Getting Excited

5 days, 11 hours, 44 minutes left.

I am ready.  I am so ready.  Nothing can break my will to succeed.

I know I can keep up with the 4:15:00 pace group and do it easily (well--not easily, but you know what I mean).  The real question is can I keep up with the 4:00:00 pace group?  Do I try?

I have butterflies roaring in my tummy.  I'm eating bananas. I'm checking the course maps and elevation charts. I'm crunching splits. I'm thrilled that I get to do this. I'm so happy this is a part of my life!

I keep joking that I can't wait until it's over, but the truth is that I can't wait until it's happening!  I can't wait to be out there on the course, breathing in the fresh Lake Erie air, wiping the sweat and salt from my forehead and popping jelly beans!  I can't wait to see my massively pregnant sister waving from the sidelines!  I can't wait to hear the bands and smell the cookouts at the cheering parties and smile for the little kids at the water stations!  I can't wait to hear my mom shouting my name!  And see my sweet little ginger-faced nephew at the end!

But I have to admit that there is one reason I'm really excited for it to be over...breakfast at Bob Evans. Ohhhh biscuits and honeyyyyy....!

A letter to my sister

I just can't thank you enough for helping me train and using your resources to get me through this.  Nobody has ever been so nice to me or helped me so much with anything ever. A marathon is an important goal for anyone, but for me I'm sure you know it's the biggest most important thing I've ever done in my life, and even though training is difficult for me and my lifestyle I fully intend to continue for future races.

Training has changed who I am and who I want to be. It's shaped this whole new person that I always wished and never thought I could become. I still struggle every day with feeling that I'm somehow broken or can't have a normal happy life, but becoming an athlete--not just a runner, not just someone who will run a marathon once, but a real athlete--has taught me that I am not broken, I am strong. It's irrefutable proof that my strength of will can carry me through anything, even if it's sometimes hard, even if I sometimes don't want to do it, even if other people tell me I can't or shouldn't or I'm no good.  Even if I am broken and even if my life is never normal, I really can get through anything and there is no reason for me to give up hope, ever.

I thank you every time I run for giving me that gift. Every time someone tells me how great I look I thank you. Every time I sheepishly decline a drink because I have to run 15 miles the next day and someone looks at me in awe I thank you. Every time I "matter-of-factly" tell someone I'm in training I thank you. Every time I look in a mirror and see a woman I am proud and happy to be--a woman who was once hidden by fat and anger and shame--I thank you.

Whether I make it through the finish at 3:59:59 or if I break my foot and can't finish at all, coming this far is a great achievement.  I'm doing it for me, but I am inspired and motivated to do it because of you. I am proud to be your sister and so excited to be following in your tracks. I love you!

It's Lime Backwards

My grandfather taught me the importance of being able to build and fix things yourself. He taught me that catching a fish is not the only reason to go fishing. He taught me that living simply can be relaxing and rewarding. He was so often joyful. He loved his big family, he loved having kids around, he loved serious conversation and light chatting and silly joking. He made the best of everything he was given.

And he died today. Easter Sunday, the day Christians celebrate the resurrection of Jesus. A day meant for sunshine and daffodils and sweet treats and children playing and celebrating with loved ones. I can't think of a more appropriate day for him to go.

Go Joe!

My little cousin Joe (I say little but he's like...what, 21 now?) is embarking on his quarter life crisis. He sees an amorphous view of a future he's not sure he wants.  He thinks about things he might want to do but feels unable to go for it because "it's too late" and he "doesn't know where to start." Sound familiar?  We've all been there.  That kept me away from New York for so long.  It kept me away from filmmaking for so long.  From pursuing all my goals and hopes and dreams for myself.  It still does. Nary a day goes by that I don't feel daunted by those two doubts in regards to my career, and I've already passed them by!

I mentioned to Joe that I happened to meet with a nice Gestalt therapist in New Orleans who gave me the very simple assignment of writing down the things I want to be.  Put it on paper.  Make a list, a chart, whatever, just do it.

It wound up looking kind of like one of those brainstorm things my teachers always made us do in writing classes.  I used to hate those. I used to just write.  Call me a convert though, because it worked for me! Just simply putting down on paper the things I wanted for myself made me able to create a plan to get where I wanted to be.


Now, my feet set firmly in the direction I need to go to reach my primary goals (being a healthy and fit assistant director who lives in New York City and maintains successful, mutually supportive relationships with friends and family) I find myself wondering about filling in the cracks.  Where does dance fit in? I love it and I want it in my life.  How about Manhattan? Let's not kid ourselves, Brooklyn is nice for now but I want to live in Manhattan.  And I'd like to lose the roommates sooner rather than later.  What about love?  I find myself examining my nascent relationship and getting ahead of myself. What do I really want with Columbia? I mean, I know what my ideal is, but I like taking it a day at a time once a week.

Like I told Joe, it takes a lot of hard work to be who you want to be (and indeed to figure out who that is).

This pretty much sums up my weekend.

Exhausted and cuddling with Peanut. That's how I spent this weekend in Ohio, and I couldn't have asked for a better time. I love that little dude so much! He's, like, the cutest, most amazingly fun, most super awesome thing that ever happened to this planet.

It's weird to me that people kept asking me, "so what do you think of him?" Duh. He's my sister's kid. What do you think I think of him?

Given my long history of not wanting children of my own, it felt almost accusatory when this was said to me. As if the real meaning of the question was "Don't you want to have kids now? See? Didn't you change your mind just like we told you a thousand times?"

I hate when people tell me I'll change my mind about this. As if they know better than me what is good and right for me. As if there is something wrong with a woman who doesn't want to be pregnant. As if my life cannot be complete without a man/baby/domestic lifestlye/"real" job/suburban home/what-have-you. My family is really quite excellent at getting that idea across to me in the subtext of every conversation we have.

The awesomely ironic part is that my sister, who is now a stay-at-home suburban wife and mom, taught me the core principles and values that made me feel okay with being different and not wanting those things for myself. I thank my lucky stars every day that I had a role model for that--those same core principles are why I refuse to settle for a life that doesn't make me happy! I'm really proud of Salty for dumping her stupid corpo lawyer job when it didn't make her happy...she's stay-at-home-momming for all the right reasons. Hopefully she'll find the right kind of job that allows her to better balance motherhood and lawyerladyism and championing.

And sure, maybe someday I'll change, but that day is not today, nor is it in the forseeable future. So the answer to the question is no: I still love kids, but still don't want one. In fact, Peanut makes me want to have kids even less - it's so much work just to keep him entertained! Not that I wasn't up to the challenge, but now at the end of my visit I am one tired auntie!

That's not to say I'd complain if Salty had another one...or two...

Dehydration and The Bridge

Running in Prospect Park today was a-freakin'-mazing! It's gorgeous outside, and it seemed like all of Brooklyn was milling around in the sunshine or laying in the grass or riding bikes or strolling.

It started out as a great run; I'd already eaten, I'd sucked down a glass of water right before I left the apartment, and with the great springtime weather I felt good and strong. But after a long night of drinking and a long morning brunch at Bristen's with the girls (read: coffee consumption en masse), one glass of water just did not cut it. At about the three mile mark I hit a wall of dehydration. I felt like a cicada shell, all shrively and desiccated. It was kinda gross, and I just literally could not continue. I managed to walk about a quarter mile until I found a water fountain, where I drank and splashed so much I may as well have been a bird in a birdbath. People stared, but I was refreshed! Fresh fresh fresh!

Revitalized, I continued on, though still a bit dehydrated. And suddenly I remembered the bridge. I think maybe I've mentioned it before, but it bubbled up to the forefront of my brain today.

Please consider this Big Idea #2, although this idea has been floating amporphously around in my head for several years.

East of Cleveland, nearby to where I grew up, there is a large, beautiful park called the North Chagrin Reservation. By large, I mean upwards of 2,000 acres. I really like going to that park whenever I go back to Cleveland to visit my family; somehow I feel like it reconnects me with my childhood. During the two months I stayed in Cleveland between leaving New Orleans and coming to New York I spent a lot of time running the trails at North Chagrin and used that as my time to meditate on my dad and to talk to him. It was there that I started the process of coming to terms with having lived most of my life without him and began really confronting my feelings of loss.

I don't really know as much about him as I wish I did, but I do know that he loved the outdoors and nature. And I know that the time I feel closest to him is when I'm in the woods by myself, rather than the few times I've gone to the large, impersonal cemetery where he's buried. And one day the idea popped into my head, that I want to build a bridge in the park for him.

Today, as I was running in a different park, the idea developed more. I realized that the bridge wouldn't be as much for him as it would be for me. It would be a place I could go and really feel connected to him and my feelings about him, and where I could talk to him quietly and miss him without any anger or fear...not that I can't do that anywhere, but this place would be really special to me.

And then I thought maybe it wouldn't be just for me, but also for anyone who's lost a parent. I thought maybe it could be a place that reminds people that it's okay to miss someone, or be a place where other people feel like they can talk out loud to someone who isn't there... And maybe it could be a place where Salty and Mrp can take Peanut and tell him about his Grandpa Steve.

So I want to build a bridge. I don't know how to start. I don't know where to get the money. I don't have any idea where I'll get the time to do it. But I want to at least try... And maybe it won't happen, but maybe it will. If I don't try, I'll never know.

Of Beets and Sisters

I bought some beets at the Whole Foods tonight. I plan to roast them with lemon and olive oil. And then I will consume them mightily for lunch, as I am once again jobless.

I love beets. If I were going to participate in the 25 Random Things About Me fad I might include that particular random thing about me. As it is, I think my blog gives plenty of random facts about me.

Here's another one: I have only one sibling, and she is older than me. That means I'm the baby. I have always liked being the baby. I got to tread in Salty's footsteps as she brazenly blazed a trail of rebellion, body modification and dietary contrariness. I get to learn from her mistakes (thank goodness she got divorced before I got married), aspire to her greatnesses (like running and stuff) but still do stuff my own way if I want to. It's good. It works for me.

Enter the sidekicks. Suddenly I am not the baby anymore. Suddenly I'm an old lady with two fresh-outta-the-box girls on my hands. They love me. I love them. I enjoy their cuteness as they embark on this adulthood thing. I teach them what I can and wince when they make mistakes but know that they'll be better for having made them. I often wonder if I am too quick to offer them advice and sometimes think I should let them do what they want. Then they do some adorable thing like asking me to help read insurance statements and admitting that they've never done their own taxes. It brings a tear to my eye, remembering how I panicked and begged Salty for help the first time I had to do these things.

Needless to say, it's working out.... But I can't help but feel like we're on a different wavelength. That six years actually does make a difference. This is how Salty must have felt five years ago. We have a great dynamic, but I'm feeling the need to assert myself as a person whose recent memories don't include graduation or dorm rooms. I need to spend a little more time on my own with people my own age. And older. I like people who are older than me.

They make me feel like I'm still the baby.

New Year Cards

Well, I'm not working, that's for sure. So...it's project time!

I'm collecting flyers for concerts and parties and shows around NYC so that I can decoupage this table and turn it into patio furniture for all my rooftop parties next summer! If you have flyers, I want them! Especially if they have weird cartoony illustrations on them...but I'll take what I can get!

I'm doing a grand bedroom reorganization project which will separate my 200 sq. foot bedroom into a sleeping area and a separate hanging-out-type area. This project is huge and is taking me a lot longer than I thought.

I'm doing New Year's cards! Why not Christmas cards? I have a few reasons.

A, the French do it, so it must be cool.

2, I really like the idea of wishing someone will have a whole year of awesomeness instead of just a day or two!

3, New Year cards offer the bonus of 50% off holiday card sales! And also, added bonus, you can make sure you don't forget anyone, because nearly everyone who is sending cards will have already sent them!

IV, Most of my card recipients are work-related, and not everyone celebrates Christmas. Some people observe other holidays in lieu of or alongside Christmas. And the old "Happy Holidays" card just seems to me like saying, "I don't give a shit whether or not you celebrate Christmas, but I feel obligated to purchase this greeting card for you and have it delivered to your home by December 20 regardless."

Mostly though, Christmas just isn't my thing. I kind of don't like it. I feel like it's a holiday conceived in and resulting in deception. Christ wasn't born anywhere near December 25th, it was just an arbitrary day chosen to steal the thunder of the Winter Solstice. But beyond all that, there's the whole Santa lie. Convincing little kids that there's some awesome grandfatherly figure who cares about them is great...until they figure out that it's not true. There's something horribly wrong with that. And also everyone expects you to be all 'merry.' What the hell? What if I don't feel 'merry?' What if I feel 'lively,' or 'chipper' instead? What if I feel sardonic and mopey? What if I feel lonely because nobody else will pray to the Flying Spaghetti Monster with me?


And, well, okay. I feel like an ass for saying it, but Christmas makes me feel obligated to do extra things to placate my mother. Like not go see my mom's parents because she is dead set on having my stepdad's father over for Christmas dinner. Then suddenly we're ambushed with the announcement that stepdad's derelict brother is coming over too and Salty and I spend the entire day awkwardly avoiding them all while his poor little daughter is stuck amusing herself with pies. Fail. F-A-I-L.

I ducked the hell out of there as soon as dinner was over. I ran for the safe, familiar comfort of my awkward relationship with my dad's parents. I drank ginger ale and ate a biscotti while my grandma told me stories from her childhood. My aunt and uncle teased each other about who got more phone time with their sisters in Connecticut, my aunt's husband passed out on the couch, and Grandpa watched basketball and laughed at us all during the commercials. It was so...not awkward! It was normal and fun, and I really enjoyed myself with them! And when I went to sleep that night I still missed my dad, but I was really glad that this time I didn't let him come between me and his...no, my family.