Truth #4

I used to think that good deeds would always be acknowledged, that somehow the Universe was tallying the good things we humans do, and that one day our goodness would be rewarded somehow. Like with the lottery machine spitting out winning numbers, or starting that new business at exactly the right time, or with finding a $20 bill in those jeans you put on for the first time since April. This isn't about religion, either, because I know some of you may say: "But darling, God is watching you, and you will reap your rewards in Heaven."  And those of you who know me, know that I am rolling my eyes at the thought of hearing those words.


It's not about that kind of stuff; it's about always doing the right thing, always being the bigger person, always being good, and then not seeing anything positive for your efforts.


Truth #4: I am very tired of being the Bigger Person.

I am the person who will always look at the Bright Side when something unfortunate has occurred; I have the wisdom to know that I can't change it, so I need to learn something from it and move on.

I am the person who will never speak badly about my wasband in front of my children, because they are his children, too, and what kind of example would I be setting?

I am the person who will always shake hands and say "It's nice to meet you," even if the person is someone I "know" from word-of-mouth or reputation.  And yes, even if the reputation is not a good one. I'm a firm believer in not judging a book by its cover.

I am the person who will stay at work to finish a project or cover for someone who wasn't able to make it in, even though I just know my efforts will go unrecognized, and that the absentee isn't really sick.

I am the person who will go to the wedding/baby shower/funeral despite the fact that I don't really feel like celebrating or remembering with a bunch of people I don't really know that well.

I am the person who will attend my children's school events, even if they never acknowledge my presence and walk ten feet in front of me to get to the car before someone sees them with *gasp* their mother.

I hold doors open for people.  I smile at people walking their dogs. I make goo goo eyes and talk funny to babies. I make small talk with people I know from my previous life as a waitress & bartender, and ask about their pets and children and lives, even if they were bad tippers.

And most days, I am okay with this.  I recognize that how we treat others is indicative of how we feel about ourselves.  But for one day, I would like one of the following to happen: either I would like to be recognized in some way (and it need not even be monumental, like winning the lottery or anything, just...anything), or I would like to have a Free Pass at telling others how loutish their behavior is. 

I would like to take children who are in public and acting unruly by their ears and drag them to a corner and tell them in a very stern voice that means ALL BUSINESS that they need to knock it off, already.  I would like all bad drivers to stay home.  I would like to scrutinize out loud every fashion faux pas I see.  I would also like to stand at the checkout counter at the grocery store and refuse to let people purchase certain items; snarling teenager with you? No Mountain Dew or ramen noodles.  Does your MediAlert bracelet say you have diabetes? No soda for you either.  Are you obese? Only raw vegetables for you today.  And no, you can't have soda either.  Not even diet.

You catch my drift? I feel like the past month or so I've been biting my tongue so hard and so often that it takes an extreme amount of effort for me to not spew what I'm really thinking at people, lest they get covered in the blood that has been pooling behind my teeth. It's not lost on me, either, Dear Reader that Yom Kippur is coming in just a few weeks. 

You may be wondering why,all of a sudden, I feel this way. I won't say (because I am certain that no good will come of me telling you), but I will point you to this post for a clue.  In the meantime, re-read the Swedish proverb above, and remember to be thankful for the blessing that is this day.

Let It Go

This week I was in Washington, DC for a work conference.  I usually love traveling, and don't mind traveling alone- its like an adventure for me, navigating around a city, trying to blend in like a local, even going to the grocery store.  I love the newness of those first visits.

To add another layer of thrill to this trip, I was meeting up with a friend from my younger days; Brooke and I hadn't seen each other for close to 15 years.  Fifteen years!!! I was beyond thrilled when I found out we'd be able to hook up not one, not two, but all three free evenings I had on my schedule.  So the packing was in earnest Sunday night, and the alarm was set so I'd make it to our small, regional airport for the 7:45 am connecting flight to Detroit, then on to DC.


I'm out the door to the airport (literally, a three minute drive) by 6:30 am; this flight is usually full of old folks and business folks, both leaving town for destinations far and away.  The ticket agent was helping another woman with something, so I proceeded to the self check-in kiosk when the other ticket agent says, "Don't do the self check-in.  The flight's been cancelled for this morning."  Oh, frr rrllll?!  Slightly annoyed, I'm re-routed to leave from Appleton, WI; a taxi arrives a few minutes later to drive me there, $50 travel voucher and $6 meal voucher in hand.  Let it go.  You were able to get a new flight. I text Brooke and let her know of my later-than-expected arrival time.


Flights are smooth, baggage claim is fine, and the hotel is a three minute drive (again, literally) from the airport.  For those of you familiar with the DC area, my hotel was in Crystal City; my conference, on the other hand, was in a new area (planned community, really) called National Harbor.  My morning commute from hotel to conference? Well, I had choices:  1) a $60-70 taxi ride each way; or 2) yellow line from Crystal City to L'Enfant Plaza, transfer to green line to Branch station (end of the green line), transfer to NH1 bus to be within one block of the conference site.  Because my per diem didn't allow for taxi service, I ended up with a 70-90 minute commute each morning & afternoon. Let it go, Rachel; you could have to try and drive in this hellish traffic.  


So my days slogged by at the conference, and my nights were hours and hours of good conversations, good food and drink, and overall good company (and, for the record, I'm good at bar room trivia). Fast forward to this morning.  My flight is scheduled to leave DC at 9:42 am for a connection in Detroit, then on to my regional airport.  Can you even guess what happened?  Yep.  Flight to Detroit is fine; flight from Detroit home is cancelled.  After a flurry of text messages to Daughter #1, I am re-booked on a flight back to Appleton, leaving in...20 minutes! Now, if you've ever been in the Detroit airport, you are familiar with the terminal set up:  terminal A is for flights from larger hubs, while terminals B & C (parallel to terminal A) are for regional flights.  The two sets of terminals are connected by a tunnel whose walls are a glass art installation that changes colors.  There's even music to go along with the show; see photos here and here, and a video here . 


I hate the light tunnel.


So I run in flip flops from terminal A to terminal C, making my new flight just barely.  I have a minute to check my message where I find out that its NOT Daughter #1 coming to pick me up, but my was-band.  WTF?! As if I didn't already have a headache.  As if that's the face I wanted to see and share my stories with while driving for two-and-a-half hours. As if I didn't already just  want to get the fuck home, already. I felt so mad and frustrated and helpless and discouraged and...so...trampled.  Cue the iPod, over-sized sunglasses, and tears.  Let it go, Rachel.  It'll be over soon enough.

The drive home is awkward and mostly silent, save for small talk about our daughters and mutual friends, his mother, my parents.  And then I hear this song on the CD playing, and I remind myself once again of my good fortunes, of the people I have in my life who care enough about me to stop in the middle of their day to pick me up at the airport 150 miles away.  Let it go. This too shall pass. Gam zeh ya'avor.  Enjoy the music and fun, and remember that it really is best to stop and reevaluate things before getting all worked up into a kerfuffle. 


 

Heat Wave

Note:  I've never seen the movie advertised in the image above, I just like the image.
 
Holy crap has it been hot around here!  And while I don't mind the heat per se, I do mind the accompanying humidity and lack of breezes, and that makes me crabby.  The heat has also had a negative effect on my training/running schedule:  I'm at work for 7:30 am (with a 25 minute drive), and I am NOT a morning person (mornings = Crabby Rachel).  Morning workout? Not gonna happen.  Evening workout? Well, that's when I'll run, but I get home from work around 6 or 6:30 pm, chit chat with Daughter #2, read through the mail, etc. etc. and then before I know it, it's 9 pm.  

And there's absolutely nothing wrong with running at 9 pm! If you've had dinner already (which I usually haven't during the week) and have a relatively short (< 7 miles) run on tap.  And now that I'm ready to pick up my training for my fall marathon (which I still  haven't registered for), well, you can see my dilemma.

I can do one of these things:  
1) Get up at 5 am each morning for a cool, quiet run and save weights for the afternoons at work with the teenagers;
2) Get home from work earlier than 6 pm so I can eat a little something before running/weights;
3) Do my weight training at work before I drive home, then run immediately when I get home.

I do not want to run out by work as there are too many hills and not enough trees.  Its really only for the next two or three weeks, until my summer programming is completed.  And I *think* the heat wave is blessedly on its way out.  Which means upping the training, which means making a plan, which means making a commitment.  

UGH! Throw into this mix a week in Washington, DC for work, followed by a family wedding, and that puts me into September already.  See? Its hard being me.  

Now, those new running shoes aren't going to wear themselves out, are they? Week 7 of the Hanson's Plan?:  bring it on, minus the heat.  And minus the crabs.

Mojo

Yep.  Mine got up and left.  WTF?! I was on such a high after my last marathon, and now...nothin'.  Makes me crabby.

*sigh*

I could blame it lots of things, I suppose:  work, grad school, stress, only having 24 hours each day.  But really, I think I might be...you know...the "l" word?...lazy.

AAARRRRRGGHHHH! I can't even bring myself to pull my running gear out of the dresser, much less put it on and go running.  I haven't even participated in the Fit Club we have at work for the teenagers (in my defense, school just ended, and there is a two-week lag in programs ending & starting up again).  Tony Horton has not looked at me through the television screen and whispered conspiratorially that he wants to see me "jump like a cat." Mee-ooowww!

Okay, so I did run once since the race- a local 5K on Memorial Day-and my time was decent (25:25 or 8:10/mile).  But that was two weeks after the race, and I haven't done anything since then.  I have had no drive, no desire, no impetus, no anything.  I have a giant case of "blah is me." 

So I guess I'm asking for some guidance.  I know when my next local race is- Firecracker 5 Mile Run, July 2nd- but beyond that, the rest are scheduled so far into the future that I really don't feel any pressing need to get out there and work it, you know? And I know that I should be out there laying down some base miles before my training plans kick in, and that I should be watching my diet (and maybe even re-evaluating my diet?), and that I should care more. 

But I just don't.

Could it be that my break from running post-marathon has been too long? Maybe I should have gotten right back into the swing of things? I don't know.  I'm thinking that perhaps I need to find some sort of other goal, unrelated to running/fitness, that I should work towards in hopes that the boost to other parts of my psyche will work wonders for my running life.  That is my hope.

But for now, only having access to 24 hours each day, I can't fathom taking an hour or two for myself when there's a research paper to be written, daughters to spend time with, bills to get paid, jobs to go to...I could go on. 

We have had a terrible, cold spring here, and then last week? About three or four days of HEAT, the likes of which hardly ever come around (it was heavenly!).  And now its back to cold, rainy, overcast, yuck.  Those three or four days got me thinking about Vitamin D- you know, the "sunshine vitamin?" I felt soooo much better on those days, and am considering adding more Vitamin D to my gummy multivitamin each day.  Thoughts???

Whatever I come up with- a different goal, different vitamins, different eating habits- I know it needs to be, well, different.  Like I said earlier:  AAARRRRRGGGGHHHH. 

A Short Musing on Animals

Those of you who know me, even just a little bit, know that I am not an animal lover.  At all.  I don't eat them, don't feel warm and fuzzy when they brush up against my leg, don't revel in their majesty.  Animals in their natural setting don't appeal to me, nor do the ones kept in cages (or barns, kennels, or homes). They annoy me, unless they are like this fella above:  ceramic.  This particular Maneki Neko  was in Restaurant Murata in Portland, OR; yummy sushi, cold sake, and good friends were there, too, but I digress.

What I do love are birds.  Really.  They gross me out and fascinate me at the same time.  I ponder the idea of flight, and wonder just how fabulous it would be to fly yourself anywhere.  I embrace the philosophy of having roots and wings in your life, and in instilling that way of thinking in your children.  Take this:  mother birds do not simply give nourishment to their babies; they chew it up and feed it to them.  Human mothers do the same thing, in a way:  the nourishment they provide their young are the life lessons they've experienced first hand- hard work, disappointment, loss, love- chewed up and spit out as often as intuition dictates. It is a fitting metaphor, this of human mother as bird mother, when you analyze it further.

I've written before about the robin's nest under the eaves of our garage.  Last Spring I even posted pics of the eggs in the nest.  This year, The Robins have returned to our garage (although robins return to their summer range in April, it cannot be said with certainty that this is the same robin from last year), and are on their second clutch.  Mr. Fix has seen the mother bringing food to the nest, and has even seen the babies.  One he got to see up close.  Let me explain...

We have a rabbit (not one of the "pets" Mr. Fix and Daughter #2 insist on keeping) who is terrorizing the garden this year.  I'd like to channel my inner Mr. McGregor and send Peter Rabbit on his way to the big vegetable garden in the sky, but Mr. Fix decided to live trap the bugger so he can be "relocated," like he's a middle-manager in computer software sales and not a wild animal.  So, the live trap is set, and the next morning Mr. Fix checked the trap, and lo and behold, he has caught himself...a baby robin.

This is the little bugger after being set free.  You can see (sorta) the downy feathers still clinging to its head.  I was sitting on the veranda reading a book (The Geography of Bliss by Eric Weiner), when I heard a chirp cheer chirp sound.  I looked down, and there this little bird was, looking up at me, head cocked to one side, as if waiting for me to answer the question:  Are you my Mother?  No, I am not your Mother; I am a Snort. *sigh*

It sat there, looking at me like that, for what seemed like a very long time.  Longer than any other type of wild animal has ever paused before me.  Squirrels spaz out.  Stray cats scurry and hide.  Chipmunks and porcupines and small voles and such remain hidden when I run on trails.  Deer pretend to be surprised to see me (hence the "deer caught in the headlights" phrase), there in my car, speeding down the highway as they try to cross the road.  Stupid deer.

But birds have always lingered, calling out with their songs, waiting for a response.  Cautious.  Deliberate.  Bright.  And then they're gone from their perch like that.  Keep your babbling brook and crunch of feet on pine needles; the soft flap of morning wings or the strong thrust of a bird on the hunt are sounds of nature I like.  

Other musings? I've signed on for another marathon , but first need to tackle an exciting half marathon .  I'm also tackling my *gulp* 20th high school reunion.  Obviously, I've got some interesting weeks ahead of me.  I'll keep you posted.