Category Archives: Personal

Of Running Shoes and White Houses: One Year Later

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On September 3, 2013 (one year ago today), I couldn’t run a mile. I couldn’t even run 25 yards. I know this because I tried. It was my first day running.

What I remember about that day was that I struggled to run for a full minute as the group that I joined for new runners introduced very starter-level intervals. When it was over and I got back to my car, I texted a friend to say that I didn’t think I was going to make it. That day, I felt all but certain I was going to fail at running (yet again). I think I actually whimpered a little bit when I got back to my apartment and stood at the bottom of the long, steep staircase, looking up and wondering how I was going to drag myself up those when it hurt just to walk.

It was embarrassing because I knew that I hadn’t really done that much at all.

This morning, September 3, 2014, I went to the park where I spent all of last fall and all of this past spring working on becoming a runner. I walked a little bit to warm up, and then I ran two miles.

I don’t want to say how long it took me to run those two miles. But I ran them without stopping, and a year ago I couldn’t even hope to come close. That’s all that matters.

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To the Grown Man Who Called Me Fat While I Was Running

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Equal parts hurt, humiliated, and pissed off last week, I’ve been struggling to process something that you, Grown Man Who Called Me Fat While I Was Running, have probably already forgotten. As I ran my first lap around the park, something that I’ve been doing on a regular basis since September, I ran past your yard as I’ve done hundreds of times before. This time, however, as I rounded the turn and started to make my way past the playground full of families on a sunny, warm Sunday afternoon, I heard your voice loud and clear over the shouts and cries of the playground.

“WHOA! Guys, look at the really fat woman jogging!” 

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A Eulogy for Rocky (Or Why We Love Dogs)

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As I start writing this, it’s either very late Saturday night or very early Sunday morning, depending on how you look at it. It’s 5 a.m. In 4.5 hours, I will have been awake for 24 hours (“spring ahead” was tonight, but I’ve lost all hours of sleep, apparently). I’m exhausted, but can’t sleep, so I’m here because this has been eating away at me all week and I need to write it out. Writing continues to be cheaper than therapy.

The oldest of our two dogs died on Tuesday. His name was Rocky and he was 11.5 years old. I’m having an embarrassing amount of trouble dealing with it. Just about 100 words into this, and I’m already crying my eyes out all over again. I feel silly, like I’m overreacting, but please keep reading and hopefully I’ll be articulate. This is a eulogy for Rocky, but it’s also something that will hopefully resonate with all pet lovers.

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On People Who Write Open Letters Blaming the World for Their Problems

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You are your problem. And you're also

Someone emailed me something to read recently. My understanding was that it was originally posted on Facebook. It took me an hour to read because I kept having to take “rage fit” breaks to collect myself. I can’t remember the last time I read something that made me feel so incredibly angry.

The general gist was this: Things didn’t go the way this person wanted them to go, and as a result, this person essentially made an uncomfortable and massive public display of “Here’s everything that’s gone wrong in my life.” The overall tone was, “Do you feel bad for me yet? How about now? Please feel bad for me. Please tell me how bad you feel. Let me tell you some more so you can get started on my pity party. Don’t you agree that I have it worse than everyone else?”

Furthermore, it came just shy of overtly saying, “I’m not actually happy for people who get what I want.” And I mean just shy. It was pretty clear that this person resented everyone who had anything that this person wanted (“I’m happy for my friends, BUT…”). Even if, you know, people worked really hard and made sacrifices in order to better their own situations.

It was grossly selfish, insensitive, and, I’m sure, alienating.

Everyone I know who read this felt similarly. People talked about it in a not-good way.

source: http://heckyeahreactiongifs.tumblr.com/

Reading it felt uncomfortably familiar. Like growing back into your fat jeans after you’d worked so hard to get out of them.

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New Year’s? More Like “Ugh Year’s”

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Now that Christmas is over, everyone is all focused on the new year. Resolutions. Changes to be made. New opportunities. For the last few days, I’ve been noticing people sharing this one post on Facebook about things to let go before the new year, as though it’s ever so simple to just stop your own force of being in merely a few short days. As though, in just hours, you can undo mindsets that have taken years to cultivate. Sure, it’s a nice thought. I just don’t think it’s realistic.

Maybe I’m just not optimistic enough to talk about or believe that a new year means anything anymore.

Or maybe I’m too old. Or maybe it’s both.

I haven’t felt like celebrating New Year’s for the past few years, so I haven’t. One year I was house sitting, so I watched a movie. When it was over, it was a new day. And it just so happened that it was also a new year. Big deal. I went to sleep. Last year I knitted. There have been no countdowns, no champagne toasts, no Rockin’ New Year’s Eve, no fanfare of any kind for me in a few years. Because what really changes? Things change all the time. For the better. For the worse. Whether you want them to or not. They don’t need a year’s permission to do so.

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Art Imitating Life: When TV Really Nails It

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By Eddo [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

By Eddo [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

I want to preface this by saying that I have never before seen an episode of Glee. While I understand that lots of people love it and that’s cool, it’s just not really my cup of tea.

That being said, it was hard to miss all of the buzz last week when the promo spot for  “The Quarterback” episode was released online. This episode was to be the tribute to Cory Monteith’s character, Finn Hudson. Monteith, as you’re probably aware, died of an accidental overdose this past July. Though I’d never seen a single episode of the show, I watched the promo because I (strangely) gravitate toward tragedy for some reason. Immediately, something felt very familiar to me, and I knew that I’d finally have to watch an episode.

I just finished watching it. And it was brutal. So brutal that, instead of getting caught up on other shows as planned, I’m here, at 2:15 a.m. on a Saturday night/Sunday morning, writing it out.

I remember sitting in homeroom in 8th grade and having the teacher read us a form letter telling us that another student had died. He was a year ahead of me. He committed suicide. I didn’t know him, but I was really shaken up about it because I was in 8th grade. I’d just dealt with my grandmother dying a few months before, but this was different. This was closer to home in terms of age. And it stirred up the emotions that I was still processing from losing my grandma (the first person close to me to die).

That didn’t prepare me for what it would be like when I was teaching.

Fortunately, I never lost anyone I was close to in high school. A few years after graduation, a few of my classmates died, but I wasn’t close to them. My primary observations of teenagers grieving all came from my sister. She lost a friend to an unfortunate gun accident. She lost a friend to cancer. And, two weeks before their high school graduation, she lost one of her very best friends very suddenly to an unknown (at the time) health complication.

And that still didn’t prepare me for what it would be like when I was teaching.

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An Open Letter to Bob Seger, Re: “Old Time Rock and Roll” (cc: Every Wedding DJ Everywhere)

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Hey there, Bob,

How’ve you been? I hope well. As for me, I’ve been very busy — moving, working, settling into a new place, and it’s summer, so we’re well into Wedding Season now. While 2008 was my biggest year by far for attending weddings, several of my friends are getting married this year, and I can’t help but to remember why I really kind of hate wedding receptions.

I’m going to be frank with you, Bob. It’s because of “Old Time Rock and Roll.”

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That Moment When a Dream Becomes a Very Surreal Reality

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Sheldon Cooper Paper BagIf you’ve been following this blog for any length of time, you may have picked up on a few things about me in terms of my living situation. If not, here’s the short version: In 2008 I left my teaching job, moved home with my parents for what was supposed to be 10 months, and I’ve been here for five years. I’m 30 years old. For five years I’ve been dreaming about having my own place again.

A lot has changed in those five years — my career track and sense of self, for starters.

So it was kind of a big deal this past weekend when I signed a lease on a new apartment.

Cause for celebration, right?

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Watching the Crash From Afar

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CrashSomeone I love is making a difficult and potentially life-altering decision. Right now. As I type this. I don’t know if it’s the best decision. I don’t know what I think it is. What I do know is that I’ve been watching this person spiral, lose control of things, get into trouble, and second guess everything. We’re beyond the point of saying that something’s got to give because many things have already given. This is the point where something’s got to change.

I’ve never been very good at dealing with change. This is a point that those close to me bring up with relative frequency any time I exhibit even the most remote apprehension about anything. The anxiety leading up to it is often worse for me than the actual change itself, and even when I’m excited for something (my upcoming move, for example), I’m still nervous. I’m still questioning if I’ve made the right choice. I’m still second guessing. The day I turned in my resignation for my first teaching job was completely unexpected. It was something I’d considered, but didn’t plan to do without another job. I found the sign I needed in the form of an email notifying me of a pay freeze that would render me unable to pay my bills. I resigned that morning and spent an hour sitting with my friend in her empty classroom, having a panic attack and crying until my whole face was swollen.

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You Want a Monocle For That Blind Eye?

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medium_4764186425I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how we only see what we want to see; how our own feelings about something or someone can skew a situation so that we lose sight of what’s real. It makes us behave in really terrible ways sometimes. We turn a blind eye to a person or a situation because we don’t want to believe we’ve made a poor judgment — of character or otherwise. We lash out at anyone who tries to get us to see the situation for what it is.

Reality can be a real bitch sometimes, and we resent anyone who bursts our bubbles by trying to make us see it.

What got me thinking about this was the suspects’ family’s reaction in the wake of the Boston Marathon bombings. As it became clear who the men were and the evidence began to mount against them, it seemed undeniable. They’d even told their hostage that they were responsible. They threw explosives at police officers.

The media, predictably, sought out any link they could find, asking friends and family members (or, in CNN’s case, the bombers’ mechanic) to share their thoughts and reactions. An uncle urged the remaining brother to turn himself in and ask for forgiveness. His response was passionate and it was clear that he didn’t doubt his nephews’ role in the events.

But the rest of the family, including an outspoken aunt and the parents, said, “No. They’ve been framed. They didn’t do this.”

It’s understandable that shock might settle in and you might not want or be able to believe it. But to declare vehemently that the government did this to frame your children just seems so outrageous. And insulting.

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