If pushed, I would agree that I am a runner. I run on a regular basis year round, but am not super speedy nor do I run marathons. On average I run one “race” a year – Hood to Coast. At the risk of sounding too much like my father, most races have too many damn people. I just like to run.
For the past year or two I’ve tossed around the idea of doing a longer race. I’ve run an 8K which is about 5 miles, but nothing longer. This year I have a friend who is turning 30, actually the majority of my friends are turning 30, however this friend was entering 30 in panic mode. As we’re both single and childless, she wondered if I didn’t feel pressure to accomplish something significant before turning 30. I really didn’t. None the less, she put this bug into my head that we should run a half marathon. Since I was coming off Hood to Coast and already had my mileage up, I somehow found myself agreeing. I could run 13.1 miles with girl friends and live to tell the tale.
I mentioned to a friend at work that I was thinking about running a half. Ten minutes later he had a training schedule for me. Things were starting to look serious. To date I have yet to follow the training schedule perfectly, but I’m getting the bulk of miles in. Last Saturday I found myself on a 10-mile run through Forest Park. Who would have thought I’d ever be running that far?
Around the time that I made a decision and paid the entry fee, my girl friends all decided to do a different race. I am maintaining my commitment to the “Run Like Hell.” Supposedly it’s a great half for a first timer. Plus its in my backyard. The course goes through my neighborhood and through my work neighborhood. And up one of the biggest hills in Portland, but I’m blocking that out for now.
Here I am, about four weeks out from the race, and am still optimistic and positive about it. New shoes, a new iPod and a new mileage tracker to motivate me help with the optimism. Having a few long runs under my belt also certainly helps. Even the fact that my girl friends have deserted hasn’t distracted me. I am after all, my own best competitor. I’ve already gone from a goal of just finishing the race to finishing in less than 2 hours. A goal that is ambitious but do-able.
While I don’t feel like I need to “accomplish” anything before turning 30, I do believe in pushing myself out of my comfort zone whenever possible. If running for 13.1 miles isn’t uncomfortable, I don’t know what is.
September 28, 2010
Fall = Football
I love fall. The leaves turning beautiful shades of red and gold . . . falling to the earth and getting stuck in my windshield wipers, along the seams of my car doors and trunk and the fact that they manage to all find their way into my nice clean car. In all seriousness, I do enjoy fall. The temperatures are perfect for running and best of all . . . football season.
A few years ago, I met some guys at work who were huge Oregon State football fans. More often than not, we had a conversation on Friday where upon learning that my only plans for the weekend were studying (I was in grad school at the time), they imparted upon me notice that they would pick me up at some ungodly hour of the morning and were taking me to the football game. Now I find myself writing a check each spring for season tickets.
Like most sports I’ve never played, I’m familiar enough to understand the basic rules but am far from an expert. Each fall I try and learn a new rule or play, last year I learned about the blitz. I have a theory that someday I’m going to meet some cute football fan and he’s going to want to teach me something, so it wouldn’t be prudent to any future relationship to learn everything on my own. Besides, I currently know enough to sound mostly intelligent while getting away with some ignorance because I’m a girl. A perfect combination if you ask me.
Last weekend was an away game that was shown on a TV channel that I actually get. So my Saturday night was spent yelling at my TV in the privacy of my own home, hoping that my apartment neighbors didn’t think I was too crazy. Around the second quarter I realized that not only was I yelling the standard “Run, Quizz, Run!” but off sides, false start and pass interference were making an appearance in my ranting at the TV. Even more amazing, I had the uses of off sides and false start correct!
Why do I love fall? Yes, the leaves are pretty, but nothing brings my group of close friends together like college football. When else do you have six full Saturdays designated for doing nothing other than hanging out, eating and drinking, watching football and cheering for your team? Go Beavs.
A few years ago, I met some guys at work who were huge Oregon State football fans. More often than not, we had a conversation on Friday where upon learning that my only plans for the weekend were studying (I was in grad school at the time), they imparted upon me notice that they would pick me up at some ungodly hour of the morning and were taking me to the football game. Now I find myself writing a check each spring for season tickets.
Like most sports I’ve never played, I’m familiar enough to understand the basic rules but am far from an expert. Each fall I try and learn a new rule or play, last year I learned about the blitz. I have a theory that someday I’m going to meet some cute football fan and he’s going to want to teach me something, so it wouldn’t be prudent to any future relationship to learn everything on my own. Besides, I currently know enough to sound mostly intelligent while getting away with some ignorance because I’m a girl. A perfect combination if you ask me.
Last weekend was an away game that was shown on a TV channel that I actually get. So my Saturday night was spent yelling at my TV in the privacy of my own home, hoping that my apartment neighbors didn’t think I was too crazy. Around the second quarter I realized that not only was I yelling the standard “Run, Quizz, Run!” but off sides, false start and pass interference were making an appearance in my ranting at the TV. Even more amazing, I had the uses of off sides and false start correct!
Why do I love fall? Yes, the leaves are pretty, but nothing brings my group of close friends together like college football. When else do you have six full Saturdays designated for doing nothing other than hanging out, eating and drinking, watching football and cheering for your team? Go Beavs.
September 27, 2010
Program Kids
One of the best things I ever did was ignore my mom when she told me to stay away from a certain group of kids in my high school. These kids were . . . . Program Kids (insert evil music here). Hmmm . . . . it sounds much less terrifying than it did as I was being warned away as a freshman in high school. I vividly remember my mom telling me to not hang out with any program kids because they were trouble. That lasted maybe a week. What can I say? Those program boys were cute!
And it turned out that those kids were some of the most interesting I’d meet in Thompson Falls. They had traveled, had fancy clothes, took week long ski trips, had great stories from various adventures, and taught me the very important lesson that money is not everything. Money does not buy you love or your parent’s attention. It can however buy you trouble and a one way ticket to the middle of no where Montana to rehabilitate.
I ended up being friends with a fair number of the program kids over the years. I found it ironic that my mother was concerned about me spending time with these kids when they were under tighter rules than the strictest parents could come up with. They were genuinely nice and interesting kids though, with the common denominator of wealthy absent parents. And by the time they were rehabilitated enough to attend my high school, they were back to being “normal” kids. With less privileges and more rules than the rest of us.
A few years ago, in the MySpace hay day, one of them tracked me down to thank me for always helping him with his math. I of course sat next to him in math because he was cute and funny. He apparently sat next to me to get help with his homework. The MySpace note was so sweet and thoughtful that I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I hardly knew what I was doing in math. It definitely made it worth ignoring my mom all those years ago.
The program kids, even if they were trouble, taught me that there was a whole wide world out there. Not just in places to see but in people to meet. More importantly, they taught me that friends can come from anywhere and come from a variety of backgrounds. And for this I thank them.
And it turned out that those kids were some of the most interesting I’d meet in Thompson Falls. They had traveled, had fancy clothes, took week long ski trips, had great stories from various adventures, and taught me the very important lesson that money is not everything. Money does not buy you love or your parent’s attention. It can however buy you trouble and a one way ticket to the middle of no where Montana to rehabilitate.
I ended up being friends with a fair number of the program kids over the years. I found it ironic that my mother was concerned about me spending time with these kids when they were under tighter rules than the strictest parents could come up with. They were genuinely nice and interesting kids though, with the common denominator of wealthy absent parents. And by the time they were rehabilitated enough to attend my high school, they were back to being “normal” kids. With less privileges and more rules than the rest of us.
A few years ago, in the MySpace hay day, one of them tracked me down to thank me for always helping him with his math. I of course sat next to him in math because he was cute and funny. He apparently sat next to me to get help with his homework. The MySpace note was so sweet and thoughtful that I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I hardly knew what I was doing in math. It definitely made it worth ignoring my mom all those years ago.
The program kids, even if they were trouble, taught me that there was a whole wide world out there. Not just in places to see but in people to meet. More importantly, they taught me that friends can come from anywhere and come from a variety of backgrounds. And for this I thank them.
August 24, 2010
Hood to Coast is like a Beauty Pageant . . .
Hood to Coast is a mere three days away. With my playlists built and customized for each leg and new batteries in the headlamp, it’s time to focus my attention on my outfits.
Picking out what I’m going to wear for HTC is what I imagine it’s like to pick outfits for a beauty pageant. The first leg is like the eveningwear competition. You haven’t run yet so you still look good and smell good. You’re also likely to run into a lot of people you know, so you want to look good. The overall theory being that if you look good, you run good.
The second leg is like the swim suit competition. Only instead of sporting swim suits, you sport every piece of reflective gear you own so you (hopefully) don’t get hit by a car. It’s also colder so a swim suit would not be advisable. Things that are advisable . . . bright colors, reflective vest, headlamp or flashlight, etc.
The last leg is like that opening segment of the beauty pageant where every one is dressed the same. In reality, at this stage in HTC we aren’t dressed the same, but we all look the same. Exhausted. This is where my looking good is equal to running good theory really comes into play. I tend to save my favorite color shirt for this last leg. I know it’s going to hurt, my shins will be killing me, I won’t have slept in 24 plus hours . . . but looking good always makes you feel better. It’s why we put on mascara to go to the grocery store while hung-over.
Hmmm . . . decisions, decisions. Luckily this is the easy part of HTC. It’s the actual running of it that is brutal. And awesome.
Picking out what I’m going to wear for HTC is what I imagine it’s like to pick outfits for a beauty pageant. The first leg is like the eveningwear competition. You haven’t run yet so you still look good and smell good. You’re also likely to run into a lot of people you know, so you want to look good. The overall theory being that if you look good, you run good.
The second leg is like the swim suit competition. Only instead of sporting swim suits, you sport every piece of reflective gear you own so you (hopefully) don’t get hit by a car. It’s also colder so a swim suit would not be advisable. Things that are advisable . . . bright colors, reflective vest, headlamp or flashlight, etc.
The last leg is like that opening segment of the beauty pageant where every one is dressed the same. In reality, at this stage in HTC we aren’t dressed the same, but we all look the same. Exhausted. This is where my looking good is equal to running good theory really comes into play. I tend to save my favorite color shirt for this last leg. I know it’s going to hurt, my shins will be killing me, I won’t have slept in 24 plus hours . . . but looking good always makes you feel better. It’s why we put on mascara to go to the grocery store while hung-over.
Hmmm . . . decisions, decisions. Luckily this is the easy part of HTC. It’s the actual running of it that is brutal. And awesome.
August 23, 2010
A Dating Conversation
With 30 rapidly approaching, and not a date in sight, friends and family and everyone else I meet tend to try and conjure up a great guy for me. Knowing that they mean well, and taking into account that I clearly don’t know any single, dateable guys, I try and give them the benefit of the doubt.
Most of these conversations are unremarkable, and once the person determines they don’t know any single, dateable guys either, tend to ask whether or not I’ve thought about trying online dating. Because they have a friend of a friend of a friend who it worked great for. But I digress. This blog isn’t to complain about how everyone tells me I should try online dating, but to recount a conversation I had with a friend.
My friend Ben is recently married and would like for us all to be as happy and domesticated as he is. The conversation started out normal, with the usual question of whether or not I was seeing anyone. Upon my typical response of, “no, do you know anyone?” here is the hilarity that ensued:
B: Heids, I have a single co-worker.
H: Tell me about him.
B: I'll start with the positives. He's a great guy, made a ton of money in the internet boom in the late 90's
H: Awesome. Wait . . . in the late 90's I was still trying to make the varsity basketball team. How old is this guy?
B: Let's focus on the positives. He's a great guy, funny, has money.
H: So what are the negatives, besides the fact that he's old.
B: Well, he's 40ish.
H: (eyebrow raise)
B: Okay, so he's mid to late 40's. He's a little shorter than me. He's never been married.
H: How high of heels can I wear?
B: What are those short ones called? Kitten heels? I'd stick with those as the max.
H: The only bonus of being short is that I never have to worry about how high my heels are.
B: So, no?
H: Thanks for thinking of me. Let's try and keep them under 40 and above 5'8.
Most of these conversations are unremarkable, and once the person determines they don’t know any single, dateable guys either, tend to ask whether or not I’ve thought about trying online dating. Because they have a friend of a friend of a friend who it worked great for. But I digress. This blog isn’t to complain about how everyone tells me I should try online dating, but to recount a conversation I had with a friend.
My friend Ben is recently married and would like for us all to be as happy and domesticated as he is. The conversation started out normal, with the usual question of whether or not I was seeing anyone. Upon my typical response of, “no, do you know anyone?” here is the hilarity that ensued:
B: Heids, I have a single co-worker.
H: Tell me about him.
B: I'll start with the positives. He's a great guy, made a ton of money in the internet boom in the late 90's
H: Awesome. Wait . . . in the late 90's I was still trying to make the varsity basketball team. How old is this guy?
B: Let's focus on the positives. He's a great guy, funny, has money.
H: So what are the negatives, besides the fact that he's old.
B: Well, he's 40ish.
H: (eyebrow raise)
B: Okay, so he's mid to late 40's. He's a little shorter than me. He's never been married.
H: How high of heels can I wear?
B: What are those short ones called? Kitten heels? I'd stick with those as the max.
H: The only bonus of being short is that I never have to worry about how high my heels are.
B: So, no?
H: Thanks for thinking of me. Let's try and keep them under 40 and above 5'8.
July 27, 2010
Long Beach
A few weeks ago I got a call from a friend. Her husband was going to be gone for a weekend so I should come and visit. Not that her husband dislikes me, just that she wanted some company. After locating a cheap plane ticket, and making a rare spontaneous decision in my well planned out life, I found myself spending last weekend in Long Beach, CA.
The traveling portion was far more eventful than it should have been. I hopped on the Max to head to the airport with a friend from work, who was also PDX bound. He was going to run a marathon, I was going for a girls weekend where we did nothing but eat carbs and chocolate. Amazingly enough, of all the Max trains headed to PDX, I found myself also riding to the airport with a couple who I’d met a few times previously through the friend I was going to visit. This turned out to be quite significant; as it was at this point I realized I had no cell phone. I still can’t find my cell phone and have dug one out of my junk drawer from a few years ago since returning. Again, it was amazing that these people were on my same train, because as my work friend was calling people at work asking people there to look for my phone, these friends could call our mutual friend and explain that I didn’t have a phone. It was also at this time that I realized the only phone number I knew by heart anymore is my parent’s home phone. Which wasn’t going to help at all.
Thankfully, after receiving a weird message from me, via this other couples phone, and them also saying hi on the message, I made it to Long Beach and found Robyn and the kidlets waiting for me. Upon entering the car, after a chorus of “Hi Auntie Heidi!” Laina hollered for her mom to turn the CD to #10. Which happens to be my favorite Lady Gaga song, “Boys, Boys, Boys.” She’d remembered from the last time I’d seen her. That is one of those nice surprises from kids that make you feel special.
The next morning, promptly at 7am, the kids sprinted into the room I was sleeping in. After a brief conversation, they got to the heart of the matter, “Auntie Heidi, can we please play your iPod?” They then proceeded to take turns playing nicely on the foot of my bed while I went back to sleep. To be clear, they aren’t technically a niece and nephew, but my brother isn’t in any hurry to give me any so I had to adopt some. For breakfast we had my favorite treat when visiting this family . . . sticky buns. Apparently earlier in the week Caden had been quite concerned that I was coming and they didn’t have the ingredients for sticky buns. As always they were a delicious treat. Both mornings.
We spent the morning puttering around a crazy cheap fabric shop that had almost no fabric but lots of crafts in a scary section of Long Beach. Laina and I found matching tiara’s. And proceeded to wear them for the rest of the morning, including during a trip to the Cheesecake Factory for lunch. I felt a little self conscious about running around So Cal with a tiara on my head, but half the workers at the restaurant told me how they liked my tiara and how cute it was that we matched. Note to self, if I’m ever feeling like I need a tiara day, do it with a kid. Apparently that makes it un-weird.
At every possible opportunity, Laina wants to play cars. She treats them like other little girls treat barbies. They go places, have conversations, etc. I always get to be the little green VW bug. It’s super cute and apparently the prized car, as no one else but me ever gets to be the green bug. If only showing someone you heart them was as simple for the rest of life as it is when you’re four.
The rest of the weekend passed in a blur of playing, reading books, playing cars, singing along to Lada Gaga in the car, being crafty, riding bikes and eating junk. It was as mellow and relaxing as being at home, minus the part where the kids pounced on me every time I had to rest my eyes for a few minutes. Kids are exhausting! It was a short, but fun and productive trip. Next time, I’m staying long enough to hit Disneyland.
The traveling portion was far more eventful than it should have been. I hopped on the Max to head to the airport with a friend from work, who was also PDX bound. He was going to run a marathon, I was going for a girls weekend where we did nothing but eat carbs and chocolate. Amazingly enough, of all the Max trains headed to PDX, I found myself also riding to the airport with a couple who I’d met a few times previously through the friend I was going to visit. This turned out to be quite significant; as it was at this point I realized I had no cell phone. I still can’t find my cell phone and have dug one out of my junk drawer from a few years ago since returning. Again, it was amazing that these people were on my same train, because as my work friend was calling people at work asking people there to look for my phone, these friends could call our mutual friend and explain that I didn’t have a phone. It was also at this time that I realized the only phone number I knew by heart anymore is my parent’s home phone. Which wasn’t going to help at all.
Thankfully, after receiving a weird message from me, via this other couples phone, and them also saying hi on the message, I made it to Long Beach and found Robyn and the kidlets waiting for me. Upon entering the car, after a chorus of “Hi Auntie Heidi!” Laina hollered for her mom to turn the CD to #10. Which happens to be my favorite Lady Gaga song, “Boys, Boys, Boys.” She’d remembered from the last time I’d seen her. That is one of those nice surprises from kids that make you feel special.
The next morning, promptly at 7am, the kids sprinted into the room I was sleeping in. After a brief conversation, they got to the heart of the matter, “Auntie Heidi, can we please play your iPod?” They then proceeded to take turns playing nicely on the foot of my bed while I went back to sleep. To be clear, they aren’t technically a niece and nephew, but my brother isn’t in any hurry to give me any so I had to adopt some. For breakfast we had my favorite treat when visiting this family . . . sticky buns. Apparently earlier in the week Caden had been quite concerned that I was coming and they didn’t have the ingredients for sticky buns. As always they were a delicious treat. Both mornings.
We spent the morning puttering around a crazy cheap fabric shop that had almost no fabric but lots of crafts in a scary section of Long Beach. Laina and I found matching tiara’s. And proceeded to wear them for the rest of the morning, including during a trip to the Cheesecake Factory for lunch. I felt a little self conscious about running around So Cal with a tiara on my head, but half the workers at the restaurant told me how they liked my tiara and how cute it was that we matched. Note to self, if I’m ever feeling like I need a tiara day, do it with a kid. Apparently that makes it un-weird.
At every possible opportunity, Laina wants to play cars. She treats them like other little girls treat barbies. They go places, have conversations, etc. I always get to be the little green VW bug. It’s super cute and apparently the prized car, as no one else but me ever gets to be the green bug. If only showing someone you heart them was as simple for the rest of life as it is when you’re four.
The rest of the weekend passed in a blur of playing, reading books, playing cars, singing along to Lada Gaga in the car, being crafty, riding bikes and eating junk. It was as mellow and relaxing as being at home, minus the part where the kids pounced on me every time I had to rest my eyes for a few minutes. Kids are exhausting! It was a short, but fun and productive trip. Next time, I’m staying long enough to hit Disneyland.
July 22, 2010
The "Mournal"
In history classes from junior high, I remember learning about Native American boys who would go on a vision quest as part of their turning into a man. I have a guy friend who is currently doing the same thing. Only instead of walking into the wilderness and starving until he starts to hallucinate, his learning about his inner self is coming in the form of journaling. Or as I like to call it, “The Mournal.” It’s like a journal, but for men.
This guy friend thought he had found the girl he was going to marry. After a period of dating with enough drama to be worthy of a soap opera storyline, they split up. Breakups usually take two people, and he admits to his part in it, but months later he finds out she was a terrible person (I’m passing judgment because I’m friends with him, not her). More so than originally thought and definitely more so than he was. Since then, he’s been trying to find himself. I’m not sure he’d use those exact words, but he’s taking to carrying around a journal to jot down his thoughts and posting supposedly enlightening quotes on his Facebook page.
A couple girl friends and I were talking about men journaling. Apparently one friend’s husband also journals. Since I know now two men, and zero women, who journal, I’ve officially coined the phrase “mournal.” I wasn’t so surprised at the fact that men wanted to write down their thoughts as the idea that they had thoughts to begin with. And ones that were worth writing down.
I’m listening to a book on tape right now by Dave Barry, who I think is hilarious. The book is “The Complete Guide to Guys.” For clarification, I downloaded it onto my iPod because it was the only interesting one that was available for checkout. According to Dave Barry, and most of my guy friends, the bulk of their thoughts are comprised about sports and sex. I’m curious if I was to open a mournal, is it just pages of thoughts about sports and sex? Or would there actually be profound thoughts in there? Do their entries start with “Dear Diary,” the way a 10-year old girls would? The mournal is shrouded in mystery.
As my girl friends and I were laughing about the men journaling, I had a sudden thought. Does a blog count as a journal? Had I succumbed to this journaling trend without realizing it? I didn’t want to be known as a journaler. I couldn’t even keep a diary at the age of 10. My friend’s husband who journals said this totally counts as journaling. His wife disagreed for the following reasons a) my blogs apparently tend to tell stories and not my innermost thoughts and b) apparently they’re funny. My blogs do to tend to stray towards the more obscure thoughts running through my head and rarely dig into anything too serious. Plus, I put it out there for everyone to read. That has to be the complete opposite of journaling.
Are there more guys out there who mournal? I find myself intrigued. Not only by the concept of mournaling, but what can possibly be written in those things? Someday I really hope to find out. I think.
This guy friend thought he had found the girl he was going to marry. After a period of dating with enough drama to be worthy of a soap opera storyline, they split up. Breakups usually take two people, and he admits to his part in it, but months later he finds out she was a terrible person (I’m passing judgment because I’m friends with him, not her). More so than originally thought and definitely more so than he was. Since then, he’s been trying to find himself. I’m not sure he’d use those exact words, but he’s taking to carrying around a journal to jot down his thoughts and posting supposedly enlightening quotes on his Facebook page.
A couple girl friends and I were talking about men journaling. Apparently one friend’s husband also journals. Since I know now two men, and zero women, who journal, I’ve officially coined the phrase “mournal.” I wasn’t so surprised at the fact that men wanted to write down their thoughts as the idea that they had thoughts to begin with. And ones that were worth writing down.
I’m listening to a book on tape right now by Dave Barry, who I think is hilarious. The book is “The Complete Guide to Guys.” For clarification, I downloaded it onto my iPod because it was the only interesting one that was available for checkout. According to Dave Barry, and most of my guy friends, the bulk of their thoughts are comprised about sports and sex. I’m curious if I was to open a mournal, is it just pages of thoughts about sports and sex? Or would there actually be profound thoughts in there? Do their entries start with “Dear Diary,” the way a 10-year old girls would? The mournal is shrouded in mystery.
As my girl friends and I were laughing about the men journaling, I had a sudden thought. Does a blog count as a journal? Had I succumbed to this journaling trend without realizing it? I didn’t want to be known as a journaler. I couldn’t even keep a diary at the age of 10. My friend’s husband who journals said this totally counts as journaling. His wife disagreed for the following reasons a) my blogs apparently tend to tell stories and not my innermost thoughts and b) apparently they’re funny. My blogs do to tend to stray towards the more obscure thoughts running through my head and rarely dig into anything too serious. Plus, I put it out there for everyone to read. That has to be the complete opposite of journaling.
Are there more guys out there who mournal? I find myself intrigued. Not only by the concept of mournaling, but what can possibly be written in those things? Someday I really hope to find out. I think.
Where Is The Line?
My brother is what I like to refer to as “charmingly cocky.” He’s pretty self assured about his place in life and not afraid to tell you how awesome (he thinks) he is. For the most part, I find him amusing, or charmingly cocky if you will. Maybe because I do the same thing but to a lesser degree. Anyway, having known a few people who have transitioned from charming, to cocky, to arrogant to arrogant prick, every so often I warn him that there is a fine line between charmingly cocky and arrogant. And girls are less inclined to put up with the arrogant. His response was “Heidi, there is a fine line between arrogance and excellence . . . and I walk it every day.”
While I was running the other day, trying to increase my mileage and speed in hotter weather, I was thinking about lines. Mostly because around mile 4, I was starting to feel like I was going to throw up. Turns out, there is a fine line between pushing yourself and throwing up. I’ve always managed to stay on the pushing yourself side of the line, but I never feel well after.
Why bother to push myself so much? Besides the fact that I’m most competitive when competing against myself? Because Hood to Coast, the 197 mile relay race that I always talk myself into doing, is a mere five weeks away. And I just found out that I have legs longer than I normally run. Which means its time to start gutting out some more painful distances.
Don’t get me wrong, I love HTC. It’s an amazing experience, the people involved are fantastic and its interesting to see what your body can do under unusual conditions. Like running on no sleep after being crammed into a van with five other sweaty people for thirty hours. None the less, I’m starting to feel a bit of panic as I have to eek out a few extra miles than my normal runs. It’ll come together, it always does, but a little fear or panic should go a long way in motivating me to train harder.
And the training isn’t too bad. I enjoy running. It’s me out there with only my iPod and my own thoughts for company. Actually, I come up with my best ideas for blogs while running. While worrying about whether or not I’m going to be ill because I’m pushing myself too much. Here’s hoping that in the next five weeks I stay on the pushing myself side of the line.
While I was running the other day, trying to increase my mileage and speed in hotter weather, I was thinking about lines. Mostly because around mile 4, I was starting to feel like I was going to throw up. Turns out, there is a fine line between pushing yourself and throwing up. I’ve always managed to stay on the pushing yourself side of the line, but I never feel well after.
Why bother to push myself so much? Besides the fact that I’m most competitive when competing against myself? Because Hood to Coast, the 197 mile relay race that I always talk myself into doing, is a mere five weeks away. And I just found out that I have legs longer than I normally run. Which means its time to start gutting out some more painful distances.
Don’t get me wrong, I love HTC. It’s an amazing experience, the people involved are fantastic and its interesting to see what your body can do under unusual conditions. Like running on no sleep after being crammed into a van with five other sweaty people for thirty hours. None the less, I’m starting to feel a bit of panic as I have to eek out a few extra miles than my normal runs. It’ll come together, it always does, but a little fear or panic should go a long way in motivating me to train harder.
And the training isn’t too bad. I enjoy running. It’s me out there with only my iPod and my own thoughts for company. Actually, I come up with my best ideas for blogs while running. While worrying about whether or not I’m going to be ill because I’m pushing myself too much. Here’s hoping that in the next five weeks I stay on the pushing myself side of the line.
July 20, 2010
Generosity
Is generosity something that you just have or is it something that can be learned? I’ve been pondering this question and all I’ve come up with is another question. How many ways are there to be generous? Time, money, skills?
I started thinking about this last Friday at happy hour. My brother was in town so I was meeting up with him and his girlfriend. When the bill came, Rob and I both grabbed for it. Courtney tried, but she was too far away. It was only after I reminded my brother that he had bought the movie tickets that he let go of the check. Neither one of use were considering letting Courtney pay. Next time perhaps.
But it got me thinking, is willingness to pick up the check a form of generosity? I know people who would split the check down to the penny to only pay what they ordered. Then there are people I work with who pay for the first $100-$200 of the bar tab when work people go out, which I consider pretty generous. Then there are the people in the middle, like my close friends, who just split the check X amount of ways. Does willingness to part with more money than you are required to make you generous? Does it matter if you do it willingly or begrudgingly?
I ask if it’s something that can be learned because generous is not an adjective I would use to describe myself. It is one that I would use to describe my mother however. And as I get older, I find myself working towards being more generous to the people in my life. And money aside, there are other ways to be generous.
While I’m slightly more willing to part with my money, despite my frugal nature, I’m less likely to part with my time. In fact, if I can buy my way out of something I don’t want to do, I’ll do it. There are certain circumstances where you suck it up and do something you don’t want to do (i.e. wedding showers, baby showers, bachelorette parties) because the other person matters. And that is one way to show them that they matter to you. But this isn’t generosity; I’m doing these things begrudgingly to show my friends that they, and the events in their life, are important. And because all these things usually have cake.
I would consider people who donate their time to be very generous. Rather than work in a soup kitchen, I’d rather throw some money at it. I do donate to select organizations that I feel strongly about, but I’m not entirely sure this is generous either. According to the dictionary, because now that I’ve thought this out to hell and back I lost track of the actual definition, generous is liberal in giving or sharing, being unselfish.
Now selfish is an adjective I would use to describe myself. Does this mean that I’m destined to be ungenerous? Or is generosity like sports? There are the kids that were born natural athletes and had the perfect jump shot in the 5th grade. Then there were the kids who received the “Ms. Hustle” awards (it’s a real thing, I swear, and have the certificate to prove it). The sport didn’t necessarily come naturally or easily but it was something they worked at. Hopefully being generous is like becoming a good free throw shooter – it just takes practice.
I started thinking about this last Friday at happy hour. My brother was in town so I was meeting up with him and his girlfriend. When the bill came, Rob and I both grabbed for it. Courtney tried, but she was too far away. It was only after I reminded my brother that he had bought the movie tickets that he let go of the check. Neither one of use were considering letting Courtney pay. Next time perhaps.
But it got me thinking, is willingness to pick up the check a form of generosity? I know people who would split the check down to the penny to only pay what they ordered. Then there are people I work with who pay for the first $100-$200 of the bar tab when work people go out, which I consider pretty generous. Then there are the people in the middle, like my close friends, who just split the check X amount of ways. Does willingness to part with more money than you are required to make you generous? Does it matter if you do it willingly or begrudgingly?
I ask if it’s something that can be learned because generous is not an adjective I would use to describe myself. It is one that I would use to describe my mother however. And as I get older, I find myself working towards being more generous to the people in my life. And money aside, there are other ways to be generous.
While I’m slightly more willing to part with my money, despite my frugal nature, I’m less likely to part with my time. In fact, if I can buy my way out of something I don’t want to do, I’ll do it. There are certain circumstances where you suck it up and do something you don’t want to do (i.e. wedding showers, baby showers, bachelorette parties) because the other person matters. And that is one way to show them that they matter to you. But this isn’t generosity; I’m doing these things begrudgingly to show my friends that they, and the events in their life, are important. And because all these things usually have cake.
I would consider people who donate their time to be very generous. Rather than work in a soup kitchen, I’d rather throw some money at it. I do donate to select organizations that I feel strongly about, but I’m not entirely sure this is generous either. According to the dictionary, because now that I’ve thought this out to hell and back I lost track of the actual definition, generous is liberal in giving or sharing, being unselfish.
Now selfish is an adjective I would use to describe myself. Does this mean that I’m destined to be ungenerous? Or is generosity like sports? There are the kids that were born natural athletes and had the perfect jump shot in the 5th grade. Then there were the kids who received the “Ms. Hustle” awards (it’s a real thing, I swear, and have the certificate to prove it). The sport didn’t necessarily come naturally or easily but it was something they worked at. Hopefully being generous is like becoming a good free throw shooter – it just takes practice.
July 14, 2010
Eenie Meenie Miney Mo
I recently had a conversation with a friend about relationships. It was her birthday and she was turning 25. What was a wonderful and fun year for me was starting off a little rough for her as she was talking about her current dilemma. How do you know which guy to choose?
Now never having been in the position of having to choose between two guys, I don’t know what the answer is, but she brought up some very interesting points. Do you go with the guy that has the spark and you’re totally in love with, but that will lead to a lifestyle you don’t want (i.e. rural living)? Or do you pick the guy that you love (but aren’t in love with), who enjoys doing the same things you do, who you have tons in common with and who wants the same kind of life style? Granted neither guy is perfect, I’ve met both and am friends with one so I can say that for certain, but it’s hard not to see the appeal of both options.
When you’re a kid, you have this vision of meeting some guy, falling madly in love, and living happily ever after. Than you, Disney, for that unrealistic expectation. To the best of my knowledge, the only time that happens is in the movies or in a romance novel. And even in those instances, I’m so much of a cynic that I tell the characters of the book or movie that they’re being totally ridiculous. You don’t spend two days in the wilderness running from killers, fall in love and decide to get married as soon as the killers have been captured by the police. Those are crazy circumstances, who in their right mind wouldn’t think that maybe you should go on a date first before deciding to get married? I always want an epilogue that talks about the couple six months or a year later and what they’ve overcome and compromised on to make things work. But that would take some of the romance out of the romance novel. And clearly I’m still a sucker for the falling in love crap or I wouldn’t keep reading the darn things.
To date, I haven’t had that head over heels in love experience. Maybe it’s like that religious ah-ha moment that seems to elude me as well. It’s out there for some, but not all people. So based on that, the idea of picking a person based on compatibility and love, but not necessarily fireworks, makes sense to me. Or maybe I’m just too cynical for my own good.
The conversation with my friend was followed up by a conversation between my female relatives. They were talking about how they didn’t know where they were going to end up living when they picked the guy. This coming mostly from the rural people. They picked the guy and then made everything else work. Years ago I asked my aunt how she knew that my uncle was the right person to marry. I’m paraphrasing here, but she essentially said that what she knew was she wanted him. So she made it happen and made it work. All these women who married the guy they wanted have all been married a long time, the aunties and my mom for over 30 years. Were there ups and downs over the years? Absolutely. But years later, they’re still making it work for them.
So apparently you can make marriage work if you choose the guy with spark, even if that means you might end up living somewhere less than ideal. So are you settling if you marry someone who comes with a sparkler instead of one of those giant mortars that light up the night sky? As someone who can easily see herself not getting married until the age of 40, there is some appeal to the sparkler that can give you life style you want and who enjoys the same activities.
From what I hear, marriage tends to be a lot of work whether you go for the big bang or compatibility. Does one make it easier than the other? I have no idea. Which means this whole blog and thought process still didn’t enlighten me with any pertinent advice for my friend. I’d like to think that a person can find both fireworks and compatibility. I’d like to think that at some point in life, we all get to experience fireworks. Or maybe I just think too much.
Now never having been in the position of having to choose between two guys, I don’t know what the answer is, but she brought up some very interesting points. Do you go with the guy that has the spark and you’re totally in love with, but that will lead to a lifestyle you don’t want (i.e. rural living)? Or do you pick the guy that you love (but aren’t in love with), who enjoys doing the same things you do, who you have tons in common with and who wants the same kind of life style? Granted neither guy is perfect, I’ve met both and am friends with one so I can say that for certain, but it’s hard not to see the appeal of both options.
When you’re a kid, you have this vision of meeting some guy, falling madly in love, and living happily ever after. Than you, Disney, for that unrealistic expectation. To the best of my knowledge, the only time that happens is in the movies or in a romance novel. And even in those instances, I’m so much of a cynic that I tell the characters of the book or movie that they’re being totally ridiculous. You don’t spend two days in the wilderness running from killers, fall in love and decide to get married as soon as the killers have been captured by the police. Those are crazy circumstances, who in their right mind wouldn’t think that maybe you should go on a date first before deciding to get married? I always want an epilogue that talks about the couple six months or a year later and what they’ve overcome and compromised on to make things work. But that would take some of the romance out of the romance novel. And clearly I’m still a sucker for the falling in love crap or I wouldn’t keep reading the darn things.
To date, I haven’t had that head over heels in love experience. Maybe it’s like that religious ah-ha moment that seems to elude me as well. It’s out there for some, but not all people. So based on that, the idea of picking a person based on compatibility and love, but not necessarily fireworks, makes sense to me. Or maybe I’m just too cynical for my own good.
The conversation with my friend was followed up by a conversation between my female relatives. They were talking about how they didn’t know where they were going to end up living when they picked the guy. This coming mostly from the rural people. They picked the guy and then made everything else work. Years ago I asked my aunt how she knew that my uncle was the right person to marry. I’m paraphrasing here, but she essentially said that what she knew was she wanted him. So she made it happen and made it work. All these women who married the guy they wanted have all been married a long time, the aunties and my mom for over 30 years. Were there ups and downs over the years? Absolutely. But years later, they’re still making it work for them.
So apparently you can make marriage work if you choose the guy with spark, even if that means you might end up living somewhere less than ideal. So are you settling if you marry someone who comes with a sparkler instead of one of those giant mortars that light up the night sky? As someone who can easily see herself not getting married until the age of 40, there is some appeal to the sparkler that can give you life style you want and who enjoys the same activities.
From what I hear, marriage tends to be a lot of work whether you go for the big bang or compatibility. Does one make it easier than the other? I have no idea. Which means this whole blog and thought process still didn’t enlighten me with any pertinent advice for my friend. I’d like to think that a person can find both fireworks and compatibility. I’d like to think that at some point in life, we all get to experience fireworks. Or maybe I just think too much.
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