Being Presidential #ShamrockinGoodTimes

It’s been weird, you know, focusing on the miles and other things. It seemed more daunting, and yet manageable, to find a running event, sign up, show up, and show out. That kept me pretty busy. However, this year, every mile counts. I’m getting credit for waking up and running. And although that doesn’t happen every day, the fact that I can technically get up, go run, and get credit for it, is awesome.

You know what else is awesome? Spending time with Eboogie and Dr. Splits on Trees in the Capital City. Did yall know that Alicia Makeykey aka Eboogie aka always wanna call someone an overachiever but she really is the one achieving over stuff is training for a Marathon??? Right. Same thing I said.

So, we’re just calling this a training run for her. I mean, she had to run 20 miles, so a half is like, a warm up. So we (read: she) warmed up.

Okay, for real though. It’s an opportunity for Alicia to get a quick PR on her way to greatness #1PercenterStatus. For me to you know, be basic for bling, but log a hash mark in that new running event category. And for REJIII #ThePresident (JustBob) to get that first half marathon medal! See…we can all be great for different reasons on the same pavement.

Only 67% of that paragraph is going to be great. I spent all my greatness on… A tooth extraction, a night of dancing, a damn-near-half-marathon hike, ineffective pain medication, and well…life. You’re not surprised by this at all. You expect this from me. I’m so loyal to you.

Our race outfits were on fleek, while the right side of my face was on FAAAWWWWKK! Yo, getting a tooth extraction without proper pain medication and antibiotics is the devil. Ain’t nothing holy in it. Except maybe the hole in the back of my mouth stitched up by grace and new mercies.

Sacramento was beautiful. It’s been so long since the last time I ran SacTown #MOOnlight10k #AliciaOverAchievedThatDayToo, that I would have appreciated the beauty (OldieButNewbie #RunningHubby reads: booty) but it was hard to concentrate.

Enter Dr. Splits on Trees. See, the night before we were having wonderful conversations about life and running, and you know, smart people stuff. This somehow, inextricably led to conversations about the struggle of us Black folks and freedom and whatnot. Seriously. All from a conversation about running Rock n Roll DC in 2016. We went from taking selfies at the Dr. King Memorial during the run, to who was going to pace us on the Underground Railroad. Yes I love my friends. No, you cannot have them.

This, of course means that Dr. Splits on Trees is waiting for you around Mile 3-ish with a sign instructing you to run for your freedom. Our ancestors made it possible for me to be out here running this race. I just… I just… Just why Lord? Why?

Shortly past this point I was jealous that old people could remove their teeth and gums, but I like, still kinda needed mine. My jaw was killing me.

So, at around Mile 9 or so, I was ready to give it up. I mean, really, why are these my life choices? I’ve been compressing my hand to the side of my face, jogging and popping Tylenol with codeine because Kaiser wouldn’t let my original pain medication prescription be fully realized.

For the first time in history of a running event, I stopped. I deviated from the course, and took a detour into a restaurant. I’ve paused my run for a potty break, or to grab water from the stations, but never a non-race-related stop. I had to get ice. The side of my jaw felt like I went a few rounds with Evander Holyfield or something. I could not take it.

A nice man behind the bar filled my empty zip lock bag (once hold my less than effective pain medication) with ice. Gave me a cool plastic cup of water, and then wished me luck. As I began again, feeling defeated that I left the course, there was a group of happy people passing out refreshments. Because orange juice is refreshing and champagne is new life.

I mean, eventually I finished. But that wasn’t my reason for being there. See, #ThePresident was having a first experience too. We turkey trotted, but that is nothing compared to this. A half marathon? And we’ve traveled to the Capital City to inaugurate #ThePresident into our gaggle of serious athletes.

As you would have expected, Alicia killed it. #ThePresident made it in record time. And I, well, never would have made it without that baggie of ice.

What were the lessons learned on this day?

1. Committing to a training plan actually works. Because, science. #EBoogieDidThat #ItsKindOfAThingToTrainAccordingToAPlan

2.  Stopping only feels like failure if you make it feel that way. Most people don’t care. It seems to be a big deal to me tho.

3.    Supportive friends are everything. Even if they make race signs that literally cause you to laugh hysterically and almost forget that you’re running a race.

4.    Inspiration is cyclic. Much like energy it isn’t created or destroyed. Just transferred.

Inspiration.

If our lives are like #TheMatrix and we run into a program at the train station, then we know... Inspiration (like love) is just a word. What matters is the connection it implies - the meaning we give it.

Before the race, when #ThePresident asked Eboogie to take a picture of us, me being his running inspiration ... Not gonna lie, I felt a thug tear. But I held it together.

I have no idea what connection he implied or meaning he gives that word, but I'm honored and humbled. I'm not a great runner, but I suppose I've got something to give people who desire to run.

Oh, and he SMOKED the streets of Sacramento!

Somehow something I’ve said, or done or been, has inspired him. I knew all too well before his wave took off that he was going to run the race of his life. I had no doubt. I could see it in him and around him. And all the while, his courage in that moment, despite all the anxiety and unknown, was inspiring me.

#15ThingsIn2015 Challenge

5 new states

4 new friends (OldieButNewbie #RunningHubby – 1 down, 3 to go)

3 new running events (Shamrock Half – 1 down, 2 to go)

2 back-to-back running events

1 Half Marathon PR

A Wedding On The Run #doyouknowntheway

Yea, I know the way. I’m back on my home turf. Rerunning the fourth race of #14in2014, but the first official race of #2015Kin2015 #1253milesIn2015? Why am I here? Doing a repeat race in a repeat challenge series?

I’m here because while it doesn’t count for my one of my three new events, it does count towards my #Make4NewFriends. And he’s an oldie but a newbie to the pavement.

It’s interesting what happens when you do something you love. You start to talk about that thing you love. Because it makes you incredibly happy. When you love something, it consumes you. It becomes all that you are. And, you want other people to love it. The hope is that it will make them as happy as it makes you. But you can never know that for sure. Though inside your broken little heart, you know that they too will find a way to love it. You know that.

Here’s the thing tho. I’m a runner, sure. But I’m not that great of a runner. So, while I’m preaching this running gospel, it’s not like I’ve done any research. You’ve read this blog; plenty of serious runners would read what I’ve done and just…not. Like, not even…

And OldieButNewbie was so worried. What was he worried about? A bunch of silly stuff like: You’re going to take off at the Start Line and run off and leave me… … I’m not going to make it… … I can’t run 5 miles… … It’s going to be too hard…

He threw all that at me, and I knocked it out the park. It was easy to respond to those worries with so much confidence because they were once my worries. And, as figured out they weren’t real, race after race, I became more confident. I mean, I made it. I survived. And there was no way that I was going to leave him. We start together, we finish together. We got this. Our race, His pace.

Yea, that wasn’t good enough. It was like he didn’t believe me. Didn’t believe that he was going to be okay. Sure, you’ve never ran 5 miles, but um, it’s 5 miles. On city streets. In a running event where you can walk the entire time and still make it.

We went on a field trip. Because having successfully survived #14in2014 was not expert experience enough. Nor the fact that, literally a year ago, almost to the date, I did this race – nope, not enough. Just like #ConferenceHubby, it seems that #RunningHubby doesn't listen too good. But the trip served multiple purposes. If you’re not running with confidence, you can at least do it with new feet. So, we talked to a man about a pair of proper running shoes. Well, I didn’t need a pair. OldieButNewbie did tho.

Also, if you didn't catch that, I’z married now! I say I’z married now!!!! I'm registered at all Running (related) Stores, and will gladly accept race registrations... We're (read: I'm) registered at those too... #seewhatwedidthere #happilyeverafterthepainpillsandstretching 

Maybe it was a gender thing. Maybe it was the sun shining on the Bay Area. Maybe it was all the awesome running paraphernalia in the store. I can’t be too sure. But he left out of there a new man. You would have thought I was preparing to run my first race and he was encouraging me!

But I love running. And he loves (read: cool with) running too. It’s tough. Sticking to a training plan. Fighting to through the pain. Combating the negative messaging that starts with that 5:00am wake up alarm on race day. Realizing that even though you know that you can start and finish (because you’re stubborn and like challenges), when you have a heart to heart with yourself, you know that there’s a really good chance you should have your medical card with you, just in case… #ifallDownStandingStillSometimes #ItsALostArt #IGotThatCoverageTho #DontLetEmTakeMeToCounty

Race day was awesome. I knew where to go, how to get there, and what to do. He followed along. Not even attempting to step out in front or veto a decision – not once. Blind trust or blind faith? I suppose a little of both. It was a humbling moment. Being on the other side of my confidence. I ran much of #14in2014 in fear. I always found my confidence though, on the other side of the finish (interchange with: fear).

And that’s where his was waiting. Only, he had to make it through the sea of rear ends. Apparently, and this is news to me, if you want to entice a heterosexual male such as OldieButNewbie #RunningHubby to run with you, you don’t need to outline:

1. Meeting awesome people,

2. MEDALS!,

3. Bomb race swag,

4. Beautiful scenic views, or

5. The inadvertent health benefits.

You need only say, would you like to look at the women’s butts for a couple of hours? They’ll be wearing colorful spandex and other tightly fitting running pants/shorts.

Apparently, if you say this, you don’t have to try to figure out a way to massage the costs of the running events, or sweet talk that early morning start time, or mention the whole “training plan” thing. It’ll just kinda happen.

Perv.

So… We killed the #408K. And it was even more amazing the 2^nd time around. The weather was nicer. My running clique was with me #SquadLacedUp #ProudRunLeader and we were moments away from the first race medal of the year.

…and mile one was awesome! It went by so quickly, I could have been on pace for a PR. But, this was “Our race, His pace”…so I took my time. Honestly, he’s naturally probably faster than me, but I had already done this. I already got my greatness. It was his turn.

For the most part, it was “our” race, right? Perfectly timed breaks. Brief conversations. Exchanges of encouraging words. Random questions are we there yet?… I mean, having the time of our lives.

As we got closer to the end, I made sure to let OldieButNewbie know, so he could prepare for the finish. You know, hit the nitro #TooFastAndFurious and speed through the finish with me, right? I didn’t want him to hit the button too soon. Our race, His pace. Right? Well, by “our” he was like, yea, we’re both here…and “his pace” he was like oh, you were here running next to me? I didn’t see you, so I left.

Yea, he totally left me. I jogged the last 0.25 miles by myself. Because I wanted to get across the finish line. And, catch up with him. So we could take a picture and have mimosas.

What were the lessons learned on this day?

1.    You can have all the experience in the world. And you’ll still have to get another opinion. #YourFriendsWontBelieveYou #You’llNeedMorePeople

2.     A woman’s butt can be a man’s motivation. #concept *shrugs*

3.    Witnessing someone’s first will never get old. There is so much joy in seeing someone see/do/experience something for the first time. Like a baby’s first step.

4.    If you’re both at the 0.25 miles left mark, just run. He’s definitely going to leave you. He’s not loyal.

#15ThingsIn2015 Challenge

5 new states

4 new friends (OldieButNewbie #RunningHubby – 1 down, 3 to go)

3 new running events

2 back-to-back running events

1 Half Marathon PR

Choose Ye This Day... #WhichDoorIsYours

I hate the internets, yo. Hate’em.

I was perfectly content propped up in my bed, trolling social media, with my Riesling and dark chocolate. I had two salads today. I don’t need your judgment. #thishereblogismyhereblog

I took this in Europe in 2005. Dove stole this idea. LOL

Earlier in the day, a FB friend posted a link. There was an advertisement that attempted to show “real” women, as Victoria’s Secret made an effort, but uh… …nah. And there were all those kinda good feelings. That maybe a body type that is still nicer than mine, but it kinda closer to mine is something to be celebrated. Let the church say amenT.

I mean, I have PTSD about Victoria’s Secret. Did you know that in my adult I-Got-My-Own-Money-Even-Though-This-Is-A-Student-Loan-Refund life I have only been able to purchase fragrances and the occasional pair of panties from Victoria’s Secret? I was in college at UCLA, right? Went down to the Westside Pavilion I think it was… Everybody is getting fitted for bras. The chick looks at me, looks down at her measuring tape, looks back at me and hits me with the We don’t carry your size. I’m like, but uh, you didn’t even size me? And she looks back down at her measuring tape like, Uh, trust me, I’ve done the research.

So, eFF Victoria and her janky secrets. You wanna know the secret? She sucks!

And thank you for that advertisement. It made me smile.

I pretty much forgot about that enlightening moment because I was at work and meetings just had to happen. I went about my day. Bought as much discounted Easter candy as my reusable shopping bags could hold, then retreated to my place of solitude.

And found this.

It could all be so simple. I tend to make things harder. Me loving me is like a battle. I imagine if you thought about it long enough, you’d find out that you made some stuff really difficult too.

You already know I'm going in the purple one.

All they had to do was choose a door. The damn thing was glass. You could see inside. Both entrances led to the same place. But that one word above the threshold gave that door handle so much power. Made it just unattainable enough, that you had to face those inside demons, on the outside, before going inside.

Dammit.

I might have failed that test had that been me. I know that I’m average, I don’t believe that I am beautiful. I believe that other people believe I am beautiful. I’m average, with some beautiful moments. Like, I have to put work into beautiful, because I wake up every day exactly like this…flawed...and all. Some days there are less flaws than others, but ya girl got issues, bruh. Issues.

But I’m a hypocrite. Of the worse kind, because it’s so obvious, but it takes social science experiments like this one to figure it out. I have been walking around telling people that everything is about choice. Not worrying about others, but understanding your own. Accepting the choices you make. Learning them, and from them. Growing from them. Being content, or at the very least, finding peace with them.

And there is nothing about me that is content or at peace with being average. How can I not be great? How can I not be beautiful? I am my Daddie's daughter. I am the progeny of a great man and beautiful woman. I carry a legacy steeped with intelligence, righteousness, creativity and passion. And that’s just in the name I was given.

It’s the baggage. In talking to someone stuck in the mire of a relationship that ended with someone else’s choice, I realized that I too am damaged. Sure I knew this before that conversation, but it was pretty damn clear. Of the relationships and situationships that have ended – they were all choices, typically not mine…one, of recent had nothing to do with my insides, but completely about my outside. What that person saw when they saw me. The door that person would usher me through. The same door I would have chosen.

Imma stop letting these words bring me down.

That’s the incredible power of choice. The power of our own choices. And the oftentimes debilitating power we give the choices of others – no matter our understanding of them. Because Lord knows I don’t understand his. Even though his choice isn’t mine to understand. I could literally, figuratively, mentally, and spiritually, fix what was damaged by choosing the Beautiful door. Yet, I spend most of my time affirming his choice. Seeing what he saw.

Something, people around don’t even see.

A man told me this weekend that there was something about me that drew him in. Caused people to desire to be around me. To seek me out. To do whatever they can, give whatever they have to be in my gravitational field.

…and there I am, in front of the building, conflicted. #ForShame

Predominately Problematic

…but off to a PWI I went.

I follow The Anti-Intellect Blog because well, it’s awesome. It’s refreshing to see something other than the reality tv, silly prank videos, up and coming one hit wonders, and find your life’s passion memes in my newsfeed. Of late the discussion as been about attending PWIs and everything around that. Why people of my color choose/prefer them to HBCUs. People’s perceptions of the benefits of PWIs vs HBCUs. And the all too common misconceptions of the type of education one will get in a class of their ethic peers.

Well, what says I?

I went to a PWI/non HBCU. Twice.

The year was 1998. I was preparing to make the big decision, while my sister was away living the dream at Howard University. A very expensive dream. That’s pretty much where my mind was when decided what institution to attend. How much is this going to potentially cost my parents? Lae was in school already. I was soon off to somewhere. And after me, there were four more who would endeavor to be something better than our high school selves.

With that, I applied to all kinds of schools. Mostly because I did not think about the bottom line until it was time to pay it. I didn’t know much about HBCUs except that Lae was at Howard University, which was really far away, and that my Uncle always had something to say about some school in Texas (Prairie View A&M University). It didn’t dawn on me that there might be more to this HBCU thing because of how my high school life was set up. I didn’t like being one of few Black people in all my classes, but I found a way to survive it. I graduated conditioned to it. It was all I knew.

Conditioned or not, the real decision came down to money. With two sisters in private high schools, then one of them off to a private college, and many more on the way, I chose the cheap one. A good school, but it was the least expensive of all the schools who wanted me. I gave absolutely no thought to anything else. I know that my mother knew, but she never said a thing. She knew it wasn’t my dream, but I would never admit it. I deferred my dream thinking I was giving my parents the opportunity to give my other sisters theirs. Looking back, I was really just afraid to say what I wanted. #myhowthingshaventchangedmuch

I left for school knowing that I would be enduring the next four to five years. I knew that I would not see very many people like me. And I was actually kind of thankful for High School in that regard – because I already knew what it felt like, and I worked out all my issues with it…sorta. It was like I forgot every episode of A Different World. #ForShame

One of my first days alone in my triple in Hedrick Hall, I sat around confused. I did not know where to go or what to do. Eventually, I got thirsty, so I took my pitcher to the lounge kitchen and made some kool-aid – red kool-aid. Got some ice out the kitchen and carried it back to my room with the door propped open still. I sat at my desk, sipping my red kool-aid, looking out the window. Minutes later a Black girl, on her way to her room at the end of the hall, knocked on my open door.

          Um, is that kool-aid?

          Yea, I just made it…

     Would you uh, mind if I had some?

          Yea, sure… My name is…

And just like that, I made my first Black friend in my Residence Hall. One pitcher of kool-aid turned into spades and dominoes at least three times a week. Life Science study sessions in our elevator lobby – note cards posted on the wall. Fried chicken, cabbage, and cornbread during Spring Break because the dining hall is closed. Our numbers grew. What other reason could there be for Black kids living in Sunset Village (nicer residence halls) to make their way on a regular basis to the top of the Hill to hang out on my floor? We all looked like each other. Oh, and because I braided hair. If you needed your hair done, I was the person to see.

Eventually we all grew to take classes together. Plan trips into Westwood and Los Angeles as a group. Mended each other’s broken hearts. And plotted on the jerks who did it. Became RAs together. Let our off campus friends use our extra meals on campus. Spent summers working on campus and taking extra classes. And graduating together.

That community of Blackness is the reason I survived. Not graduated. I would have gotten a degree without them. I would not mentally survived that experience without them. You have no idea of the extreme deterioration of the psyche of a Black Woman at a PWI. Every day there is something passive aggressively said and/or with harmful ignorance done that eats away at everything you love about yourself. We were the real weapons of mass destruction, ticking time bombs living a history silently instructed in those classrooms. It drove me to a silent rage that if not released properly, would have had me in someone’s office explaining myself. Like when my group of (Black) friends and I were a little too loud studying outside of the RAs door. Having to explain California Law to white students who were certain that my being at that school was a byproduct of affirmative action. Seeing the shock in their faces when they learned that I wasn’t a student-athlete #IFitTheDescriptionTho. That I was actually a student, just like them. The Black Bruin Struggle is never ending…

High School did not prepare me for that. I had no idea what that felt like. And it hurt. When it hurt, we had a ritual. We would go eat in the dining hall, usually Covel Commons, and head back to my suite and play House of the Dead II on Dreamcast. I had the gun controllers. If it got really bad, we’d order Jose bowls from Jose Berstien’s. That’s when you knew ish was real. That was when the white noise was too loud. We needed Latinos and Zombies to help us drown it out. The relief felt in those moments, moments in which we did not say much at all. The nearness… That song has different meaning as I look back on this time.

I would have needed some of these safeguards at a HBCU. There is no doubt, being in a community full of your peers does not mean there will be instant relationships and connections. I mean, they didn’t always get along with each other. However, the probability of being able to create those things would have been higher, and much easier with a critical mass of people who already understood why I needed to wrap my hair at night, got concerned when we were out and the street lights came on, or how I look back so fondly on that one time my Mama almost whooped me blind – because losing my sight was her greatest act of love. People who would never bring me a pumpkin pie as a substitute for sweet potato, know that the penalty is death for cutting your partner at spades, and that red is in fact a kool-aid flavor. And it’s delicious.

Of all three of my graduations, I remember African Grad the most. The university graduation in Pauley Pavilion was an optical illusion at best and the department graduation was for show. African Grad was it. It was the one I wanted them to see. My parents could have been a Disneyland that Friday and Saturday – it would have not bothered me. But that Sunday night? I wanted them there to see. To see all the people part of MY UCLA. To meet all the friends, all the folks that watched me go from a boop you’re hella moded precocious first year student to a Boop, you’re hella moded and here is where I’ve cited my sources… #FACTS Alum. They felt all the love from the past five years in Westwood that day.

Knowing then what I know now, I may have made the same decision. However, it would have been more informed. I would have done my due diligence in research institutions of higher education. I would have considered the importance of being in a place with people like me the same way I considered the academic fields of study. I took for granted what it meant to be around people that looked like me. I gave very little consideration to that decision on my mental health because I had no concept of the consequences. Of which there were many.

And no concept of how much of that would be with me this very day. More than a decade later.

Accountability Buddies

#2015kIn2015 #1253MilesIn2015…Um, about that….

Okay, so let me just start by saying and am lazy as hell. And I had the never to talk about Ernie not running with me when were in the Virgin Islands at our baby’s wedding! Lawd, why’d you take my baby boy from my Jessus! He’on need me no more! What is I’m gon’do?

Wait…that’s not what we were talking about…

Oh yea, running. I was running then. I ain’t now.

But it wasn’t my fault. See, these #YAMPS got an awesome camouflage onesie which really doesn’t want me to be great. And I don’t mind it. I mean, it’s everything! It’s blessings and overflow. It’s life, more abundantly. It’s the goodness and mercy that’s not just following me all these days of my life, it’s covering my body with a hood and pockets. #2WeeksOfJanuaryRunningGone

Then there is training. Now yall know the struggle be real during training. Late nights, early mornings, and it gets hella dark outside really fast. #AnotherWeekGone

But this year, we did something a little different during training. See, I’ve been talking about running and medals so much, that all the people around me talk about them too. Especially at work. So we planned 5K Friday as part of the training activities. The entire staff team ran/walked the 3.1 miles…their pace, their race. I got to volun-cheer them on, passing out water, yelling their names from across the street, and hanging medals around their necks.

One of the graduate students asked me why I wasn’t running. There was an actual answer (click here) which I shared. But it felt like she wasn’t asking why I was not out there with them that day. It was more like, why aren’t you running your #1253MilesIn2015? To which I had no intelligible answer.

Just like that, I found my way back. My #YAMPS and I did an Adventure 5K trolling the lightrail and streets of San Jose. It felt so good to be out on the streets, running shoes laced up, starting and finishing.

There are so many secret desires in my heart. Things I want, things I am striving for, things I am going after, that I have yet to tell a soul. It feels like they aren’t supposed to know how bad I want these things #LikeLove. #1253Milesin2015 #2015kIn2015 is kind of the same way. But I told all of you about it. Like literally, all of you, everywhere.

Thanks for reminding me. It’s like the world is my Accountability Buddy! You’re all here to keep me on track. To keep my honest. To keep me focused. That like super exci…oh, wait. You ALL are here… ALL keeping me on track. All of you…

Maybe I shouldn’t talk so much?

I should maybe go run now, hunh?

Okay, okay. I’m going… Dang.

Communications Hill: Where Bad Ideas Go To Die

So yea…yall got me back running. Got a couple of lunch runs in, after work runs, opting for lightrail as opposed to driving…like I am putting in work son…

So my friend invites me to do the stairs at Communications Hill. It’s not too far from where I live, and like I really plan anything besides college football #seasonover on a Saturday morning. Okay, I’m in. It’s just some damn stairs.

On a hill, dummy. Stairs on a gottdamn hill. I promise I got to be the stupidest person with multiple degrees you know. And what has my smart arse done? I decide I am going to take the lightrail TO the hill, because then I can get a warm up one-mile run in TO the hill BEFORE we do the stairs.

And I was rubbing my hands together, starting a campfire like, this is the smartest thing you’ve ever come up with…

You dummy.

But I haven’t realized just how dumb this was, because that warm up mile was everything! Like I really felt like I was gonna be somebody and go somewhere… #areyoupayingattention?

My friends are en route, so I decide I am going to jog up the hill to see how high it goes. Because, like, I have all the time in the world, right? Well, the jog quickly turned into a brisk walk because it’s a hill, and remember dummy, you actually avoid running inclines.

As I make it to the top of the hill, my friends call. I scurry down the stairs to meet them. They are beginning their trek up the stairs, and I realize that I woke up at 8:00am on a Saturday, to walk up and down stairs. I actually have stairs in my home, but I’ve taken the lightrail, to walk up somebody else’s stairs, when I pay monthly for a set of my own.

Intelligent, right? Right.

Yo, that was a fleeting thought because somebody hit the nitro button. It was like that time I had too much caffeine. I. Could. Not. Be. Stopped.

So, I would walk/jog up the stairs, and run the declining path down to the bas of the stairs, adjust my sports bras, and do it again. And again. And again. As I made it to the cut off for the path, I saw my friends taking the route in the other direction. So, I did what any friend would do…made my approach ever so slightly and quietly. Waited until the moment they thought they were gonna give up and scared the crap out of them. I’m like Major Payne, homey…nobody gives up on my watch.

But I’m not tired yet #RunninForJesus… I decide that I am going to keep jogging upward and onward, and making bigger loops around this place because there are more stairs, more inclines, more declines, more paths, and apparently, I have all the time in the world.

Two hours later, I’ve decided that I’m done. I can go home now. I mean, it’s a short drive from here to my house, and I kinda need a shower, and I got plans with my friends later. And, if I do any more, I won’t be able to wear heels.

I think to myself, wait? Did I park at the top of the hill or the bottom? Well I must have driven to the top because I’m at the bottom and I don’t see my car. Let me pull out my keys and double check before I go up these stairs again.

Okay, just get your keys off the dresser because you left them there. Because you took lightrail.

Yes dummy. You took the lightrail. Because you thought it would be an awesome thing to have a warm up run AND a cool down jog.

I walked back to the lightrail defeated, hanging on to the smidgen of satisfaction that I conquered Communications Hill. And that smidgen was left on the lightrail because I almost missed my stop. And by the time I got off, I realized the smidgen was still in the seat, on its way to Winchester. Because not only did I take the lightrail that morning,

…I walked to it.

And what did I learn from all of this?

Nothing.

You already knew that I’d go back. 

A Motivational Experiment

It’s like a new age chain letter. Remember when email first came out? You always got those email that you had to send to 10 people in the next 9 minutes or else 8 other people you knew would die from the 7 deadly sins? Yea, those…but evolved some. I got an email from Merc entitled “Motivational Experiment”…

Instructions: Please send an encouraging quote or verse to the person whose name is in position 1 below (even if you don't know him or her). It should be a favorite text verse/motivational poem/prayer/meditation that has lifted you when you were experiencing challenging times. Don't agonize over it--it is one you reach for when you need it or the one that you always turn to. After you've sent the short poem/verse/meditation/quote/etc. to the person in position 1, and only that person, copy this letter into a new email, move my name to position 1. and put your name in position 2. Only my name and your name should show when you email. Send to 20 friends BCC (blind copy). If you cannot do this in five days, let us know so it will be fair to those participating. It's fun to see where they come from. Seldom does anyone drop out because we all need new ideas and inspiration. The turnaround is fast, as there are only two names on the list, and you only have to do it once.

And because you know I don’t conform, I read the directions, and then did my own thing. Which was what I was supposed to do. Because the words found someone “in the midst of a transition” in life. I’m just glad I had them around to find me again.

…………………………

I hope this email finds you doing well. Un/Fortunately, I’m a writer in the making, so there is nothing brief about what you have in your inbox. However, I hope there is something hidden in it that proves motivational – at such a time you need…

I’m an avid reader, which is probably why I am genetically disposed to writing. A novel that has truly found me in the best and worst places, and moved me forward into greater things from both starting points, has been The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho. Here are a few selections from the novel that resonate with me. I reread passages all the time!

…………………………

I tend to fret over my heavy heart. All kinds of life circumstances get me to this point. Worry. Fear. Doubt. Disappointment. Heartbreak. Loss. You name it. In those moments, I find it hard to hear all the good that used to speak to me from the inside. Then I remember:

“Why do we have to listen to our hearts?” the boy asked, when they had made camp that day.

“Because, wherever your heart is, that is where you’ll find your treasure.”

“But my heart is agitated,” the boy said. “It has its dreams, it gets emotional, and it’s become passionate over a woman of the dessert. It asks things of me, and it keeps me from sleeping many nights when I’m thinking about her.”

“Well, that’s good. Your heart is alive. Keep listening to what it has to say.”

Success is a silly fear. I finally accepted that one day, on a plane, speaking to a stranger about a dream. About becoming a writer. Having written a “book” and even with starting a blog the dream feels ever the more distant. Today even, I war with the thought that I am a writer. Even in this email to you. Because it’s a dream. A really big dream:  

What you still need to know is this: before a dream is realized, the Soul of the World tests everything that was learned along the way. It does this not because it is evil, but so that we can, in addition to realizing our dreams, master the lessons we've learned as we've moved toward that dream. That's the point at which most people give up.

I work in crisis management. And although that isn’t the only frame for this next thought, the reality is, I see sadness. I see young people daily who have such powerfully potent potential locked inside of them. They are life changers. They are world changers. They make everything about me better. And then, something bad happens. And I weep for them. But, in my weeping, I feel the worst guilt. Because in acknowledging their losses, I have a desperate gratitude for all that I have. For it not being me. And I sometimes feel bad about that. Feel bad that I have achieved some great things, great things that others will never realize.

The mere possibility of getting what we want fills the soul of the ordinary person with guilt. We look around at all those who have failed to get what they want and feel that we do not deserve to get what we want either. We forget about all the obstacles we overcame, all the suffering we endured, all the things we had to give up in order to get this far...

I can remember back in undergrad as a Physiological Sciences major. Everything about that work was hard. Tough. Difficult. I had to study all the time. Whether it was calculus, or physics or cadavers, I always had my nose in a book. On the outside to others, it seemed like the concepts just came to me. Like it was magic. Most people did not know how I struggled to perform in those classes. I, many times, wondered if I was “cut out” for it. I felt like it should be more natural. Things should just make sense. But they never did, not until I accepted the fact that I had to commit. I had to work hard. I had to put all of me in it. Because on the other side of it, there was something bigger than I could imagine.

“Why do they make things so complicated?"

“So that those who have the responsibility for understanding can understand,” he said. “Imagine if everyone went around transforming lead into gold. Gold would lose its value.”

“It's those who are persistent, and willing to study things deeply, who achieve the Master Work.”

I’m Christian. I only make that statement to inform this next thought. My absolute favorite, most inspirational verse in the Bible to date is Romans, 13:8… Owe no man any thing, but to love one another: for he that loveth another hath fulfilled the law. His description of what happens when we love (aside from fulfilling God’s law) continues to inspire me.

Love is the force that transforms and improves the Soul of the World. When I first reached through to it, I thought the Soul of the World was perfect. But later I could see that it was like other aspects of creation, and had its own passions and wars. It is we who nourish the Soul of the World, and the world we live in will be either better or worse, depending on whether we become better or worse. And that's where the power of love comes in. Because when we love, we always strive to become better than we are.

And there are times when I wonder the meaning of life. And I realize that I will never know. And knowing that I will never know, or be able to comprehend that sometimes sadness me. It makes each minute feel less meaningful. What is the purpose for the search, if I know now that I will never really know? Then I remember that:

“Every second of the search is an encounter with God.”

Gratitude. I have much to be grateful for. And because I know myself, I know that I didn’t deserve many of the things I have, like the daily grace I get from God. Knowing that, I often times find myself actively refusing the vessels He uses to bless me. The people He uses to give me more than what I’m due. I wish I didn’t feel that feeling, that I’m not deserving, or that I have to accept exactly what I’ve given. I almost always respond as the Monk did. So as I’ve journeyed this life, I have learned to be gracious in my giving and even more so in my receiving.

“This is for you,” he (the Alchemist) said, holding one of the parts (of gold) out to the monk. “It's for your generosity to the pilgrims.”

“But this payment goes well beyond my generosity,” the monk responded.

“Don't say that again. Life might be listening, and give you less the next time.”

I pray you are well.

All the best,