more of? Yoga and travel.

17. What do you wish you'd done less of? Worrying, watching Ghost Whisperer.

18. How did you spend Christmas? Eating lasagna and being lazy with my family. Bliss!

19. Did you fall in love in 2008? I fell in love in 2001!

20. What was your favorite TV program? Life, 30 Rock, The Office, Girlfriends, I Shouldn't Be Alive, Daily Show.

21. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year? Sarah Palin? But I might be getting over it...

22. What was the best book you read? Middlesex, War Day, For the Love of Dog.

23. What did you want and get? A second dog!

24. What did you want and not get? A job I love.

25. What was your favorite film of this year? I'm pretty sure it wasn't a new release, but I saw 'Darjeeling Limited' for the first time in 2008 and I loved it enough to buy it for myself.

26. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you? I turned 27 on June 15, and I had a BBQ at my parents house, complete with Dirt Cake and Sissy.

27. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? If I was better able to support our family financially.

28. What kept you sane? David, dogs and dark chocolate.

29. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? O, Bam, AAAAAAAAAAAAA! Obama!

30. What political issue stirred you the most? Proposition 8 in California. The fight goes on!

31. Who did you miss? Sissy, M, D, Jess...too many to list.

32. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2008. To try and live the way my dogs do...finding pure, insane amounts of joy in food, sleep and affection, and only to worry about my loved ones leaving me and things going bump in the night.

33. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year. 'You think you have to want more than you need, until you have it all you won't be free...Society, you're a crazy breed.' -Eddie Vedder.

Quitting Is For Quitters

I quit my job. Actually, I resigned, formally, with a letter. Apparently 'quitting' is for when you work at Dairy Queen or the Gap, but resigning is for grown-ups. This was a very, very difficult decision for me for several reasons. Most obviously, I feel a lot of responsibility for the well-being and progress of my clients. By leaving, I am essentially abandoning them until someone else takes up their cause. And language barriers being what they are, I find it somewhat impossible to explain the complicated myriad of reasons as to why I'm leaving them. Secondly, it was a major accomplishment for me to even get this job in the first place. My two-year Euro-hiatus was amazingly decadent in a very simple way, and the life lessons and wordly tutilage were aplenty. But the idea of having an actual job that might relate to potentially having an actual career was enticing, not to mention one of the major reasons why we came back to the States for this season. So quitting makes me feel like, well, a quitter who has let down her clients, herself, and her husband. I'm just dramatic enough to have thoughts like that.

When I look on the situation objectively, I realize I am most certainly making the right decision. I could not have known the organizational situation I would be walking into when I first enthusiastically accepted the position. I can't keep a job that makes me feel miserable and useless just because I don't want to appear like a failure. I have to accept the truth that I may not have found my path yet, as far as work goes, and that many people haven't by the age of 27. I have to remember my own words from six months ago and realize that my passion for life, not my passion for professional advancement or achievement, is what makes each day worth living.

Financially, quitting my job halfway through the season when there are virtually no jobs to be found and bills to be paid and a visa to be bought might not be the best idea. But money does not buy happiness. It does buy food, shelter, utilities and chapstick, the essentials of life. But we are lucky enough to be in a position from which we are unlikely to starve or become homeless. I have a backup plan, I'll still be pulling my weight and chipping in for the chapstick and other staples. And perhaps most importantly, I have a husband who supports me, trusts me, and takes care of me even if I'll never admit that I sometimes need to be taken care of. He watches our dollars and cents carefully, but he also has the sense to know that his sanity comes at the expense of my sanity, and he'll pay a lot to keep me sane. He's wise beyond his years.

The truth is that I have discovered that I'm not even on the right path to getting to the right path for me. It may be that choices made and opportunities pursued at age 20 might not have been informed enough and I'm now left with what seems like time lost and money wasted while the best bet for my professional future sits within reach. Within reach but somewhat untouchable because of the time and money that are required to accomplish that goal, not to mention the pride that has to be swallowed in order to admit that I may have been wrong with my first guess at what would make me happy. Both of my parents, the best role models a girl could ever want, have had lifelong careers, started in their mid-twenties, and both of them have had great success in their professions. I know, like most parents, they just want me to be happy and if making a change makes me happy, they'll support me. My husband, while not yet started on his 'real-life' career, has a job that pays him for doing the thing he loves most in the world, and he's good at it. We both know that hockey will, ineveitably, come to an end, and he will have to answer the question that strikes fear into the hearts of many minor league professional atheletes: What's next? But until then he has what most people only dream of and what I still hope to find. Everyone in the family I married into has a job that they seem to have always known they wanted, and they do it well and with gusto. Can you feel the pressure I'm under?

The fear of letting my parents, my in-laws and Dave down weighs on my heavily, because it occurs to me that people with such love for and success within their professions can't understand the regret and confusion of someone who still hasn't found their groove. In reality, they all love and support me in a way that is almost sickeningly encouraging. How can I throw a proper pity party if everyone stands behind me so solidly? Instead I have to decide to be the spicy weirdo of our family, the wandering gypsy woman who collects experiences until one day she opens up her bag and finds that they were all parts to one whole. I take signs from the universe and interpret them the way I see fit. If I get a sign telling me to build a teepee on the front yard sell homemade soap, I'll do it with the support of an entire family of passionate professionals. What better comfort is there for a quitter?