Well. I leave a week from tomorrow to fly down to Orlando for the marathon. Shit’s about to get interesting, folks. I mean, it has to be interesting considering that I’ve run just twice in the last six weeks. Oops

We only have to keep a 15 minute/mile pace, and I can walk that, so I’m hoping it won’t be too bad, but I’m also considering buying stock in Advil just in case.

It’s just….I’m still burnt out. I’ve been fighting through burnout for 7 months now. It hasn’t gotten better. Not really. There have been flashes of things getting better, but they’ve been fleeting and partial at best. I miss running being fun.

My friend Stephanie has set a goal for herself to finish a half marathon in under two hours in May. I’m in awe of that, as I’ve pretty well determined that I will not be setting any running goals for myself until it becomes fun again. I don’t foresee any running goals for a while.

The thing is, life’s been absurdly incredible lately. Even though I have the marathon in the back of my mind quite a bit, it’s not there like I thought it would be this close to the race. Yet I still, like I wrote a while back, don’t care.

I can’t bring myself to take so much time away from doing what I promised myself I’d do a long time ago and live in the moment. And my god have these moments been incredible. I was chit chatting with Josey on Skype the other day, and we were discussing the changes we’ve both seen in our blogging habits/twitter habits/etc. She pointed out that besides the 30 days of posts I did last November, I haven’t really written a whole lot since September of 2010.

She was absolutely right. Looking back I’ve noticed that instead of writing about the things I WISHED would happen, or lamenting about the opportunities I didn’t have, I went out and got to living. That became the priority over writing. It was worth it.

Now, instead of beating myself up about the fact that my training has been absolute shit, about the fact that I’ve completely blown off any and everything even related to this marathon (ask me how many calzones I’ve eaten over the last month), I’ve just rolled with it. This has made me so happy.

It’s amazing the kind of relief you can get by recognizing that the choices you’ve made (for instance, the ones made to spend time with your new boyfriend and make memories together rather than going for yet another training run) were made for reasons, and if they made you happy, there’s no sense being upset at what other thing you didn’t do.

Live and let live, I suppose.

Either way, I have a marathon in just over a week, which is crazy stupid to me. This plan was not well thought out. Because it will make it even more memorable, Stephanie and I are going to try live-tweeting the whole thing. Well, whenever we get a chance to tweet we will. I’m sure there will be plenty of walking breaks. Follow along if you want. I will be there, living another crazy experience.


Do you ever get those questions that just totally and completely throw you off guard? It’s hard to answer those questions, isn’t it?

Last night I was talking to a friend of mine. He knows that I’m pretty much an open book, will answer anything without incredibly good reason not to.¬†This is why it shouldn’t have surprised me, yet it totally threw me for a loop, when our conversation took a drastic turn as he asked me, “So why are you still single?”

In certain situations, this question is more an insult than anything else, as it seems to be said with an air of “Well, you seem normal enough, but what kind of craziness are you hiding that has made you¬†incapable of convincing someone to be in a relationship with you?” Fun, right? This time, though, it was just an honestly curious question.

Since he had asked, I regaled him with the last ten years (!!!) or so of my dating history.

Let me be incredibly honest with you guys for a minute. Ten years includes all of one long-term boyfriend (who sucked), four guys I’ve talked to/dated for about 3 weeks apiece, one that I was crazy about for a long time back in college who decided he’d rather not be in a relationship with me so we never technically dated, one I dated for only three months who went on shortly thereafter to be in multiple long-term, long distance relationships after having said he didn’t want either, a few who weren’t so much relationships as they were a physical means to an end, whatever you want to call the drama associated with That Friend, a few interests that never panned out into anything, and then the one I fell for who crushed me. Only four guys, an interest that didn’t pan to anything, two of those three-week-apiece types and then That Friend, actually fell within the last almost two years.

That is…..kind of depressing.

I wrapped everything up with, “Yeah, guys tend to think I’m better as a friend.”

Trust me, I am not saying that this is a bad thing. I adore the male friends I have, honestly and truly.

Sometimes, though. Sometimes it’s eye opening and a bit sad to see all that right in front of your face. It’s a cold-hearted truth, and brings up some insecurities I’d rather ceased to exist.

I am painfully aware that a lot of the briefness of these forays, as well as the long and drawn out periods of singledom, are very much and completely my own fault. I have incredibly high emotional walls and sometimes (ok, a lot of times) an antagonistic demeanor towards anyone who seems interested. I recognize that I have to be willing to actually let someone in if that whole perpetually single thing is going to go away.

I’m really bad at letting people in.

A lot of times I blame the ex-boyfriend for supremely fucking me up, or I’ll point at the last time I fell for someone to indicate just how well it works when I let someone get close to me. It’s so easy to just say, “Well, I’m so messed up because of how he treated me” or something similar. It’s a cop out, and I know it every single time those words leave my mouth. Every time.

The ex-boyfriend, former flings, interests, and receivers of my feelings might have left me broken and hurt and entirely shut down, but at this point, the biggest thing remaining is the clarity of knowledge about what I absolutely do and do not want.

That is one thing I have to be grateful for. I know EXACTLY what I do and do not want. I know that when a red flag makes its presence known, I pay attention. When my gut instinct starts screaming for me to walk away, I fucking listen. I don’t second-guess my gut instinct, even when it comes to giving second chances.

I know all this, and it makes me feel so much stronger than my 20-year-old self would ever have dreamed I could be.

You bet your sweet ass I am

There are those times, though, that I miss certain aspects of the dating bit. I miss feeling like someone can’t get enough of me. I miss reciprocal feelings. I miss laying in bed and just chatting about the mundane things of the day. I miss butterflies. I miss waking up and immediately checking my phone for any text I might have gotten while I was sleeping. I miss kisses that actually hold affection behind them rather than the “I’m drunk, and you’re right in front of me” kisses.

I miss WANTING someone to know every single thing about me, rather than actively trying to keep them out.

However, until that situation presents itself, IF if ever does, I’ll be just fine. I always am.

Doesn’t mean I’m lonely when I’m alone.