Category Archives: Food for Thought

Thanks, Days 4 and 5

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Day 4, I am thankful for my friends Stephanie and Sarah, the other two in my three amigos. Saturday morning I was starting to make waffles (after GCB had thrown a silly fit about having them RIGHTTHISVERYSECOND instead of later). I turned around at a noise to find my friend Stephanie, who lives in Denver, standing in my kitchen. There was much collusion and subterfuge (up to and including the aforementioned hissy fit) to get her here without me realizing it. She signed up for and ran the half marathon yesterday with me, and I got to spend all day with all three of these incredible people. It makes me feel beyond loved that this has been in the works since JUNE. I’m thrilled that I had a race buddy, and we were able to have probably one of the best (if one of the slower) races in recent memory. It was great to relive the night I actually met GCB (Steph was actually there that night), and it was all-in-all pretty phenomenal. Plus there was this picture, which makes me pretty happy.

Where we met

Day 5, I am thankful to have made it to 28 years old. Granted, being 28 doesn’t feel any different than being 27 yesterday feels, but it’s been a pretty remarkable day. I took a day off work and have been able to lounge around my apartment with GCB just watching movies and spending time with one another. I’ve gotten tons of facebook and twitter comments, texts, emails, and it honestly makes me feel pretty fucking special to have such a remarkable group of people to call my friends. On top of that? I got new sparklies from GCB. See?

No, this is not an engagement ring, nor is it on my finger, as it is currently being re-sized, but I’m pretty pumped about it. I can’t wait to have it back.

Today has been a really, really good day. I have a feeling 28 is going to be the best age ever.

Thanks, Days 2 and 3

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This is going to be a sporadicly posted Thankfulness set of posts, methinks.

Day 2: I am thankful for my job. I’m grateful to have stability and a place that challenges my knowledge and creativity. I am grateful that the company I work for is willing to do so much to take care of its employees whether it be through some pretty awesome benefits or bonuses.

Day 3: I am thankful for my old college buddies, the ones I can talk to on the phone after a(n unintentional) nine month silence and pick up right where we left off. Sometimes I get that unexpected opportunity, and though our lives are drastically different now than they were in college (as they should be), it’s amazing to be reminded that through it all, there are still some pretty incredible reasons we were friends in the first place. It also reminds me that there are other friends from that same group (hi Jamie) that I should probably take some time to call.

Thanks, Day 1

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The last time I set a goal to write blog posts for 30 days, I burnt myself the fuck out.

Let’s do it again, shall we? Well, kind of.

It’s November now. Crazy, right? I know. But that means that THANKSGIVING is coming. Oh man do I love Thanksgiving. Favorite holiday, right there. I love the food, I love the football, I love the family, and I love tons of facebook posts that remind me that other people are thankful for stuff, so I should be too.

Except I’m not posting this on facebook. You guys get it instead! And instead of 30 days, there are 22. That’s doable, right? Right.

Today I am thankful for my ability to work out, to run.

Sunday I’m running another half marathon. Yesterday I ran four miles. Today I got to lift. In a gym where I can afford a membership.

Look at these opportunities. I have taken moments out of my day to bitch about this, to say out loud, “I’m no more ready for this one than I was for the one two weeks ago.” But I can run. I can afford races. I have the health and the stamina (physical and mostly mental) and the OPPORTUNITY to run. For fun.

I get to go out and do something I love (most days), and people congratulate me! I have a schedule that allows me to take time out of my day for ME to do this.

I am SO thankful that I have the physical capacity to do these things, to feel strong, to be in nearly the best shape of my life (before last October’s half marathon….that was when I was in the best shape).

Things on my body hurt when I do this, and sometimes that’s frustrating. But I CAN do this. I can finish. I can go lift and feel my muscles sculpting and shaping and getting stronger and more toned.

Yesterday’s run was one that left me just happy. I’m thankful for that too.

What are you thankful for today?

Shake it like a Polaroid Picture

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Today I have been going through old pictures. This all started due to a question my mom asked. Do you avoid getting your picture taken?

If you ask my mom, she will tell that without a doubt, since the very beginning, I have been an absolute camera ham. There was a time I tried to deny it, but there is no denying the truth. And the truth is evident through years and years of goofy faces and candid shots etc.

I love pictures. I love them. They tell a story and remind me of some of the best times I’ve ever had. Since Facebook came around, it’s been even easier to document those times.

This morning I followed my entire Facebook photo stream all the way back to 2005. You know, back when college kids with a valid college issued email address were the only ones allowed on Facebook (hey, businesses, get off my Facebook lawn). Let me just tell you about that progression. Holy crap.

I found myself laughing out loud at some of the memories, wincing at some of the friendships lost that I still miss and in some cases those I don’t, being reminded of past and lost loves and knowing each of them made me realize instantly what I had found in GCB, and finding themes throughout the years, throughout my life I suppose.

In all these pictures, I am SMILING (or in some cases making what could technically pass as a “sexy face”). In those moments I was happy. Even though many circumstances of my life are far from where they were at those points, happiness just radiates from each and every one of the nearly 2000 pictures that I’m tagged in. This doesn’t even include ones I’ve taken that I wasn’t in, ones that I’ve untagged in older years where I realized that some things didn’t need to be directly associated with me.

Over the last few years, I’ve taken this blog as a platform to share the specific pictures that still make me overwhelmingly happy. I love that I can go back and look through some of my favorites that are also associated with some commentary. This place tells the better story than Facebook. This place reminds me of all I’ve made it through. What’s an even more stark reminder of that is my former xanga blog, which I do have saved for me, though it is definitely deleted in the online world.

However, this blog is finite. It has a specific start date. It has posts which should probably be transferred back to a draft form. Many of you were not around for the times before I posted pictures, but those times are as much of who I am as the ones I post nowadays. They MADE me who I am.

Would you like to see some?

Going back through pictures of 2005, there is one, ONE picture that contains entirely people I still speak to. Those people? My sisters.

I see this picture and wince at just how skinny I was. I put on 30lbs shortly after this picture. Thirty NECESSARY pounds.

Everyone else in that year’s pictures are former RAs, former residents, group pictures of friends, pictures with old roommates, and filled with people I don’t talk to anymore.

2006 is when more people show up who are still around. That’s the year that April makes her first appearance, where pictures stop focusing on my life in the dorms and starts looking at the things I’m doing separate from Res. Life. This is the year that I partied my ever-loving ass off over the summer, the year that I got bored and chopped 8 inches off my blond hair and dyed it dark brown. This is the year I realized that my grades were good enough, that medical school wasn’t for me, and that the opportunities I had then would probably not show themselves ever again. This is the year I learned to LET. GO. and just live.

This was April’s last day in Springfield. I will not post the picture of the blubbering tear-filled goodbye from later that night.
My stepmom had us take these pictures for my dad for Father’s Day…..or his birthday. One of the two.
I spent most of my summer that year with these two ladies. Edit: I spent most of my summer that year buying alcohol for these two ladies.
And then there was no hair.

There are gaps in 2006. There was the trip I took to Hawaii that is documented in hard copies, though they are in the possession of the high school best friend who is no longer in my life. There is the presence of my dear friend Nic, who while she is in pictures, her online presence is an anonymous one, and I won’t be the one to encroach on that. There are the pictures that I have copies of from my very first apartment with roommates who I grew apart from and to this day still only communicate with one. There is a complete lack of the fact that 2006, though an incredible year, was one of the most emotionally difficult years of my entire life, as completely changing one’s career path will send one into an existential crisis.

And then there was 2007. For quite a while, I considered 2007 to be the very best year of my life. I got a big kid job, graduated college, bought a car, moved to St Louis. I, for all intents and purposes, grew up. But I played. Oh how I played.

My closest and dearest friend in the world.
Step 1….

2008. That year was a transition year. Those transitions are actually fairly well documented over in my archives. There were good times in 08, don’t get me wrong, but there were very, VERY low times. I was head over heels for someone who would clearly never reciprocate. Any friends I had in the city left. I lived by myself for the first time ever. But looking back through the pictures, there are some bright spots. It’s the year I met Ali and JD. It was the year of baseball and beer pong and the first edition of Sunday night dinners. It was the year of do-or-die, essentially, of perseverance, and of learning my own strength.

The next year contains another wave of people I no longer speak to, even though 2009 was not that long ago. But there are still the happy pictures that include a few from the best birthday I’ve ever had. So many happy times.

At National’s Park in DC.
After reconnecting with a very dear friend of mine, we took “prom” pictures at the Capitol. This was one of them. I don’t even know who this guy is, but I’m glad I have this picture.
25th birthday party. Best. Ever.

That birthday is pretty much where my former blog picks up on the pictures. It’s where afterwards you find and read about and SEE trips across the country to see baseball stadiums, friends moving in and out of my life, love, joy, heartbreak, depression. There are Mardi Gras celebrations and New Years and family time and birthdays. You can see my first half marathon and becoming comfortable enough in my own skin to SHOW it off to the world. There are tales of frustration and happiness and determination. There are 30 solid days of posts. There’s meeting and falling in love with the man of my dreams. And through all of it, there’s me.

This little place of the internet is me. It’s my heart and soul bared for all to read, and now for all to see.

Don’t Hate Me Cause I’m Beautiful

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Within the past few days, a couple articles have come out that have caused some tremendous backlash against the author. The U.K.’s Mail Online (admittedly not the most reputable of news sources, and quite possibly filled with inane garbage) published two articles written by a woman named Samantha Brick.

In her first article, Brick laments just how difficult her life has been when dealing with other women because of her looks. She details the ways her life has been positively impacted (getting stuff, attention from men, a general ease of life), but then continues on to describe the “fact” that all women she come in contact with essentially hate her because she’s beautiful, a feeling she states lies entirely in jealousy. She peppered photos of herself throughout this entire article.

I’m sure you can imagine the backlash, and most of it was attacks on her physical appearance.

Just a day later she posted a second article that, in a nutshell, says, “See? I told you.”

This whole debacle (she was discussed on Good Morning, America today, from what I hear) has been incredibly thought-provoking for me.

I have absolutely no issue with a woman being confident in her looks. I think it’s incredible if she can stand in up in the wake of the media onslaught of what is considered beautiful and STILL believe she is gorgeous. Having that self-confidence makes a woman more attractive to me.

What I find off-putting is her sense of arrogance, entitlement, and an over-arching assumption that just because someone is being a bitch to her is because of the way she looks, or if a man does something for her it’s because he thinks she’s hot. That type of attitude is incredibly unattractive. Not only that, but there is a certain air of “if this doesn’t happen to you, obviously I’m prettier than you,” as though physical appearance is a competition among any and all women.

I don’t think so, Tim.

It seems as though she’s failing to realize that beauty is one of the most subjective qualities out there. I think Olivia Wilde is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. I know multiple people who disagree with me. Brick saying that all women dislike her because they all think she’s too pretty is such a blanket statement that it indicates a lack of awareness about how people in general view things.

From my own point of view, I know that there are people who find me attractive, having been told so (which, I will admit, is an ego boost). I also know that there are people who will disagree with that sentiment. Honestly? It doesn’t matter. How I view myself is in no way related to how others view me, and how I view myself can change from day to day.

My friends would say the same about themselves (and some did this morning when I asked them what they thought about this topic).

The thing is, my female friends are incredibly beautiful. I, as they say, roll with pretty bitches. They can walk into a room and instantly command attention. You know what, though?

They are compassionate and down to earth and friendly and loyal and absolutely hilarious.  They are confident and well-spoken. They are well-liked by women AND men because they aren’t stuck up, they aren’t self-centered, and they aren’t treating any outing we all have together as a competition over who can get the most free drinks from guys or who can intimidate the most women.

Maybe Brick needs to be more aware that her attitude, the self-serving way she views the world might be why women dislike her. It could possibly be that she seems to sneer down upon those she considers less attractive. I find her unattractive due to her arrogance and what seems like an unwillingness to even consider the possibility of other reasons she’s treated poorly.

I will say, though, this type of thing makes me incredibly grateful for the awesome friends I do have. They truly are incredible.

Running on Empty

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I do not know what the hell is wrong with me.

Don’t jump to conclusions. I am feeling fine right now when it comes to things in general, but I cannot get my fucking head straight with this running bit.

I have taken the last week off from training. The entire last week. It feels like it’s been the last month, and going back over my training schedule, where I actually track everything I do, it nearly has been.

March was shit for training, April is starting to look like it’s not going to be better.

That’s…..probably not so good what with the half marathon in a week and a half.

Surprisingly enough, when it comes to THIS race, I will be ok to just finish it. I know how horrible March was, I know how rough the last week has been, and so if I don’t get my goal time? Welp, ok then.

I know that this has a lot to do with the fact that I am EXHAUSTED. The insomnia is back never left, work’s gotten super busy which wears me out all day, and sometimes I just can’t even imagine doing anything besides laying on my couch when I get home.

This is rough.

I don’t want to get past this race, past Ragnar, and resent training. I am hoping that taking this week off for my physical sanity, my focus, will help.

Running is fun. I want it to stay fun.

No more time goal for this one. Possibly not one for the next one.

And dammit, if I want naked ice cream nights and a nap, then so be it.

Stronger

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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.

Not What it Seems

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I am aware that for all intents and purposes, all over social media, I am one of those obnoxious “You can do it!!” type runners. Like so:

I’ll “like” people’s statuses about completing races, offer my services to friends when it comes to sending motivating emails (much like Miranda does for me), forward along my running/workout schedule as a template for someone looking for their own way of organizing fitness, comment on blogs, etc.

However, for all the benefits of this level of physical activity, and believe me there are TONS of benefits, there are some things that suck. Lots. For example.

-Being “rungry”: This is basically when you’ve kicked your metabolism up to the point where you are ALWAYS hungry. Eat until you’re full, sure! Be prepared to be hunting down the next meal within two hours or so though. Prime example. This morning my friend Timmy emailed me asking for my guacamole recipe. Upon receiving that email, my hunger kicked so far into high gear that all I can think of, still, is getting guacamole into my face. Did I care that it was 10am, which is traditionally not the time for delicious, delicious guacamole? No. AND THEN. Then my coworker decided to bust out with, “You know, I wish I was sitting on a patio, drinking a margarita.” WOMAN, are you trying to KILL ME? At 1115 I couldn’t take the yowling stomach anymore and went and heated up my lunch. An otherwise satisfactory lunch of leftover chicken fried rice has left me ENTIRELY UNSATISFIED and dreaming of chips piled high with the avocado-y goodness. Or a turkey sandwich piled high with it. Or a spoon piled high with it. Essentially, I will heretofore be unhappy with my state until guacamole gets into my system. Full stop. OMGUACAMOLE.

-The blisters: Yep. My poor little footsies are a bit worse for the wear at this point. It’s gross. I will spare you the graphic details, but just know that I have sworn off pedicures until at least three weeks after my Ragnar in order to save the poor pedicurist from what would surely be a frightening experience.

-The breakouts: Not face breakouts. Guys, when I workout, I wear a sports bra. When I workout, I sweat. When I workout, that sweat likes to stick around under my sports bra. Um…ew. Some weeks are worse than others, but still, it’s not the most fun situation. Looks like I’ll be sticking primarily to racerback tank tops for a bit.

-The boobs: Let me be clear here. I’ve never been what you might call “voluptuous” up top. I’ve got hips and an ass that could knock over just about anything, but disproportion has been a fact of my life for as long as…..well, since I got boobs. It was a source of SEVERE self-consciousness when I was younger, and every once in a while I still get those “dammit, I wish I had big boobs” cravings. Becoming comfortable in my own skin to the point of liking my own chest was one of my biggest emotional accomplishments a while back. I know, and knew going into this crazy workout thing I’ve had going for a while now, that the decreasing fat on my body during these workouts was going to make what little curve I had just go right on away. And they have, in spectacular fashion. I don’t think a single one of my bras fits correctly anymore, and those fuckers are EXPENSIVE to replace. Pretty sure I’m going to end up concave here before too long. The thing is? That curve that’s running away from my chest? It’s repositioning itself right back on my booty. Because MORE disproportion is what I needed, right? I mean, really, I can wear a pair of jeans that’s totally tight around my hips and butt and yet still stick out a good six inches from my waist. NEAT.

-Being sore/tired: I’m always sore. I’m always tired. Granted, this might be because I’m running constantly it seems like, and that tends to, oh I don’t know, tear muscle fibers. I am going to do hill sprints and lift today. I know that tomorrow is going to include me limping around work like I spent far too much time on a mechanical bull. And what am I going to do tomorrow? What any normal person would do: run twelve miles. The smartz. I haz them. It’s a constant that is manageable, but aggravating at times.

Even with the negatives involved, yesterday’s run (one of my best in a LONG time) and how I feel today have reinvigorated me. They’ve reminded me just how AWESOME it feels to get to the end of something and go “fuck YES I did that.” The time I spend with my running shoes and a long stretch of road is something I absolutely cherish. It’s MY time, no one else’s.

It’s my release and my joy and my happiness.

That. That is why I run.

I’ve Got to Keep on Moving

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It has been a rough motherfucking week. This week’s not even over. Yikes.

You’d think that a week started with such a glorious Sunday, wherein I skipped all chore-like activities and went over to Ali’s to drink on the patio instead, would lead to an even gloriouser week. I think it was the awful run that snuck the bad shit in.

Fucking bad run.

You see, since Sunday I have been trying really hard and failing miserably at not letting things get me down. I am still beyond devastated that I am not going to Boozefest this year, but it was made official when I had to message two fantastic friends and tell them I wouldn’t be there.

I struggled mightily with not doing any sort of physical activity on Monday, even though I knew my knee would be better off for it.

I’ve been taking things the wrong way and have been overly sensitive to how coworkers talk to me, and that has made it incredibly difficult to keep a positive attitude when I’m there.

Weeks like this make me wish I still had my roommate Sarah, because I’d be able to come home and get a hug, and then we’d sit around eating chips and watching awful TV, and I would feel better. I could still do the chips and bad TV thing, but really, as is oh so usual, I just want the fucking hug. Sarah gives the best hugs.

This afternoon I have tried to pull myself away from this less than stellar feeling I’ve got going on and focus on the positives. It’s kind of working. Slowly.

Positive: I got my tickets purchased for the Cardinals home opener. I’ve been in STL five years. This will be the fifth consecutive home opener I’ve been to. Tradition, thy name is baseball.

Positive: My run today was pretty sweet. I felt good, no knee twinges, and I was able to run really hard. My time doesn’t so much reflect how hard I did run because stop watches cannot measure twenty-fucking-five mile per hour head winds. Up a hill. That was fucking DIFFICULT. However, the fact that my time today was identical to the time I got on this same course a couple weeks ago when I WASN’T battling monstrous winds is such a good thing. I’ll say one thing about how windy it’s been here lately. I’m going to be really fucking ready for running alongside Lake Michigan during that Ragnar.

Positive: Mini Reese’s peanut butter cups.

Positive: This upcoming weekend. I’ll be spending Saturday driving to and from CollegeTown because one of my very good friends from college is getting married, and I couldn’t be more thrilled for him. He is genuinely one of the best people I’ve met. After that, and even more exciting, one of my bestest friends Nic will be here. Here. To see me. I haven’t seen her in I can’t even remember how long, which I hate, but she will be HERE. We are going to see American Idiot at the Peabody, and I really cannot wait. Having Monday off totally helps that excitement.

Positive: Because Ali is such a rock star, she has offered to help ease the pangs of my not going to Boozefest. During the Boozefest weekend, I’ll instead be spending time at her house day-drinking with my STL crew, people I have come to wholeheartedly and unabashedly love. Our Sunday night dinners have come to mean so much to me. My weeks just don’t feel right if I haven’t played beer pong on Sundays.

Positive: Officially signing up for the Rock and Roll half in October.

Positive: And related. My marathon/Ragnar training buddies across the country. They hold me accountable. I am inspired by them.

Positive: Looking forward to St Patrick’s Day in Chicago. I’ve already been promised that I WILL see that green river. St Pat’s has always interfered with Boozefest. Lose one, gain the other. And I just really, really fucking love Chicago. It has been FAR too long since I’ve been up there, and I know that once I’m there I won’t want to leave. As per usual.

Positive: Running motivation pictures from Pinterest. I am not a member of Pinterest, but that does not stop me from going on there every once in a while and finding new things that keep me going, that push me harder, that make me want to get better, get faster, get stronger. I am helped in this endeavor by my dear friend Miranda who has emailed me these motivators at least three times over the last week. This morning’s post was one, and today’s addition is another.

Positive: That niece/nephew that’s on the way. I’m still beyond giddy. I can’t wait to snuggle the crap out of that little one. And then turn her/him into a Cardinals fan, because that’s the way it’s done in my family.

Positive: Writing. It might seem like gibberish to you, but it’s therapy to me.

Makes Me Work a Little Bit Harder

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Today a rather interesting question was asked on a forum I belong to.

What’s your coping mechanism?


If you would have asked me this question a few years ago, I probably would have said drinking and writing. After some less than desirable outcomes from the drinking bit I made damn sure, and still make damn sure, that when I’m upset I don’t go drinking.

Sobbing, drunk Ann is neither attractive nor desirable to be around. Hungover, still upset Ann is even worse.

Clearly I still write, but I have found that though the release is desirable, more and more lately my words are getting caught, stuck in my brain and unwilling to be coaxed out, forcefully or otherwise. It’s requiring me to take time to process rather than just opening up a blank document and writingwritingwriting until I feel marginally better.

So I work out.

I have mentally gone over the last two years or so and have tried to pinpoint what I’ve done at a few certain less-than-pleasant junctures.

Unexpected and somewhat cruel breakup followed by subsequent heart break? That was when I decided I was going to do the Hundred Pushup Challenge. I was well on my way, too, and then there was the broken finger and surgerizing and being told I was not allowed to do pushups with a pin in my finger.

Round two with the aforementioned breaker upper (because I am apparently a masochist)? I joined the gym and started lifting on a regular basis.

Losing That Friend’s family from my life and then very consciously, even if entirely painfully, removing him as well? I signed up for a half marathon.

The abrupt departure of one of my best friends as such and within minutes (unfortunately) walking right by the stack of pictures she and I had taken together over the past few years? I ran so hard I nearly puked.

If I have bad days at work or get frustrated working with my budget or any other number of things that have pissed me off or hurt me, I work out. I push myself until I physically can’t do any more because it makes it all go away.

The endorphin boost brings my mood if not up to good, then at least to neutral. It gives me something to be proud of even if I’m feeling like a failure.

It usually hurts, but I’ve done that to myself. Adding a little extra weight here, sprinting up a hill there, forcing myself to lift more, run faster, try harder all brings that inevitable soreness to the muscles that are angry with me for doing so.

Physical pain is so much easier to deal with than emotional pain.

Not only that but working out is one of the few times where I can actually get my mind to just stop. All my attention, all my focus is shifted towards good form or the beat of the music I’m running to or timing my breaths with my strides or getting one more good rep on that lift. And then another. And then another.

Focusing that much on what I’m doing forces everything else out. There is no room for the chronic over-analysis. No room for the residual sting, for wondering what I possibly could have done wrong, for driving myself absolutely out of my mind insane because I can’t get my subconscious to just SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP.

Is coping like this healthy? Maybe. Maybe not. This, however, is what works for me. Lately work’s been crazy busy and kind of stressful which, on top of some other stuff that’s been on my mind, has pushed me really damn hard. It was a REALLY rough day at work today, and all I could do was count down until the instant I was free so I could come home and change and immediately rock the shit out of six miles.

In those 52-ish minutes, it all went away. It was kind of chilly, and it was windy as hell (head-wind in all four directions type windy), but I pushed through it. Nothing but keeping my legs moving one in front of the other existed for nearly an hour. I haven’t thought about work since. Actually, the majority of what I’ve been thinking about is how much further along I am this time around with the training.

See? It works.