Camo Aint Coverin' This!

So, I told you all about that challenge my lady-women-female type friends were doing, right? And how I slick didn’t participate but blogged in my attendance a few times? Yea, that. So, one of the challenges was:

Day #13, Wear something you never would: This is going to sound a little crazy, but the hardest thing for me to get used to when I move to San Francisco from NYC was that no one wears heels here! I mean, my feet are grateful, but I now feel a little self conscious walking into a restaurant in pumps. But today I am challenging you, and myself to wear something you normally avoid. For me it's heels. What it is for you? Snap a pic and post it for us.

Here's why what you wear matters. When you put on sweat pants, ill fitting jeans or a worn-one-too-many-times sweater, you feel sluggish, low energy or flat and very often we'll reach for a sugarly pick me up to get out of our sweat pants induced slump. When you wear something fun, edgy, even exhilarating, you feel ah-mazing, and you no longer need food to give you your jolt of fabulous. Your shoes did that for you. Sure, clothes aren't the whole story, which is why I spend so much time talking about the inner work in Live More Weigh Less, but it seriously helps a lot.

And much like one of my friend-women-ladies doing the challenge, I thought, what wouldn’t I wear? Or at least give a try? I love trying new outfits! Accessories? Bring it! Shoes? Right…exactly. I am all about changing my style, doing something different, and reinventing my wardrobe. Of all the challenges. I knew this was the one that would not challenge me. At all.

Then I got ready to run. Challenge on.

I don’t wear running shorts for long distances because, aside from the fact my thighs are cottage cheesy and taking away from the awesomness that is my calf muscles...there is the rub. And friction with 0.1 miles left is hell. Trust me. I rarely do the exposed arms thing because I want to run, not take off. And you don’t frequent flyer miles for the speed at which I run…so arms stay covered.

I always see people in the cutest running gear! It’s colorful. Tight fitting. Prints. Stylish. Chic. Headbands, that match the tank tops, that coordinate with the pants, that bring out the sparkling reflectors of the shoes.

Then there’s me. A long sleeved black top, black Spaulding running cropped pants, and Ascis Gel Kayano’s a half size larger because, well, feet need space.

I envy them because their bodies are beautiful, and mine is tragic. Like really, it’s a mess under here. Yea, I don’t let the numbers on the scale affect me too much, but the mirror? Ugh. I mean, it’s mine, and I’m stuck with it, and I’ll do my best to do right by it, but I also think it’s important to be kind to strangers, so I pretty it up.

It just so happens while Sarah Jenks was busy figuring out how to challenge us, I began challenging myself. As I was perusing the neutral activewear options, I came across a pair of camouflage printed pants. We know my love of camo, so of course I bought them. And I was happy about it.

Until, of course, I got home and walked by the mirror. And realized I had a donkey on my back and I was going to have to figure out how to stuff it all in those pants. Um…about that… *folds pants up, places them in bottom drawer, acts like it never happened, folds receipt up*

And I have really been chilling like those pants aren’t my bottom drawer taking up space that is not infinite. Until this text conversation with my Rikki, who’s running Rock N Roll Las Vegas with me! See she thinks it would be a cool idea to run-rock-drink-repeat in a tutu. And, she’s super willing to do ALL THE WORK. All I have to do is get ALL OF THIS DONKEY on my back in it.

Ma’am.

So, I thought I could outsmart her right? I love camouflage…surely they haven’t gone through the trouble of making tutu material out of that camouflage stuff. I’ve never seen a ballerina go to war. I respond *cleverly* that if she finds one in camo, that it would be the only way I would do it. Because it’s not 2014. And we haven’t put a man on the moon. And nope, we don’t carry around next to lightweight devices that control our every single minute. Nope…none of that.

I hate everything about every internet ever made. Ever. I’m like Scarface in Half Baked. F-U Pinterest, F-U Etsy, F-U Lightening speed data network, You cool, and F-U Google Search! I’m out!

What am I supposed to do now? Sarah challenged me. My women-female-lady friends challenged me. Rikki is challenging peer pressuring me. And the finite amount of space in the bottom drawer is mocking me. #MakeItStopMama

I mean I suppose it was bound to happen. I have been stretching people to their limits all year. Telling Forcing Demanding Asking them lovingly to do things they never intended their minds, bodies or pocketbooks would do. And they did them. And got some new found greatness at the end of it #MedalMonday. Became different and better for it. Realized things only that experience could have done for them.

And here I am in this room ready to cry real tears because my booty is too big and when I walk it’s like it has a mind (and social calendar) of its own and moves like it has somewhere else in a different direction to go. I literally almost had a breakdown when I accidentally looked back at my butt attempting to speak to a staff member. I stood, in my footsteps, attempting to figure out, how to walk back to my office, with my booty concealed. Dee talked me off the ledge and up the stairs via group text.

…and now a tutu.

Dammit. #OffToStretchTheStretchinessOutOfTheseCamoPants

Perfection, Reconsidered

Perfection. Some people, like Sara Jenks would say, fck it. Fck the idea of perfection. If you do, you might live more and weigh a little less #challenge… But, I’m not some people, and unfortunately, perfection is one thing I am after. I did not take the challenge. I weigh too much.

But on the 12^th day of the challenge, I began to think more about perfection. Mostly because my women-lady-friends were busy fck’in it.

Day #12: Friday, 9/26, F**k Perfect: Today I want you to think about what's not perfect (about your body, life, relationship) and love it anyways. For me, it's my belly. Although my stomach isn't tight or smooth, to me it is perfect. We all have different faces, hair color and feet, and we see all as unique and beautiful. Why do we feel the need to all have the same stomach? Mine is different. I've gone through different things, had different experiences and have a unique constitution. A HUGE part of living more is acceptance. If we can't accept and love our bodies now, we can never take care of them. Think about it, we take care of things we love, not the things we hate. So if you're brave enough, post a picture of what isn't perfect, but you love anyways.

…and I remember that one time I reconsidered perfection. If I was brave enough to do this challenge with my friends, I probably would have said something like:

Lots of things about me aren’t perfect, and they won’t ever be. And that bothers me. And I spend a great deal of mental, emotional, material, physical everything into reaching perfection. And though I’m not there yet, the fact that I believe I can attain it #ImALeo, motivates me. But there is this one thing that I haven’t been perfect at in my life. One particular thing that I have 0 wins, and ALL loses. Relationships. Every relationship I have ever been in has ended (not a big surprise, right? Relationships end). And though the cast changed, the script was always the same. It always ended, always …him… leaving me. Never the other way around. Stunned by the departure. Not ready for it to end. Wanting to do whatever it took to make it work. Holding on way too long after the door closed. …him… Always went away. Told me in his unique way, but left all the same. And somehow their leaving worked out well for them. Like it made their lives better. I suppose these things are a lot like science. Energy, like love, perhaps isn’t created. It’s just transferred. And they always took a little more with them than they came in with. And I was always left with less.

Anyway, that time I reconsidered perfection…

The problem with perfection is knowing that you will never be the one thing you aspire to be – perfect. The perfect daughter, the perfect sister, the perfect friend, perfect student, perfect professional, perfect stranger…and yes, the perfect girlfriend. To most, the idea of perfection is a disease, a mental dysfunction. It’s such an absurdity, that when someone mentions that they aspire to be perfect, they imperfectly take a seat in front of the firing squad of all the experts in life… nobody’s perfect … it’s impossible … you have to live for you, you can’t live to please everybody else … it won’t work…it just won’t work. And I suppose they are right. After all, where has perfection gotten me?

So how is it that I’ve come to be what I am now? A fount of mis-steps. I did everything wrong… I hate his friends, I make all these double standards, and he cannot talk to me… We argue about the same things over and over again. Over and over again…this is a new one for me…especially when attached to an error. Doing and saying all the wrong things. Not being considerate, or understanding, or kind enough? Just not. Doing the opposite of everything I intend. Having to note that my intentions were always good, always decent, always perfect.

I have been completely imperfect. I forgot to do things I didn’t know…didn’t think about the things nobody ever told me I should, and I tried all over the place. And I own that it wasn’t right – and that’s just the truth. That’s how it ended. With the truth. With that truth in particular. Although, that was the truth we discussed in those arguments in which we had about the same things over and over. I said, didn’t say, did and didn’t do all the things I was and wasn’t supposed to do. This is by far one of the most difficult times in my life…everything is unplanned, undecided and completely not figured out. My relationship is over, work is almost unbearable, and I am so far away from the people I love.

So I found the energy to make it to Church – and before Noon no doubt. I have come to appreciate multiple Church services so much that my comfort level with “mega-church” is increasing by the week. I sat a few rows from the front feeling like an outsider. I have been outside of myself for these past couple of weeks that remembering how to be in Church seemed so foreign. I couldn’t sing like I wanted. I couldn’t praise like I wanted, I couldn’t be any of the things that I wanted to be because I did not want to. I had no desire to. Who I was ended something so special and important to me, caused me so much grief at work, and hadn’t brought any new friends into my life…so she isn’t the person I want to be. She is too flawed… Couldn’t even pray any words than “help”…hoping that Jesus would have mercy enough to feel in the blanks…

My favorite part of service, surprisingly enough is the message. For a lover of music like myself, I’m sure that comes as a surprise, but not really when you think about it. Lemme ‘splain somethin to’ya. I’m an academic (translation: I’m a nerd). The message has always spoken to me! Because more than music, there are words. There have always been words, and a speaker with a humble message delivered plainly has always made the difference… Today’s Message: Lasting Relationships. err? The Heck? Talk about fate. Fate, and what would soon turn out to be a most thought provoking message.

I questioned every single thing I did in our relationship. Good and bad. Because of one statement. I suppose I will continue to question until peace finds me because those words haven’t changed. And I suppose if they ever change, they will be in the form of well, you did this, that and the other, BUT… There is always a but…a big old fat but. The words, I can’t see any of the good, because of all the bad will make anyone with a broken everything question anything. And these days…hello…it’s all broke.

Lasting Relationships. That’s the part that burns. I believed that my relationship would last. That there would be good days that would melt my heart with just a fleeting memory, and bad that I would dare not wish upon anyone – days I would shield my sisters from...and love would be in them all. No matter the days we had, he is done with it all, and really only remembers the worst of it. Why don’t I remember the worst of it? Why don’t I feel just like him? Why am I not already okay with it all, and moved on? He did, he moved on, and obviously his life is well now, so why isn’t mine well? Why am I so sad, that it drives me to anger? I’ve boxed up some really hard things in my life, but this…this is face down in a cardboard grave too small to fit it all in, adjacent to the couch. It mocks me.

The Apostle Paul wrote to the Church in Philippi while he was in jail, confessing his undying love. I thank my God upon every remembrance of you, Always in every prayer of mine for you all making request with joy, For your fellowship in the gospel from the first day until now… Pastor Hilton began talking about how Paul founded the Church at Philippi some time ago, and though the years passed the Church was ever in Paul’s heart. His affection despite it all and through it all never wavered. He then made a statement that pretty much brought tears to my eyes, there’s just something about staying with someone. That is the complete truth – there is.

And I stayed. When I felt like he had no desire to meet any of my friends, and I felt like we talked about the same stuff all the time, and when I felt like those deep things of me I had to hold back. For everyone has their season(s). We live in the world and the reality is, the world will give you a set of circumstances like the mystery baskets on Chopped…always a curveball, or the occasional set of odd things that seem to have nothing in common that will for a moment, confuse you to no avail. Before I ever said I love you I know that it was love. Because we can’t (and I didn’t) love like the world, we cannot start off strong and drift away – there is something about staying with someone. There is something about commitments that last and covenants we keep.

The Church loved Paul just as much. Pastor Hilton described the Church’s affection three ways. They gave Paul support, friendship and fellowship. He went on to make the ever-present but plain analogy. What people today would stand behind their preacher if he were in jail? People who loved him. People who trusted his mission until it became THE mission, THEIR mission – a shared mission. While he was in jail, through the hard times, they never left him. They loved him from the first day until now. As it goes with many relationships I have not been able to understand, on the surface it doesn’t make any sense. To forgive the person that broke the vows. The break up and make up over and over again. The relationships we saw, hanging out at the bottom of Bruin Walk, that for no apparent reason us educated black folks could surmise, would stand through anything. What magnificence that was to see… A person, who stands beside a person that others would caution you against.

I loved him from the first day. In 2008. I suppose I even loved him in that first beginning – the my baby daddy one in April of 2003. Anyway, 2008, I ran away from Tennessee in a gassed up green Ford Explorer to crash ACPA and see my KSJ. We sat in the Cheesecake Factory trading memories, creating moments and drinking martinis. Until now. Wherever this place is we are/aren't.

I want to stop loving. The worst part is, sometimes I believe that to stop loving is really what I want. To not love at all. My “twin” would tell me something similar to the message I heard that day. The problem (really not a problem) is that when you love without limits you give people a trust they may not deserve. I understand it, because I am a scholar, but the logic behind it is all messed up. Isn’t this what we all deserve? Trust? A trust without limits? He doesn’t believe I trusted him, and that is just not true at all. He had a trust he did not deserve because I loved him sans limits. What wouldn’t I do? What wouldn’t I give? What wouldn’t I try? And how much did I forgive? Forgive and never speak of again? All the things I trusted he would say no matter what his intentions were that day. All the things I trusted that he would keep between us, that he didn’t.

I can’t stop loving. Honestly, I haven’t figured out how, which hasn’t come from trying. Oh, have I tried! But just like my best friend said, that isn’t really me, and it’s not the person I want to be. We keep giving to a love we believe in, we sacrifice for a vision we trust. Why could I only see the vision? Why did I put so much stock in it? The life we described in our first days was the life I wanted. 

So what is it about the first anyway? I imagine when Paul founded the Church in Philippi there wasn’t a sour thought or doubt in his mind. He had a vision from someone that he loved, and he trusted that vision. I imagine he knew there would be hard times, but I don’t believe he ever thought about a time in which he and his love (the Church) would ever be apart. He’s human, so it’s possible he considered the possibility, but never seriously. I don’t think Paul ever prepared for a time in which his affections for or his desire to be with them would change – no matter how they changed or their desires changed. Much like Pastor Hilton, Paul refuse[d] to lose confidence in [their] beginning, how God brought [them] together.

God’s beginnings are miracles. They really are. And we, in very different ways we lost sight of the miracle of our beginning. We met when neither of us was looking for anything but a lunch and drunks kinda moment… Good food, good fun, a good time. That was just enough. Us in a moment only to have happened by a miracle. I guess you’d wonder how something so miraculous could end. Wounds in our way. So many wounds. Seemingly unforgivable curses. We had a vision we did not share. The wounds got in the way of the conversations I wanted to have but was afraid to have because his ears were waxed gross. Sharing the vision is saying ‘I do and I die’ daily. We didn’t do much…we died a lot, but not always to ourselves in our sacrifices for each other, to the world.

 

…because, as bad as I want it, I have to want me more. Love me more. So, fck perfect. #MadePerfectByMyImperfections #IAmAllThatIAm

The Committed Girl’s Guide To: Keeping Your Single Friend Sane, #Kinda

They shop together too. #RideOrDie #FoLifeAndAfterlife

A friend inquired of selected women living single for their wisdom on a matter. On a matter in which they have the intellectual rights and insanity.

Singledoom(dom)(whatever, yo).

She was trying to figure just why a single woman chooses (my interpretation, not her word) against active dating and other forms of the proverbial putting one’s self out there. Why would single woman do all the things to, well, stay single. One answer is obvious: She wants to be single.

But the second one is the more accurate response of the sample of single women from which I pulled none of this empirical data: She doesn’t know.

She has some suspicions because, well, she’s been herself for her entire life, but most single women cannot really pinpoint it, or answer that question in a way that takes the sting, the shock, the stun out of it. Because when the conversation is over, you’re going home to your commitment, and she’s going home to her, um…darkchocolate.

I did not realize the real answer to my friend’s inquiry until I wrote it. It paused my heart a spell. Most single women spend a good portion of their mental and physical energy defending their Singledoom(dom) (whatever, yo), to the point where, one might suffocate from the lack of air.

Most committed people with single friends cannot understand the lack of attachment because their friend is great – stunningly so. And the lack of attachment stuns the friend so.

In the event you have an amazing friend who’s single, here are five (5) things you can do to un-single her. #kinda #sorta #Well,OnWednesdaysAtHappyHourForSure

STOP: Checking In With “Him”

You wanna know why this annoys me so? Not because there is a …him… in my phone that I’m 99.9% over with…it’s because THERE IS A …him… LITERALLY IN MY PHONE THAT I’M 0.01% NOT OVER WITH! OMG! And here you go: I need to call “him” and let’em know I’m going to be late. Oh, I told “him” that I’d pick up his dry cleaning, can we make a stop. Gurl, you won’t believe what he said to me last night after we said our prayers together cause that’s what we do…

Listen, I am literally always one …him… away from a mental breakdown. Don’t be the reason I jump off the cliff into the abyss of Singledoom(dom) (WHATEVA, YO!). I know you got a man. I saw the vacation pictures, they were beautiful! I was five pews behind yall in Church last Sunday because I got there late and my favorite seat was gone. I saw him two cars up holding up in the line at Chick-Fil-A with your complicated order…that made me late to work. I’m your friend, I love you, and I am going to celebrate every happy moment of your relationship with you, because I love you. But I ain’t got nobody but me and these expensive ass shoes I spend my money on. So can we celebrate that sometimes too? #NoYouCantWearThem #Size10

START: Planning Events With Her, Regularly

I have mourned the loss of dear friends to relationships. And when they got married I thought I would spend more time with them. Then they had babies. And I had to let those friendships go, and remake them into something else. Because they have children, and I’m a godmother/auntie/overall bad example now, and committed people hang out with other forms of committed people. And coming by unannounced with a hangover is frowned upon. And hurts.

I own what I did and didn’t do in the maintenance (or lack of) those relationships. And I harbor no ill will. I did what I thought was right, and stepped aside un-begrudgingly. It seemed the classy thing to do, to not vie for the attention. To accept the time would have to be divided between a ring and a uterus – without giving said friend a choice in the matter. I chose for them.

Meet your single friend halfway. Commit to her with your time by doing what you do in your relationship and with your children, if you got the lil tax write-offs bundles of joy. Give her a day, a reoccurring event, a special time of the year, something she can count on from you. That you will commit to, that will be hers, and hers alone. She’ll cherish it. If you suggest it, she’ll probably plan it, and use that disposable income on it! Oftentimes this is left for the single friend to do. Why? Because she’s single. No kids and no man leaves all the time in the world to coordinate such things, right? Mostly, but my dates with depression Ben & Jerry’s Half Baked sometimes run over…so there’s that.

Quit Announcing That You’re Taken

We are happy for you. Really, we are. So much so, we’ve still decided to be your friend even though you’ve attached yourself to someone else. And we have taken this thing a step further and gone out to a social gathering with you. Do us a favor, keep your “boo thang” to yourself!

Look, your single friend is dealing with some real issues. She is probably in the minority if she’s out with you somewhere. If she’s me, she’s usually the only one with no viable “situation” to even lie about long enough to make it through the night. So when that attractive man bravely approaches the group, give her a chance to at least think she can be great, mmkay?

Yes, how rude of him. He came all the way over here and he couldn’t pick out the ONE single friend in the hoard of women. Yea, she probably she should have went out somewhere on her own to actively meet a man, but she’s trying to spend some quality time with her girlfriends and he walked over here anyway, to NOT ask her for her number.

…and what do you do? Announce to the entire room that you gotta man! You know, I finally realized why they wrote that damn song. Your man ain’t got nothing to do with him right now. Your man is getting in the way of you redirecting the conversation to your single friend in a way that has this man thinking SHE was the person he came over here to talk to.

You just selfish.

Send Her Some Mail.

If life doesn’t insult the single woman enough, it sure as hell remembers to injure her weekly. I have moved five (5) times in my adult life. And I have received wedding invitations and birth announcements to every single one of those addresses. My ring finger and my uterus are both bare. And one day, if the Lord says something about it, that will change.

But the mailman came today. And he brought me bills, bills, bills. And the invitation to your wedding. That I will send the RSVP back to, without a +1 because well, I’m just 1.

Help her out! Send her a card. A small token of love. A sign of appreciation for her listening to your relationship highs and lows (which she does because she loves you, and you do the same). Something that will remind her of the day you both became friends. It might just save her night.

…and whatever you do, don’t sign it from us! Send her something FROM YOU!

Accept It.

She has not accepted it, perhaps. But you can. You are in a good (decent? balanced? okay?) place in your life, with your relationship, and all the wonderful beings genetics helped you to create. She might be there. She might be underneath the bottle of wine you gifted her. Either way, she needs to know that you love her, just as she is; and most importantly that her being single isn’t indicative of anything but that.

She’s Single. She’s not dead or unattractive. She might actually be ready and open for the potential of commitment and the joys of sharing half the bed with something other than a hoard of pillows. #ThisIsNotMyLife #StopLookingAtMe

But you don’t work for eHarmony or Paul C. Brunson. So accept it. And buy the first round at Happy Hour.

 

I have spent the better (or otherwise) part of my adult life as single. I wrestle with that fact most days. I have quieted the voices in my life that tell me I am such a wonderful person and cannot understand how life could so cruelly leave me alone. I am waiting for them to return to me with loving acceptance that this is who we are, and that's okay.

I did try the duo thing. A few times. I did my best. I messed up though. I made mistakes. Assumed when I should have just asked. Spoke when I should have quieted myself with the silence in my mind. Not forgiven so quickly. Been more grateful for the moment. Took less pictures. I believed in things that weren’t real. Questioned the right things for the wrong reasons. Held on not so tight. And I should have kept every one of those songs I loved to myself. It all happened anyhow.

And I’m here. Just a “1”. And your friend is too. Waiting for a person who used to make her a “2”. That was you.

It is not your fault that she’s single anymore than it’s her fault that you’re not. Neither of you can do anything about the other. Just don’t make her defend her just one status. If you only get one thing right, let it be that. 

…and the drink order. Get that right.

71% Complete and 7 Medals To Go. Wait. What?

When Alicia maKeykey, Dr. Splits on Trees and I set out to do this here running thing, I had no idea what it would look like, or what I would be like coming to the end of the year. I mean, honestly, I only thought this was possible in theory. Not so much that a person could achieve such a feat, but that I could be that person to achieve it. And though race after race happened, and I changed the color of the text from black to green on the calendar, I was not convinced. I was not persuaded. But, time just kept on passing me by all that same. And races. And medals. And paychecks. But I’m in the 4^th Quarter, and I am finding my inner Jordan. It's 1992.

Well, the end of the year sucks because quite frankly I’m not sure I like myself, and I want my goals to be as difficult as humanly possible to obtain. With that being said, I am officially signed up for six (6) more races. Four (4) of them are next month.

…on back-to-back days. Because I haven’t done this before at all (see THIS and that THAT, to have that last line made null and void), and I totally believe that running back-to-back events is good for you. Yeah. That.

See? I need counseling.

So I didn’t mean to do it. I Promise. I Swear. It’s just that when I see medals I have delusions of grandeur, and I’m like the greatest person you know, so I HAVE TO DO IT NO MATTER THE HUMAN, MATERIAL, OR FINANCIAL COST. I have to run. I need medals. I need them to survive.

Wait, I don’t need counseling. This is totally normal behavior. For a runner.

Okay, so hell is the month of October. And it’s marked by the following running events (not even counting Halloween):

1.    Rock n Roll San Jose 5K (Saturday) – 1^st race in the SJ Remix Challenge

2.    Rock n Roll San Jose Half Marathon (the next Sunday) – the 2^nd race in the #IRunTheCoastChallenge & the 2^nd race completing the SJ Remix Challenge *additional challenge medal earned

3.      Let’s Go 510K (a Saturday later in the month) – the 3^rd race completing the #IRunTheBayChallenge *additional challenge medal earned

4.    Rock n Roll Los Angeles Half Marathon (Sunday, in Los Angeles, as in I have to get on an airplane after I run a 10K and get my challenge medal to prepare to run 13.1 miles with my BabyMama the next day) – the 3^rd race in the #IRunTheCoastChallenge *additional challenge medal earned #HeavyMedalist

There’s that. …and then there’s November.

1.    Rock n Roll Las Vegas 5K (Saturday night) – 1^st race in the LV Remix Challenge

2.    Rock n Roll Las Vegas Half Marathon (that next Sunday night) – the 2^nd race completing the LV Remix Challenge *additional challenge medal earned

I mean, there’s Thanksgiving, I might love medals, but I NEED my dressing #NotStuffing #ItsDifferent #TrustMeImARunner&HolidayEater, and ham and other delicious life sustaining foods. I ain’t got time to be running when there are collard greens that need’a cookin!

So, December comes along and…

…I don’t have a single race scheduled. Mostly because I cannot decide what race I want to end this epic #14in2014 experience with. It’s got to mean something so this year means something to me when my ovaries finally do something useful besides remind me they are here once a month (I HEARD AND FELT YOU CLEARLY! Grrrrr!) and scramble one of my eggs with my somebody son’s genetic material. That thing we create in my uterus will need to know how this ended. And that story will need to be great.

…and you still have time to be part of my greatness. You can still run with me. You can start. You can finish. Just like I did in January. And, every month after that. Except July, August & September. #ItWasHotInTheBay #ThenIGotLazy #AndAllUpInMyFeelings #ohAndAYearCuter(Older) #andThenTheSemesterStarted

Just like what I’ll be come December.

This is perfectly normal behavior.

*still in my feelings* The 4th Quarter is going to be amazing. It always is. And, it's always the beginning of the end. I think I planned for evey contingency except for this ending. *le sigh*

I Ran 2/3rds of The Bay, #Race11Medal10

…and in late race posting news, while I was busy not writing on these interents about the life and times of a runner in the making, I’ve been in my feelings yo, and like there was nobody to help me out them joints. Don’t get me wrong, there’s been some amazing experiences these past couple of months, but there have been levels and levels to these feelings. Levels. And levels.

Which I’ll get you caught up on, eventually. I tend to tell on myself, because well, I’m a writer, and I’m not all that creative, and the stuff I make up isn’t nearly as interesting as the mess I’m living… #thebeautifulmessIveMadeOfThings #withasideofbacon

So, as you now, it’s all about this #14in2014, right? Right. Well, I am smack dab in the middle of two challenge series. #IRunTheBay and #IRunTheCoast. I’ve ran #SanJose, and this race, #Race11Medal10 was the 2^nd installment of the challenge #SanRafael. I think they meant #SanFrancisco, but it was still in the #415, so there was that.

Pre-Race Day: Okay, lemme see where this race is so I know what to do when I get off of Caltrain. Because I’m definitely taking the train to San Francisco tomorrow. *minutes later* Oh, there are other cities in the 415 besides San Francisco? Oh, okay. #SanRafael #NoCaltrainForYouBoo #YouCarpoolingWithTheHomey

Race Day: Oh, this city is nice? Where this place been all this time? I would come here but the way my skin color is set up… #WeTheOnlyPeopleWhoLookLikeUs

Start: Sure you haven’t been running because it’s hotter than an overloaded circuit in the Matrix… It’s just 3.1 miles. You got this. This course looks HELLA flat.

Mile 1: Yep, still got them. My lungs are still here. #IcantBreatheJesus

Mile 2: When White People Get Angry – starring the white people running and the white people in the cars waiting for the runners to pass because they decided to drive even though the streets have signs on them blocking them off until Noon. It’s not even 9:00am. #TheyMadTho #ItsFunnyCauseItsNotMe #TheyWantTheirStarbucks #ItsAboutToGoDown

Mile 3: Oh, so the course isn’t flat. Isn’t that lovely? Where did all the people go? Around the not-flat bend, perhaps? Perhaps.

Mile (3) 0.1: Running is stupid.

          Finish: Gimme my medal -_- I’m hungry. My chest hurts. This medal is pretty tho.

See. This is fun.

This had the makings of a super blah racing experience. However, 2 very important things happened on this day.

Not in order…So, the other part of this 5K was the Miracle Mile. There were timed miles for the various genders and age groups. Clearly the one event, regardless of medal opportunity that I would NEVER participate in. Not because I don’t have the ability to run. It’s because it would be a miracle if I came in eyeshot of those timed miles! They were hella fast. Like this one dude. He went to the start line and BEASTED that mile. Like 4:06 minutes, beasting. He crossed the finish line, took his shoes off and walked away like a boss. Do you realize how much you WOULD NOT be able to say to me if I could do something that remotely came close to that? You couldn’t read me a bedtime story. I would be just that great. And, that’s why God gave me boobies.

I gave him Medal Monday, he gave me back a reason to run.

And the race corral, where I met up with my friend and her husband. See, we’re all black girls who run. And on occasion we have family and friends who are #PeopleWhoWatchUsRun, right? Well it just so happens he got to experience our race experience in Oakland. Remember when we ran like hella?  And Oakland was hella rude and left the race medals in their office, thereby stealing my greatness?

He saw it all. Filmed some of it. Read the letter. Celebrated it. Then joined it.

I got to be part of another first experience. This is not the cherry popping kind of thing because he did not attend this with me, and um, he’s well…married and that would be rude of me to say. And wildly inappropriate. BUT, I mean I’m kinda sorta connected to the experience, so I bought the cherries… Yea, that.

He proudly wore his medal post race. He then followed it up with an epic #MedalMonday. And that’s all I ever really wanted from all of this.

Paying #MedalMondays forward.

This Race: Marin 415K & Miracle Mile, The 415K, San Rafael CA

Medaled Miles to date: 51.27 miles

Total Raced Miles to date: 64.37 miles 

4 Medals To Go ǁ 71% Complete