Sans Training Wheels

Last summer, knowing I swam competitively in high school and had obviously gotten the hang of the whole running long-distances thing but was beginning to suffer some over-use injuries, one of my coaches suggested I take up triathlons.  The idea had always intrigued me, but I had convinced myself that my deep dark secret would prevent me from ever checking Iron(wo)Man off my bucket list.  “Yeah, that would be awesome... but, uh, well, you see... there’s one teeny tiny problem with that,” I cringed, not wanting to admit it or receive the expected reaction.  “I don’t know how to ride a bike.”  The look of shock on the faces around me, combined with water spray from mouths that could not contain their amusement, suggested that I should somehow be embarrassed.  "You need to learn," he said.  

Duh.  But... how?  I'd told countless people over the years that I didn't know how to ride a bike in a *wink-wink-nudge-nudge* hapless way of hoping a volunteer would come forward, including people close to me who were greatly inconvenienced by my inability to ride a bike, such that if it were easy to teach someone to ride, I assume they would have.  The fact that they didn't suggested that learning as an adult, or teaching an adult, was really hard.  I also had nightmares - I mean painful memories - of my corrupted college roommate's attempt to teach me how to snowboard on a gorgeous bluebird day at Squaw (I've never looked at High Camp the same... just the thought makes me want a beer to numb the pain).  Maybe it was because she was "Goofy" and I was "Regular" (or maybe the other way around, as the very term "Goofy" definitely fits me better than "Regular") so that when she told me where she was putting her weight, it "didn't quite work for me" (translation: "I biffed hard," as she has affectionately referred to my plentiful falls on- and off-snow over the 18 years we've been friends).  Still, Jessica deserves a pair of wings for her valiant efforts; bless her heart, that girl has the patience of Mother Theresa.

In any event, while many people have rightfully told me I need to learn, after my experience with snowboarding, the thought of relying on someone to teach me how to ride a bike seemed like an untenable and frustrating combination of "too much vulnerabilty" for me, and "a torture session" for my would-be instructor.  One blogger has flat out stated that learning to ride a bike in her 30's was terrifying and humiliating, and would not allow her boyfriend to teach her, refusing to "supplicate him to such a trust exercise."  I could relate.

So, I started where any reasonable, independent, information-gathering woman hoping to learn a new physical skill would: Google.  Just follow the instructions from ehow.com, right?  I searched phrases like "learn to ride a bike as an adult," and watched YouTube videos of awkward Prius-driving ex-pats attempting to learn on grass, covered in knee/elbow pads and helmets 2 sizes too big, crashing into each other like bowling pins.  I'm not a fan of intentionally putting myself in a position where I look like a special-needs adult, so I was greatly displeased by what I found.  "That looks a like a LOT less fun than giving myself a concussion on snow," I thought.  Le sigh.  

Then I came across a class at REI designed specifically for this purpose.  Having taken other classes or tours put on by REI, I had some semblance of faith that they could help me - and maybe have me look relatively cool while doing it.  And help me, they did!  I learned fairly quickly, in part by scooting myself along sans pedals between chalk drawings on the ground from the day's previous "kids only" class.  ("Now, scoot yourself down to the scary bear, and then turn around and come back to the happy bunny!" my instructor coo'd... next pass through, I got my pedals! Yesssss!)

But then I didn't do a damn thing about it for the next 8 months.  I didn't go anywhere near a bike, not even a spin class with stationary bikes.  What did I think would happen?  That a bike would magically appear for my use and I'd be able to cruise around busy Midtown streets while intoxicated without any trouble or nerves?  My friends amped up the chatter about our plans for this summer - bicycle pub crawls, biking around Tahoe, rides from Davis to Woodland and back, taking that triathlon clinic that got be started with this whole biking thing in the first place - and the wave of discomfort stemming from my lack of bike skills washed over me again.  Ah, crap.  I'm gonna have to figure this shit out. 

Thanks to the help of a special (not of the short-bus variety) friend who's more familiar with bikes and riding than anyone I know, I'm now not only the owner of my very own bike (in one of my favorite colors!), but I can ride in a straight line!  I still have some (read: a lot of) work to do on the whole slowing down and stopping thing, but I am confident I'll get there... eventually.

So there you have it!  I am now an athlete in transition!  A runner-turned-hopeful-triathlete!  I feel like a whole new person with this new skill!   

Over the past couple days as I've practiced my skillz on my shiny new bike, I’ve come to realize how transitioning from using your body to run to using your body to ride is analogous to other transitions in life.  Pedaling around the undeveloped portion of my neighborhood (also in transition, you could say) yesterday, I thought about all the people I know who are in some sort of transitional period in their lives.

Some are pregnant or new parents for the first time, terrified of how their lives are going to change, how they'll handle parenthood, whether they'll fuck up their kid literally or figuratively, but experiencing indescribable joy and connectedness that comes with bringing a new life into the world.  Others have 17- and 18-year old “babies” who are graduating high school and moving on to college, leaving them with a lonely empty nest but a second leash on life to do all the things they wanted to but couldn't while focused on raising their kids.  Some are making big career changes – huge promotions, changing fields, or going back to school - and essentially changing their identities as they know it, hopefully for the better.  Others are leaving their careers entirely by taking a well-deserved vacation for the rest of their lives via retirement.  Some are moving across the country to a new, big, unfamiliar city, and having to transition to a whole new way of life, if only figuring out how to buy and get 10-bags worth of groceries up to the 10th floor of their NYC studio.  Others are learning how to handle the day-to-day stressors that come along with being separated from a loved one due to deployment, or preparing for their return just after having gotten used to them being gone. 

The transitions I've observed most often and with which I am the most familiar are those who are experiencing significant changes in their relationship status – that is, those who are getting engaged/married, or those who are going through a divorce.  Newlyweds are negotiating their new lives as a legally-bound couple (they say the first year is the hardest) with the goal of both parties getting as close to their ideal vision of the marriage as possible, whereas those dealing with the painful ordeal that is divorce are, along with fighting over finances and/or children, having to relearn what life is like as an uncoupled person (again, they say the first year is the hardest), kicking tires, testing waters, figuring it all out. 

All of these transitions are so similar to learning how to ride a bike as an adult.  They're not really something you're ever fully prepared to do; no matter how badly you might want to transition, you're always a little scared.  It feels awkward and unnatural at first - What do you do? How do you do this? This feels weird!  When you first push off, you're afraid of getting doing it wrong or getting hurt, so you go so slow that you wobble in a jerky way, wildly from side to side, totally unbalanced; you think you just might look like Elaine’s awkward "dance" from Seinfeld, so you hope no one is recording you looking like an asshole.  You desperately want to put your two feet back on solid ground, where you know how to use them and where they feel most comfortable, but the advice you're given tells you that in order to keep moving forward and keep your balance, you’ve got to have a little faith and pedal a little faster to turn the wheels.  Soon enough, you agree.

You learn to look both ways for anything coming at you too fast, and to avoid obstacles by realizing that if you focus on something you're afraid of, you’re going to head right towards it - a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy.  A few times you find yourself taking your eyes off where you want to go, distracted by cute little things along the route, and then just as you are giggling and smiling wide, a bug flies into your mouth.   

Eventually, you find yourself cruising along, the wind from your speed cooling off the sweat on your brow.  You're proud of how far you've come in such little time.  So, you pick up a little speed, confident and feeling an ease that you're finally "getting it," only to realize you don’t know how to slow down or stop without near disaster.  While your friend watches with trepidation and grimaces, half-expecting you to injure yourself, you laugh as you stumble.  You start again, this time with the recognition that you're going to have to practice having the type of control that lets you set the speed with which you're most comfortable.  And without a doubt, you concede that you need help from people you trust to get you through it.

The long and short of it all is this:  We all have something we strive for, something we want, someplace physical/emotional/relational/professional/familial we want to end up, and we all undergo a major transition at some point in our lives to get there, whether by choice or when forced upon us.  Getting through it to the other side always requires some level of risk, some patience, some time, some effort, some trial and error; but waiting until you're 30 years older than everyone else going through the same thing before you try really won't do you any favors, as 30 years of riding will have passed you by.  So, take the training wheels off, grab a trusted friend, and just go... skinned knees be damned.

P.S.  If I have any hopes of checking Iron(Wo)Man off my "Things to do by 40" bucket list, I guess I need to start looking into doing some open-water swims.  Cripes.  Anyone got a wetsuit?  Or maybe just a life preserver?  Anyone?  Anyone...?

It's Time to Begin, Isn't It?

I can really love the shit out of music when I'm in the mood.  But see, I tend to get lost in my head and think too much, which is why when it comes to music choices, I tend to go for the over-simplified, no-hidden-meaning country, pop and R&B music.  I mean, there just isn't a bad day that can't be cured by a little Luke Bryan ("Girl, you make my speakers go boom boom!" makes me beam every time), or an awesome day that can't be made even better by Zac Brown Band ("So we live out of our old van, travel all across this land, me and you"), you know?  But it's actually the more complex stuff, that can and will be interpreted and "seen" differently depending on the listener, that really gets me good.

On my way home last night I heard "Crash" - the popular song that we all know and love by DMB.  I remember the the circumstances under which I first heard Crash song as though it were yesterday: it was during my first date with my first college boyfriend - the Abercrombie employee, house-party-throwin'  soccer player who loved to take me dancing (and as as side note could dance better than anyone I have ever seen to this day).  Thereafter, DMB quickly became "our music," if you know what I mean, and especially this song.

Anyway, breakups are never fun, and this one with Abercrombie boy was no exception.  For a while afterward, I couldn't really listen to DMB without feeling slightly sick to my stomach - it hurt too much.  Over time, I returned to DMB concerts and regained the ability to thoroughly enjoy the music, but for a long time it still brought back a slight twinge of angst and regret.

I had a similar experience with the first Dido and Nelly Furtado albums, circa 2000-2001 (aka First Time Living in LA as an "Adult"). Don't ask me why - there were far too many reasons - but during that very tough year, these two albums were on HEAVY rotation.  Once I removed myself from the situation I was in, I couldn't bring myself to listen to either of these artists without feeling ill, panicky, and full of anxiety, all horrible feelings, so I avoided hearing their music at all costs. 

The Bravery also had an eery way of bringing on strong emotions.  Driving up to Skiman's family's home up at Squaw, once we hit Donnor Lake, we'd start to blare The Bravery's "The Sun and the Moon" album and blare it all the way until the turn onto Winding Creek Road, and after waking up the next morning to avi bombs, hopping in the Tahoe for the 3.75 minute drive to the Red Dog chair, they would continue on repeat.  The Bravery had a Pavlov's dog effect on me.  See, I was a pretty new skier back then, pretty terrified actually, so the act of careening down a mountain for the first time at 30 years old (that is, at an age when I recognize danger!) was both terrifying and exhilarating, and the feeling in my stomach demonstrated it.  To this day, every time I hear "Time Won't Let Me Go," I can literally feel myself sitting in the seat with the view of the Face and village and the sensation of booting up and navigating that expansive parking lot in boots without landing on my arse... in short, it makes me nervous and super excited all at the same time.  It reminds me of purposefully scaring the shit out of myself, and loving every minute of it!!!

This may sound really cheesy, but music really is like the soundtrack to our lives, ya know?  I'm not talking about, "Oh yeah, remember when Color Me Badd was THE SHIT!!??"  I'm talking about music that has in some way shaped how our personal "movie trailer" has played out.  I don't know about you, but in many respects, music is what keeps me sane.  I put my soul into not just hearing its sound and feeling its vibrations, but really, truly LISTENING and LIVING it.  I can form a story in my mind with every single song, real or imagined.  Sometimes it just floats along beside me, serving as a backdrop for long lost memories (such as DMB), and other times I find myself figuratively giving the music my emotions so that I don't have to feel them or remember any longer (ala Dido and Nelly Furtado), and even still at other times it takes me to a place where I felt totally ALIVE (Bravery).  Hey, it's better than relying on booze or liquor, right?  Either way, there is certain music and certain periods of my life that are inextricably linked, such that if there was ever a movie made about my life (how do we feel about Reese Witherspoon as the lead, by the way?), those songs would have to be included in the soundtrack.

Years ago, I used to think I'd always have a bit of an "ouch" feeling when listening to DMB, but really now I'm just ALL smiles.  I remember the good times spent with Abercrombie boy, and man oh man, there were plenty of them - sometimes I think all we did was laugh!  Thinking of memories like that is like living a flashback, or a snippet of a movie...it was all sweetness and sunshine and laughter, not one ounce of negativity (despite the fact there was plenty of that as well).  I remember the day we met, the first time he took me out onto a Sigma Chi dance floor (to Cake's "Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps"), making batches and batches of Jungle Juice, soccer games and kissing in the pouring rain - all good times... and that all comes to mind from a simple song.

I'm also now able to listen to Dido and old school Nelly Furtado and think, "that's the year I survived."  Even better, when I hear anything by The Bravery, I only think, "Hells yes! I'm gonna tear it up, Blue Square Style!" Ha.

So, what's on the playlist right now, you ask?  Well, of course there's some Luke (because I LOVE HIM), and there'll always be some ZBB and Mumford for good measure.  But I've got a couple on repeat for a long time that are clearly meant to be in a scene in my movie, or maybe the trailer, or the end credits.

The big one is Coldplay's "Life in Technicolor" (the instrumental, NO WORDS).  It speaks to how I try to live each day, and my life on the whole, and I how I secretly hope people see me, because it's how I see myself.  Just listen to it, and let it soak in.  It starts softly, with a little old-school synthesizer action, and builds slowly, and lingers, making you curious about what you're hearing and what sound might add on next.  Musical voices slowly join, one after another, making the sound more complex and vibrant, adding layer after layer at the right moment (not too soon, not too late) to make it even more interesting.  What you think you hear changes.  It wakes up like a morning flower turning to face the sun, opening petal by petal until it's fully exposed, and just continues to get prettier and prettier and the sun heats it.  It never bores you, you feel anticipation of what's coming next, even though you already know what the expect.  It builds and builds until you feel the urge to start bouncing your head, tapping on the steering wheel, dancing in your chair, maybe some full body action, "Oooohhh ooohhhhh!"... and then BAM! it's done and gone.  And you hit repeat, because you want to hear it again.  And again.  And again.  And each time, you hear it a little differently; it's never quite the same.  Doesn't it just make you feel like... "Hot damn, my life is awesome!" ??  Yeah, that one's definitely the trailer version of my movie.

Next up, Imagine Dragon's "It's Time."  This one starts off with the most awesome clapping and tinkering, that reminds me of being a giddy child excited for new adventures. That's the hook, y'all. But then the complexity of the lyrics hit you and it takes a deep turn, making you have a little existential conversation with yourself... but then, what's that?, there's the giddy clapping and tinkering again. I feel like I'm on the cusp of something big, like something life altering (in a good way) is right around the corner, so this one has a special place for me.  I could write five more pages about why, but I think I'll keep that to myself for now.

And finally, Daughtry's (don't judge!) "Start of Something Good."  I actually heard this very recently for the first time, and found it quite fitting.  I had an interesting week.  It started off amazingly well, then there was a major let down, and then a very pleasant random surprise reincarnation occurred.  Who knows what it all means, or what will happen - it's all up in the air.  But oddly enough, this "needs to know!" girl is choosing to let go, and just think positively and know that "it" will work out as it should, whatever this beginning actually is. And, well, Daughtry just just looks so damn good...

What's playing on your soundtrack?

xoxo

"I'm better, thanks!"

It's been a year.  Imagine yourself, a classy, elegant lady, sitting quietly in the front of a classic convertible with a bench seat, being driven by a new handsome companion through the Santa Cruz mountains under blankets of trees, heading towards the coast. You've got a cute little sundress on, kept warm by a fitted little jacket, your carefully coiffed hair kept neatly in place by a silk scarf from a distant land, a precious souvenir brought home safe by someone you once loved.

You feel stifled, and roll the window down to get some fresh air, but find that's not enough. You push the button to put the top down just as your companion turns out of the trees and onto Hwy 1, the Pacific ahead in full view.  You tug off your jacket. You climb onto the back of the bench seat and sit, delicately yet confidently perched by graceful balance and strength.  As the car winds along the coast, you take in the awesome transparency and roar of the huge crashing waves, the smell of the salty air.  Your companion laughs with you.  You slip the scarf off your head, shake out your hair, throw your head back and open your arms wide to feel the warmth of the sun and the ocean air curse over your entire body. You gently wave the scarf and its dainty sequined edge in the air like a flag of freedom, its kaleidoscope of colors and sparkles shining in the sun, shadowing your view of the sun's rays for just a moment... and then your fingertips purposefully separate, and you let it go...

Instead of giving you that description, if you were to ask me how I feel today, I'd probably just say, "A lot better, thanks!" There's always more under the surface in those pleasant responses... :)

Where the Magic Happens

WOOSH!  Hockey stop.  "Ahhh, sh*t!"  I wasn't just looking ahead anymore, I was looking *down* a steep pitch.  My heart started beating fast, I could feel my hands start to sweat in my gloves.  I looked around.  I reasoned that I could scoot back about 20 feet, and keep going down the easier slope I'd gone down before, or I could just... go down this one - this crazy steep looking (to me!) monster in front of me.  I thought back to about 20 minutes prior to the complete yard sale I had managed to pull out smack dab in the middle of a run, conveniently under a chair loaded with snowboarders.  Skis and poles scattered fast, I punched myself in the boob, and I skid for quite a distance.  When I finally stopped moving, I heard laughter, and it wasn't from the folks hanging overhead - it was coming out of my own mouth.  I had survived that (and actually managed to enjoy it?), so this should be okay... Right?  Still, I was scared.

WOOSH!  Hockey stop next to me from some random dude.  "You okay?" he asked.  

"Yeahhhh, I'm just nervous.  This one isn't like all the other steeper stuff I've been doing today."  (I mean, seriously - this pitch was nothing like the others! Just when I was starting to feel like I was getting better, this jumps in the way. What kind of cruel trick was Breck pulling on me?!)

"I guess they don't call it 'Shocker' for nothing."  

"Uggggh.  But this is the fastest way to get where I need to go; I don't want to have to go back that way," I said as I looked back over my shoulder to the continuation of the 'easy' run that I'd veered away from.

"Well, I'm gonna take it slow. I can go down ahead of you a little bit if you want, and make sure you're okay," he offered while pointing with his pole.

"Nah, I'm good. Thanks though!"

Off I went.  It felt like forever standing up on that edge, but in reality it probably only took about 20 seconds to make that decision.  I got to the bottom and turned around to look at what I'd managed to come down, and I gotta say: I was impressed with myself given my self-perceived limitations.  I'd just shattered them all by myself.  I thought back to my days literally c.r.a.w.l.i.n.g. down the Shirley runs, and thought, "I'd make those old Squaw runs my b*tch! Ah ha!"  My frozen chubby cheeks hurt from smiling so hard for the rest of the day, and I think I may have even puffed my chest a little bit.  I accepted a pole tap from Mr. Random Dude when he got down, and then took off to take another lift and run to meet my friends for a midday celebratory cocktail. 

Later, I went after a part of the mountain that someone told me was "scary," suggesting I couldn't do it.  And then I went back and did Shocker a few more times, just to prove to myself that it wasn't a fluke.  I'm still faaaarrrr from being an expert, and still slow compared to nearly all my buddies... but damn, it felt good.

Stepping out of my comfort zone just that one time, on that one edge, carried over for the rest of the trip.  The next day at Vail, our group made its way to the back bowls in blizzard conditions.  I'm a self-proclaimed princess, fair-weather skier who doesn't enjoy white-outs; I'm a blue bird kind of girl... or so I thought.  I blindly followed (literally, I couldn't see), and next thing I knew, I found myself in knee-deep powder (I thought I hated powder, turns out I don't!), freezing my toes and cheeks off, taking face shots and narrowly avoiding hitting trees through "glades" (at very slow speeds, don't you worry).  I ended the day completely spent and yet giddy and high on life.  

The next day at Keystone, I was one of three lone rangers who were hell bent on getting as much time on the mountains as possible (and a variety at that).  I looked at the map solely for purposes of figuring out which lifts would get me to the Outback, but paid no mind as to what was blue (love) versus black (still scary), groomed (love) versus moguled out (hate), etc., like I normally would have.  I just... went with it.  I had no idea where I was going or what I was going to encounter, and I had THE BEST TIME EVER.  Admittedly, I am pretty sure I have the Colorado snow to thank for my stellar time, but I still expect (hope?) I'll keep this fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants skiing up next time I hit up a Tahoe resort.

Why is this blog-worthy, you ask?  Well, skiing is just one (albeit huge) example of who I am now compared to who I used to be.  See, once upon a time, I was a girl who played it safe - in every way.  I resisted change and the unknown; I lived inside the box; I preferred the tried and true.  I preferred someone else lead so I could simply follow, and I wouldn't go after something unless it was a certainty.  As such, I never had to buy any risk.  Because I always knew what to expect, it was safe, it was comfortable.  Life was easy.  I was never challenged, scared, uncertain, vulnerable.  And you know what?  I was BORED (oh, God... so bored!) out of my ever-loving mind and, in retrospect, leading a pretty unfulfilling life.  I will *never* let myself get back to that place.    

Slowly over time, I grew up and evolved into who I am now: the gal with gumption who seeks adventures of all sorts.  Like Rome, I wasn't built in a day.  It was a slow process - baby steps of trying new things, challenging my personal status quo and letting go of former rules, and truly enjoying every minute of it.  I can't quite pinpoint when it all came to fruition, but when a friend challenged me to be the kayaker in her Eppie's Great Race team 10 days before the race when I'd never even kayaked before (I wasn't even sure I knew what they looked like - a canoe?), and the idea of "going through rapids" in a kayak, by myself, surrounded by people determined to beat me to the finish (they might poke me out of the way with a paddle and make me drown!), scared the sh*t out of me... and instead of laughing in her face, I accepted her challenge and did it, and despite getting stuck in a whirlpool had one of the best times of my life (at that point)... that's when I knew I'd truly changed.  That was the first time that it all just... clicked. 

Since then, I've stepped out of my comfort zone time and time again - from obvious physical feats, mental challenges, and professional endeavors, to being open and honest with my heart (that is, wearing it on my sleeve), spontaneous trips without a map or knowing if I have a place to stay, or something as simple as trying some crazy new food, and everything in between.  Some of those things I'm fairly certain you'd roll your eyes at, as they're really not that big a deal in the grand scheme of things.  But to me, each instance has produced great results simply because it's made me a little bit more excited about living this awesome life and what other awesomeness lies ahead... and it's each time I ski that I'm reminded of just that. That's why I love it so much! 

I guess the whole point I'm trying to make though is this:  Nobody ever feels 100% ready when an opportunity arises - whether that be facing a steep ski pitch, a potential promotion, a fledgling relationship, getting a dog or having a baby, buying a home, you get the idea - because most great opportunities in life force us to grow beyond our comfort zones, which means we won't feel comfortable at first.  Discomfort is necessary.  An otherwise strong and confident person actually needs moments of uncertainty and vulnerability to feel alive, to lead a fulfilling life, and to be truly happy.  It's where the magic happens.  Why not go out on a limb?  That's where the best fruit is.  I think, anyway (and Mark Twain agrees).

"You know, sometimes all you need is 20 seconds of insane courage.  

Just literally, 20 seconds of just embarrassing bravery, and I promise you, 

something great will come of it." 

In short, I've been doing my best to live by this philosophy as of late - and not just with skiing. Not even close. I've been living with insane courage. Potentially embarrassing bravery. I've really just... pushed the envelope. Put it out there. Shot from the hip. Dropped in. I hope I have the opportunity to do it again, and again, and again, because damn, it feels good.

The results aren't available for every risk I've taken, and until they are, I'll have to savor delicious uncertainty.  But if this past weekend is any indication, yard sales are often followed by some pretty sweet stoke.

Get after it, folks!

xoxo

God and the SuperBaugh

While sitting in L.A. traffic this morning, I tuned in to Kevin and Bean on KROQ (one of the few things I miss about LA).  In light of the upcoming SuperBaugh hype (that is, the Harbaugh brothers facing off as coaches in SuperBowl XLVII), my favorite radio dudes were talking about a survey about people's views of football.  The survey asked a random sample of 1,033 adults a bunch of questions about the NFL.  Most of the responses aren't all that surprising or even remotely interesting (Lots of people watch football! Even more people watch the Super Bowl! Wow! Breaking news! Where's Brian Williams when you need him?!), but two specific questions and results are worth highlighting.

Perhaps the most shocking is that 27 percent of those polled - more than a quarter - believe that "God plays a role in determining which team wins a sporting event." This means that if you're watching a game with three of your buddies, odds are that one of you wholeheartedly believes that God has a vested interest in the outcome of the game, and will influence it to get His way. This could really throw off Vegas's lines, and next year's fantasy football leagues, don'tchathink?

There's more.  You know how athletes, in postgame interviews, often thank God?  They believe God is specifically looking out for them and their health and made them win the game over the other team, and a majority of Americans agree.  According to the survey, 53 percent of respondents believe that "God rewards athletes who have faith with good health and success." 

As they pontificated the significance of the survey's results, some lady called in to the show.  She said that God has already chosen who the victor will be, and that He may change his mind, but that the players' destinies are already predetermined based on who has the most faith, and that it is the most righteous men who will be successful on the field - every time.  When Kevin asked her, "What about BYU? They suck at football, and they're like the most God-like guys around?", she answered: "They must not be. They must be truly evil inside, and just pretending to be good on the outside."  I'm sorry, but - WHAT?

Really?  How does any of this make any sense?  Do these people really think that God created a game of two teams, and then, what, picked sides?  And made it so?  You know, I am a woman of a very strong faith, but even still, I could play devil's advocate and rationally and analytically tear apart the theory that whoever wins the SuperBowl (or the outcome of any event, really, especially where there is a "loser" or someone harmed) was decided by God. As an incredibly brief glimpse into that narrative, I offer you this:  If we are all equal in the eyes of God, if we are all children of God, if God loves us all the same, *and* if our destinies on- and off- the field are in fact preordained by God, then why are our actions here on Earth determinative of whether we go to heaven or hell?  Does this mean God decides before or at birth where you're going in the after life, if there is one?  Wouldn't that make us versions of pre-programmed robots, or chess pieces, at best?  

Or do we control our own personal growth, our spirit, our destinies through our thoughts and actions?

Now, I was born and raised to be a good little Catholic girl, and I grew up with the fear of God strongly instilled in me (does he look like Zeus in your mind, too?), but I refuse to believe that anyone has 100% control over the path I follow, even God. (And that's NOT because I was subsequently kicked out of Catholic school... that, too, was the result of my own choices.)  God is benevolent and loving, and walks with me and advises and nudges and inspires me me in a particular direction that He sure as shit hopes I will go, because He loves me and wants what's best for me.  But at the end of the day, I am a human borne of free will.  I am capable of virtue or sin or a combination of the two, by my choice.  I just typed that sentence of my own accord, He didn't.  In fact, the fact that I'm typing this at all proves as much, because God, if as powerful as that 27% believe, controls all, well then He wouldn't let anyone besmirch His prowess this way.  Right?

Nah, if God created football, then in my mind's eye he created the game and threw his hands in the air and said, "I'm out, kids! Y'all figure it out, I'm fixin' to see how y'all handle this fiasco I've created. This will be your test. From this, you will grow and fulfill your destiny, win or lose."  Then he'd sit back with his Bud Light and boneless hot wings (my God drinks, that's why there's the sweet nectar called “sparkling wine”) and enjoy the game.  He wouldn't root for one team (his children) over another (also his children) - who would his home team be, anyway?? - or control the Refs.  While it does seem miraculous that the victor of these athletic final feats have their team-specific "CHAMPIONS!" hats and jerseys and other paraphernalia on their persons within seconds of the clock reaching 0:00 and long before the confetti has even settled on the field or Erin Andrews has shoved a mic in their face, God doesn't control who wins.  The guys on the field do.  I think, anyway.  Neither they nor we are pawns.  Our actions either honor God, or they don't.  Our actions decide where we end up on the board, or on the field. 

Let me take this further.  I think believing that your future is completely preordained by God, that is to the non-religious folks, that it's all the result of fate, makes you lazy.  What's the point of living, of facing life's challenges and triumphs, if it's already laid out for you?  If there's nothing to be learned?  If there's no growth to be had? 

My faith in the Lord runs deep, but this spiritual journey I'm on is never ending.  I am not married to everything the church has laid out for me. Rather, I see the bigger picture in what scripture tells us, and also balance that with science. While it's true that energy is never lost, and that for every action there is a reaction, "everything happens for a reason" is simply a lame excuse to not have to deal with the tougher questions and realities of life and faith and the interconnectedness of every action, of every person to every other person, of every bit of energy out there.  So when things don't go our way, some immediately use this excuse instead of taking ownership of their mistakes, tweaking their actions or thoughts, or simply trying harder.  Instead, some immediately quit, thinking it "wasn't meant to be," instead of thinking they had some semblance of control over the outcome.  How… sad.

I recently found myself in a professional situation that didn't appear as though it would go my way, and at first I was tempted to say to myself, "Oh well, everything happens for a reason; it wasn't in God's plan."  But then I stopped myself and said, "NO. Screw this! I want this, and I'm going harder after it, if it's going to happen it's going to happen because I make it happen, not because I just believed that it would eventually miraculously happen; I'm going to BE STRONG and WORK HARD," and guess what? It worked!  Obviously, I won't always get the outcome I desire, no matter how much I desire or pray for it, but I think it's a lot more productive to believe that we have some modicum of control over how our lives evolve.  And it's only if we have that control are we able to take pride in how we’ve grown, what we’ve overcome, what we’ve accomplished, what we’ve made of ourselves.  If our fate it out of our hands, what’s the point?  Where does happiness come from?  It really does come from within, right?  From reaping the rewards of our hard work, right?  Right.

I think that as long as people try to make the best of their life at a particular moment (by looking for and learning from the lessons each situation does in fact present), it will lead them to the right path for them, and to a happier life. We are all going to do what we do. While I do believe that God has a plan and purpose for each of us, and I do believe in a special type of "magic," and that it would be "nice" if I could just sit back and wait for all the good stuff to happen to me without putting any effort in (that is, let fate take its course), I just really don't think that's the way the universe works. I can easily change my mind and make a right turn instead of a left turn without being chased by bad guys in fedoras like Matt Damon encountered in The Adjustment Bureau.  I believe relying on "God's plan" or fate is a lazy excuse to rest on your laurels.  It's also a really messed up thing to believe when really messed up things happen to good people.  You can't control what other people do, they control what they do, and you can come up with excuses all day for what they do.  But do you really want to make YOUR life just another excuse?  Or do you want to take what's handed to you and have a choice in how you receive it and handle it?  Don't you want your life to mean more than a predetermined road map?

Now, I realize that in The Perfect Ponytail Paradox, I recently talked about how sometimes things don't go as planned, but actually work out for the better in the long run.  Some of you may throw the whole, "See, everything DOES happen for a reason!" line at me with that one, claiming that how things have turned out was fate working its magic.  But the two really aren't inconsistent: PPP involves acceptance of things that happen, whereas this involves acknowledgment that you have some control over those things, or at least how you respond to them.  I really do believe that in the end, things do work out the way they should.  But at the same time, “a river cuts through a rock not because of its power, but because of its persistence.” ~ Jim Watkins.

Anyway, it's getting late.  I suspect I might edit this later, once the NyQuil wears off.  I really am a little drunk right now.  Just keep in mind that on Sunday, more than one-in-four of your fellow Americans will go to bed convinced that whichever team raised the Lombardi Trophy only won because God willed it.  I, on the other hand, am going to choose to believe that the better team (that day) won.

Go Niners!

xoxo

Running: I've got you, babe.

His shoulders caved in while he nervously rubbed his hands together under the table in between his knees.  “Yeaaaahhhh, I really don’t 'get' running, I mean, it's just...running, what's the point, really?” he said in a hesitant yet monotone voice that belied his fear of upsetting me with this unacceptable confession in response to my visible excitement about having run the farthest I’d ever run a few hours prior.  And he continued: “People who run are… weird.”

I felt my eyes narrow as I examined him.  I knew in that moment that our blossoming romance would go nowhere fast.  Not only did he take me to yet another blah dinner for our third date (sparks were dyin'...), but now he was insulting one of the most important (new) relationships in my life: the relationship I have with running.  He doesn't have to love it, but he shouldn't insult it!  I didn't insult his love of TELEMARK SKIING for crying out loud!  To each their own, right?  Yup, another one bites the dust.

It’s only been like few months, and I may still be embarrassingly slow, but I’ve become one of “those people.” A “runner.”  I live to get off work and go for a run.  I love logging hours on mapmyrun.com discovering new running routes.  I am obsessed with logging miles and tracking the improvements of my pace with my Garmin.  I am seriously addicted to bananas and chocolate milk.  I procrastinate at work by rolling out my calves on my office floor and searching online for races near and far to train for and attend.  I find myself spending nearly all of my free time with other runners, and not necessarily running (albeit talking about it a whole damn lot).  And each time I step into Fleet Feet, I think: “Wait just one stinkin’ second! I thought running was supposed to be cheap?” But I gladly whip out my card for the goods!

I mean, when you know, you just know.  And I know: it’s love.  So here it is:  

Running, I know we haven’t known each other that long, but I am totally into you, and I’m ready to take out relationship to the next level.  Will you occupy my mind and time and heart, and stand in the place of my would-be boyfriend?

I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. :)

See, upon returning home tonight from “rehydrating” with mimosas and Blue Moons after today’s long run and tugging off my dusty running shoes, thinking about the day and the people I spent it with, I had a sort of epiphany about relationships.  You know that phrase, “You get back what you put into it”? Well, unfortunately, that hasn’t really been true with many of my inter-personal relationships.  Whether it be my boyfriend, one of my best friends, or my boss, I’ve experienced a lot of let downs and heart break from relationships I’ve put my heart and soul into.  Those harrowing experiences make me hesitant to seriously invest in any new relationships (but I still do - I can’t help it, I’m a people person).

But running? My relationship with running is one of the few things that I can really trust and rely upon, each and every day – even on rest days.  I know that I WILL get back what I put into it, and then some.  I know that it will never let me down or betray me (my body might, but not the act itself).  And the beauty of it all is that (I think) if I apply the lessons I have learned from my failed unsuccessful romantic relationships, I can make sure my relationship with running goes the distance! Yay! Specifically:

1.  If you go for too much too soon before you’re ready, you’ll burn out, and get hurt (or hurt someone else).  This is true not only of the risk of heartbreak from whirlwind romance, but risk of physical injury as well.  Thinking, “Oh, well my training program says to only do 4 today, but I feel so good I’ll just go run 13!” is just as bad as saying, “Hi Jen, it’s me” on my voicemail or assuming you're about to meet the parents after just a couple dates.  We’re just not there yet buddy, and you aren’t either.  Take your time.  Running isn’t going anywhere, and for the most part, neither am I.  The shoes and the trail will be there tomorrow.  Let the relationship evolve naturally, and build upon itself.

2.  On the other hand, if you don’t put enough energy into it, or go too slow, or keep your finger on the trigger, you’ll likely bore yourself and the process and never progress.  And you certainly can’t half-ass training any more than you can half-ass a real relationship or commitment to a partner.  You can’t run while sitting on a fence, ya know?  You really gotta have two feet on the ground, and use energy to move forward.

3.  The foundation of any relationship – romantic, platonic, business – is trust.  If you don’t trust in the process, trust that your training will get you there (whatever distance that might be), AND trust your partner (yourself, your legs, your feet, your shoes, your lungs…your coach), you’ve really got nothing.  Same goes for your better half.  (And at the same time, I see nothing wrong with the concept of “Trust, but verify.” Go ‘head. Try it. It’ll surprise you, in a good way.)

4.  You must allow for down/rest time.  You can’t spend 365/24/7 with a partner anymore than you can running without killing yourself (or the relationship), and the time and energy spent away from running will not only make you appreciate it all the more, but will make you a better, stronger, faster runner.  Just don't take too long of a break, because that can cause just as much damage.

5.  You HAVE to have a sense of humor to get you through the hard times… because there WILL be hard times.  The only way to handle falling flat on your face a mile into a marathon is to laugh at yourself (and whoever tripped you, of course).

6.  Surround yourself with people who value their own relationship with running, the way you do yours.  It will help you maintain your commitment and keep your spirits up when you're feeling weak.  In the same vain, avoid spending time with folks who don't share your values.

7.  Know that if you find just the right balance, you’ll feel a high like nothing else.  I hope this speaks for itself.  *wink, wink*

It all makes sense, right?

So far, running simply makes me consistently happy.  I know we'll have our moments, and there will be times when I'll consider breaking up, but for now, all is well in the Jen-Running relationship world.  Best of all, I’m never left confused.  If at the end of a bad run, unlike a bad day with a boyfriend, if something feels “off” and I find myself wondering, “Did I do something wrong?”, there’s always a legitimate answer based on biomechanics, training, nutrition, fuel - something other than, well, miscommunication. I mean it just… works, and it’s been one of the most fulfilling relationships I’ve had in a long, long time. So with that said: 

Dear Running,

Whether it's at dawn or at dusk, I look forward to our dates (for the most part), especially when you take me to places I've never seen before and make me feel so damn good. You're the first thing I think about it in the morning and the last thing I think about at night, and I think about you all damn day. And I love that you love that I love carbs. I hope you're just as ready as I am to make this big commitment. (Should we make it Facebook official?) I have a feeling we're in this for the long haul, Running.  I love you.

xoxo
Jen

Somewhere out there...

Every single person I know is going through something similar: dating nightmares, break-ups, momentary depression, loneliness, or just plain wanting to get ass, but having a hard time finding any.  Ironically, these are the same people always offering up their advice on MY lovelife.  Then of course there are the incredibly happy people - the ones who aren't in relationships because they seem to hate relationships or are in 'perfect' relationships - they have tons of annoying advice too.  My two new coworkers are examples of this.  Very much, "Hey, look at me!  Chin up!"

So, here's my question, and you don't have to answer this, but feel free:  Why is it considered pathetic to want a boyfriend/girlfriend?  Or even a husband/wife??  No, seriously. 

One friend of mine has referred to herself as co-dependent just because she found that being excited about another guy would help get over the last one.  I think that's perfectly normal.  An independent man or woman is seen as so strong, so lucky, so to be admired, but is it admirable or is it just one of multiple lifestyle choices that some prefer?  Maybe those independent people really suck in relationships, so they're single because they don't know HOW to be sane as a partner, while some partner-types don't know how to be sane without another half.  But I just don't understand why one is considered better than the other?  Why is it okay to suck in a relationship and be awesome single, but not okay to be awesome in a relationship, but suck as a single?

I think you are co-dependent or obsessed when you're the type of person who CAN'T be alone.  Let me define 'can't.'  I mean that the person would rather be with the wrong person, and horribly wrong at that, than be alone or go through the inconvenience of ending a relationship with someone who just isn't right for them.  This is a person who generally doesn't enjoy their own company and solitude.  This is a person who doesn't like themselves unless a member of the opposite sex that they're into is into them in return.  This is a person who has no opinion of their own because they adapt to the opinion of whomever they're dating.  This is a person who has no life outside of their relationship, and who basically takes over the life of their significant other.  In short, this is a person who thinks he or she's pathetic, ugly and/or useless if they're not having sex with a regular partner or is dateless on a Saturday night.  This is a person who fears an empty bed and no sexy text messages in his/her phone.  

I am none of those things.  I sleep diagonally or horizontally in my bed these days.  I go to movies alone by choice if no one wants to go with me.  I run by myself, shop by myself, travel by myself, even ski by myself (granted, these things are always more fun with a partner, but so what?).  I also eat by myself all the time, and I often prefer it because I easily strike up conversations with random others at the bar counter and learn the most fascinating things about other people, and they all seem to like me.  While I enjoy sharing some activities and hobbies with the guys I date, I have my OWN things that I'm into and don't ever try usurp a guy's life.  I think I'm plenty attractive even if I don't have a boyfriend/fiance/husband.  Short of being a narcissist, I think it's fair to say I pretty much love myself.  I pay my own bills, I buy my own shit, I have fun on the weekends, and spoil and take care of myself.  I think I have a pretty full life even though I haven't reached "happily ever after" yet.  So, IF I were to want a boyfriend to complement (not complete!) my life, why would that make me a pathetic asshole?  I'm not saying I'd want ANY old boyfriend.  I'd want a really, really good one.  Somehow, by some folks' standards, that makes me a pathetic, weak, obsessive, co-dependent.  Hmph.

So, the advice has been rolling in - "Heeeey, you're FREE, ENJOY yourself!!"  Hey, dude, who said I'm not enjoying myself?  Trust me, I really do love my freedom.  I love that all my decisions are mine to make.  I love flying by the seat of my pants and deciding at noon on a Saturday to go to SF or Tahoe without even finding out if I have a place to stay when I get there and not having to run it by anyone.  I love that someone else's bad mood doesn't have to become my bad mood.  I love that I can run, ski, travel, shop, alone or with girlfriends and not feel guilty for leaving my guy out.  I love that I never feel threatened because of his non-existent boundaries.  I love that I never have to wonder if I'm being cheated on with the ex-girlfriend who calls at 2:14 a.m., or if he's contemplating moving across the country and doesn't want me to come with him.  I love that I don't have to explain myself if I have a phone conversation with an ex-boyfriend with whom I really DO have a completely platonic friendship.  I love that I'm not scared of losing someone.  I love that I don't have to feel that awful, painful aching of the very first moment when you realize the person you're crazy about is slipping away.  Man, that sucks.  Rather, I do feel FREE and liberated, but that's because these are all the awful things I've experienced in prior relationships that are experiences I won't repeat if when I find myself with the right guy.

The right guy will be AWESOME, and I can't wait to meet him (if I haven't already) because he's there, out there somewhere looking for someone to be equally awesome with.  We're going to have so much fun and open each other's eyes to new experiences, things we'd never thought of before.  We will inspire each other to meet and overcome our personal challenges.  He's going to make me laugh, make me feel beautiful, and woo me.  I'll want to do anything (within reason) to make him happy.  He's going to call the next day (such a novel concept these days!), and he's going to sound happy to hear from me whenever I call.  He's going to look forward to seeing me, and we will make mutual compromises to make that happen.  He's going to flatter me.  I'm going to admire and appreciate him, who he is and what he plans for himself.  He's going to give me little surprises, like sticky notes on the bathroom mirror.  I'm going to do the "little things" that brighten his day in return.  He's going to make me his priority, and he's going to be mine.  We're going to spend snowy Saturdays in Tahoe tearin' it up, sunny Sundays on the coast or in the city, occasional hookie days on the river, and random nights out together laughing and enjoying our time out with friends.  We'll run in the rain together, and then snuggle by a fire.  He's going to be spontaneous and think a random trip to NYC or Denver or Chicago or Hawaii or Vegas would be fun, or even better - if I want to go without him, he'll think that'll be fun for me and he'll do his own thing without feeling abandoned or envious.  I won't ever feel jealous because he won't give me any reason to because he has the common knowledge of what's NOT appropriate when you have a significant other, and I will literally never give another guy a second glance because in my eyes no one will ever compare.  He'll be my very best friend, my last call or snuggle of the day, and I'll be his.  I'll be attracted to him in a ravenous way, and he'll be eager to satisfy my "needs." (Wink, wink.)  I'll love the way he smells, and want to sleep in his t-shirts.  I'll adore him - he'll literally make my eyes twinkle.  We'll be excited about the future together.  We'll make plans, and also go on spontaneous getaways.  He'll think all my friends are hilarious; I'll totally dig hanging out with his.  His parents and sibling(s) will love me, and I'll love them.  We'll always be in each other's corner, encouraging and cheering but also letting each other know when we're throwing all the wrong punches.  This guy is out there.  I JUST KNOW IT.

There might be a couple of them out there like that, and it's not that I feel like I'm this loser because I'm not independent enough, I'm as independent as they get.  I'm just so incredibly excited to meet this man.  He could be anywhere - in the grocery store, at my favorite Thai restaurant, at a shared charity event, on I-80 next to me in traffic, at a wedding, living next door, in the office building next to mine, on freakin' Match.com - where ever!  My favorite person in the world exists, and I haven't met him yet.  And I don't think there's anything wrong with reeeeaaallly looking forward to that "ah ha!" moment.  

The rest of my life IS in order.  I do concentrate on my career.  I have amazing friends.  i have a full, wonderful life.  When the majority of your life is in order, you don't sit around and talk about it - particularly on a blog.  You talk about what you don't have, why you don't have it, and what you want from it.  The one thing I don't have is a ridiculously awesome dude to spend time with.  So I live my life to the fullest every single moment I'm not typing to you people, and then I take this time here to analyze what's missing.  That's it.  That's all. 

End of rant.
xoxo