Sunday, April 17, 2016

The best & the broken

Yesterday, I had therapy & it wasn't terribly "productive"; rather than working on stuff, it was more like 50 minutes of pleasant chatting.
Which is awesome because that means at the moment I don't have stuff to work on.
Yes, I'm cranky about my temporary lack of activity.
It's temporary & it's completely out of my control & accidents just simply happen.
And cranky is a million times easier to deal with than depressed or anxious.
Cranky is a mood, not a looming cloud or ugly void.
Oddly enough, the turning point for me just happened to be on my birthday even though it began with an injury.
It's been a full week of an inexplicable shift in my mood...a lightness that I can't explain & don't really care to.
And I'm not going to waste any time wondering or waiting for it to pass, because maybe it won't.
And if it does, I will deal with it.
I'm getting better at that.

Oh, and at therapy, the news of my dad & Cary's recent engagement came up.
Not in a "ugh my dad is getting married and I'm freaking out how do I deal with this?" kind of way; more like, "Oh. And my dad and Cary got engaged and her ring is so beautiful and they're so excited. It's awesome!!" kind of thing.
So after the aforementioned 50 minutes of chatting, we agreed that maybe we stretch it out between the next appointment. As much as I click with (and genuinely like) my shrink, I don't need to shell out mega bucks to sit in his office and exchange pleasantries about books I've read recently or how awesome things are lately.

That was Thursday.
By Friday night, I was in a weird & manic sort of funk.
Because I'm not doing anything physically challenging at the moment, I have all this pent up energy and it's finding weird ways to wend its way through my system...reminds me of nesting.
I've been deep-cleaning the house, organizing drawers and cabinets, purging crap left and right, switching out art work on every possible wall space, rearranging shit. It's maddening, kinda.
Our home has reached that dismal point where everything seems to look tired at once;
the walls are dingy and mottled with hand prints, crayon marks, scuffs...the (hand-me-down) furniture is sagging and worn, the carpets are scratchy and developing tripping-hazard-sized mounds that need to be stretched tight (or ideally, replaced altogether)...
So, while everything is tired, at least it is tidy, clean, and more organized by the day.

Tuesday, April 12, 2016


On my forty-first birthday, I busted my foot during the last quarter mile of my morning run.
Like busted busted (the orthopedic doc strongly suspects it is broken; he wants an MRI in addition to the x-rays, but our insurance wants to hear that straight from the doc. Insurance, I am glad I have you, but you can go ahead and eat a dick).
Tomorrow will be a week since I fell and I'd like to take this opportunity to pat myself on the back for keeping whining to a minimum and not dragging everyone else down with me.
Some running goals have been squashed, but I'm surprisingly okay with that.
I ran a solid 15k a few days before turning 41& crossed the finish line with my bestie; while I wasn't setting the world on fire with my pace, I was truly stoked to begin logging miles in preparation for Broad Street (yep, I got selected in the lottery).
Other than Broad Street, I really had my heart set on crushing the local trail series (and was well on my way with two age-group wins in the book) and possibly attaining a PR at what would've been my third half-marathon.
Plans have changed.
I've deferred my Broad Street entry to next year (smart move).
I might be able to do a trail race at the tail end of the series, but am out of the running for an overall placing (it was super fun to chase points again, I'll admit it).    
That's that blah blah my feet for a bit, but I'll be back.
The good news is, I have been riding again. And I've been loving it.
The timing is great, as I'm sure I'll be back in the saddle before I am back on my feet.
Let's face it; it doesn't even feel like spring yet. The weather has been bullshit. I'm hardly missing anything.
Maneuvering around on crutches has proven to be a tough upper-body/core workout.
Nothing is hindering my ability to do any cross-training that doesn't involve my feet or ankles.
So, it's fine.
This is truly nothing.
(I mean, insurance sure doesn't think a broken foot is important, so...)

I love running.
I love running alone.
I love running with my friends.
I love running in the woods...on pavement. In the rain (when it's not cold rain).
In a sea of racers (though I do NOT like the crowds before the race actually starts).
In the dark morning, through town by the glow of street lights, sometimes the moon, our headlamps, various blinky safety lights.
I love the rush of endorphins, the good stretch after a long run, the Epsom soak to thank my legs for being strong...
I love to run.

I also love to write and paint and cook and play with my kids and watch movies at home by the fire and hang out with my friends and plenty of other shit to keep me busy while I nurse another silly injury.

Tuesday, April 5, 2016

on this last day of my fortieth year (bahahahahahahahahaha!!)

I don't have the energy to reflect on this shit...
I'm forty-ONE tomorrow.
My Angry Elevens are far more prominent than they were a year ago (so what?).
I'm pretty much blonde to cover the gray (I imagine this is how my mom became a blonde, too; though, unlike me, she totally looked like a natural blonde).
I don't know...other than that, I'm happy to be here.
I still feel young, sometimes naive, more often than not wise, and not at all hung up on "aging."
Women my age are fast and strong.
And some are even beautiful.
That's all. The end (of that).

More importantly, the day after my birthday, Bill and I will celebrate our fourth year of being hitched.
That still feels new most of the time.