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TM Recapper: How Awesome???

17 Oct

How much fun was the Tough Mudder?!

Think of your funnest day ever, then put it at 8,000 feet above sea-level  and spray water cannons at it and make it a bluebird day and have about 3,000 athletic, ridiculously good-looking be-costumed guys and gals (and if you’re a gal, there’s way more guys, so BONUS FUN!) and add free beer too, and a lot of purchased beer later, and you have yourself a Top Ten Funnest Weekend of All Time.  Oh my holy stars did we have a blast!  (Except for one rolled ankle, the loss of three of everything – clothes, shoes, gloves, socks, and uniform shirts – and almost hitting a deer on the drive up.  But the generous amount of fun and constant laughter kept our attitudes soaring above pain or fear and hatred of thieves and/or over-zealous janitors.)

In the spring I proposed this crazy idea to a group of good friends, all of whom had had particularly rough patches ranging from financial insolvency to break-ups to life threatening illnesses in parents and scariest of all, kids.  The group that came together was smaller than we started with, but all were there in spirit, the four standing Mud Hunnies carrying the challenge for the rest.  This was one of those experiences where my intentions for the event and the outcome I envisioned were in perfect synchronicity.  I marveled at the absence of struggle over the logistical minutiae: food was bought, recipes planned, shirts designed and decorated, housing secured, the bigger car was available.  It all just fell into place!

Mud Hunnies 2010

So off we went to Bear Valley, the Land That Time Forgot, or perhaps, just the inspiration for the ski village in “Hot Tub Time Machine.”  To get to Bear Valley, we had to travel through Copperopolis (“I passed through the seven levels of the Candy Cane forest, through the sea of swirly twirly gum drops, and then I walked through the Lincoln Tunnel…”).  Yes, it is a real place, but seems like it might be inhabited by pod people who sell ice cream cones, lottery tickets, and expound on the copper mining history of their “town.”  We left peel-out marks for fear they’d start eating our brains, or worse, our totally rock-solid quads which we really needed for all the climbing in store.

The event itself was, in a word, hellacool.  (With the exception of Lost & Found, it was also very well organized: I asked a Forest Ranger what he thought and he said that in 30 years with the Forest Service he had never seen such a well-run event.  You go Tough Mudder!)  Once we got signed in and took turns writing our bib numbers on our foreheads in permanent black marker (we are so badass), we headed to the start area with our wave.  They spaced out the waves by 15 minute increments so that there would be less chance of back-ups at the obstacle stations.  After some opening ceremonies with the national anthem (yes, I CRIED), the Tough Mudder Pledge, some bagpipes (yes, I CRIED, those fuckers should be illegal, there is a direct line from the pipes’ wail to my tear ducts), handshakes and hugs, and lots of pump-you-up shouting, we were off!

Hike: Ascent 2 of 3

From then on, we were confronted with hills up and hills down, mostly very steep, and every ½ mile or so, another obstacle.  They ranged from belly crawling under wires to high-knees through tires, to climbing over giant charley-horses with the help of your team and others, to schelping a large piece of wood along a path, to being submerged in FAH-reezing cold water TWICE.  And some other muddy stuff too.  The hikes were the physically hardest of the course for sure.  My teammates all said afterwards, with full bellies and beers in hand, that the course was not nearly as challenging as they had expected.  I on the other hand kept having that perfection of synchronicity between intention, expectation and outcome.  The course was just as hard as I needed it to be and as fun if not funner (!) than I imagined.  And I imagined some seriously good fun!  We decided it was a most excellent social event and that we are coming back for more next year.

We were THE VERY LAST CAR to leave the parking lot that afternoon.  (Until we were the last to leave the bar back at the condo village that night.)

We are SO awesome.

Day 1: Bring Me The Discomfort

8 Oct

Yesterday was one of those shiny perfect San Francisco days:  bright autumn light, Giants in the playoffs and the Blue Angels roaring around the city for Fleet Week.  When I left the office, which lucky for me is right next door to the ballpark, orange and black clad baseball fans were filling the streets and the completely bitchen jets were flying loud and low over all of our upturned eyes.  When I got close to Embarcadero Center I smiled huge to see that they were flying a Giants flag at the very tippy-top!  And I don’t give a hoot about baseball!  I sent off a txt to several SF friends declaring my joy because it was too good not to share.

 

Teamwork.

 

Today is equally beautiful, and the Giants won last night.  Oh, and there were scores of men in uniform all along the Marina Green this morning and I was lucky I didn’t crash my car with all my gawking.  I am very predictable when it comes to congregations of hot military dudes, what with all my wide-eyed smiling and giggling.  They are just there doing their job, setting up for the air shows and flotilla watching, and I am having soldier flirting fantasies like I am a WWII nurse doing rounds on the base.

That pause only lasted so long, and then I realized, holy omg, tomorrow, for real, in real mud, elevation, weather, water hazards, walls, and yes…  fire, I will be the knee-deep in extreme discomfort as  the Mud Hunnies and I take on the course at the NorCal Tough Mudder in Bear Valley.  I am very excited and just like soaking up the good vibes of the gorgeousness of yesterday, I think this whole event will be a triumph because everyone is there to challenge some part of themselves so that they might overcome something else that has been going unfixed in the daily slog of life.  When I proposed this challenge to my friends I specifically pointed out that each one of us had already conquered some pretty harrowing circumstances and were in the midst of overcoming several more.  Each of us used sports and nature to provide a space for us to hear the answers we knew were inside of us, and then build the strength (physically and emotionally) to confront the obstacles, solve the problems, heal the pain, and find our laughter again.  I expect to be laughing a LOT tomorrow.

In a quiet moment this morning, pre-soldier leering, I picked some Angel Cards.  As usual (!), they were perfect for a little meditation on the Mudder and life, but my brain is pretty full to hit the whole “life” today at least.  I am positive I will work it out with my team tomorrow. Wooooo hoooooooooo!!!!

 

The Purpose Angel is climbing a mountain. She is a Mud Hunnie too.

 

Day 4: The Course Map

4 Oct

Something about the fact that I spent my entire weekend eating, drinking, and making sleepless mischief  is now making me fret a bit about the course.  Because, um, I did not get a proper workout in <gulp>.  I know in my gut it will all be fine, but a little pause never hurt anyone about to tackle this in less than 5 days.

Thank goodness I have the Mud Hunnies with me…

Day 14: Daft Punk, deadmau5, Depeche Mode, DOOBIES…

24 Sep

Something that always makes me giggle about Los Angeles, are the endless streams of people not at work in the middle of the day.  (Lawyers, agents and studio execs are exempt from this however, since all they do is work, and go to many lunches.  You only see them on weekends at yoga.)  This is mainly attributed to the legions who are actors, writers, directors, producers, and the unemployed production professionals between shows who may be on the streets, but are completely stressed about where/when/how the next job is going to materialize.  Then there are those who are out an about who are working, but are in the employ of someone with a perception that they have less time than the rest of us, but in reality just have more money and can therefore hire out for minding, errands and dogwalking.  What is really funny though is that all of these people never really seems like they are trying to find a job or even working, rather they all seem to be working out at Runyon Canyon.  I feel that I have credibility on this topic as I have been one of the LA unemployeds tromping up down Runyon with wannabe starlets, pasty-looking writers, and all manner of canines.  And most every time I am in town, I head over for a dose of Runyon-life.

It was about 400 degrees by 9AM, but the parking opens up right then, so I was glad I waited.  Not only do I get a kick out of the street-theatre of Runyon, but there is a really excellent steep face that I needed for some serious uphills.  I hit the trail with a good steady march, and got to the bottom of the climb in only about five minutes.  I realized just how much I was sweating and that it was time to shed a layer, something I often don’t get to do at home, but was going to fit right in being half naked in the land of obsessively perfect <ahem, too skinny> bodies.  Even just in a sports bra and shorts I was more covered than some of the ladies.  But what the hell, it was hot.

At the top of the climb, I took a quick break, went back down the same way, and then back up as fast as I could.  This is when the music choice became critical and the only thing that would work was something synthesizery.  Those types of songs make me feel like a robot machine that will plow down anything it its path as opposed to a flesh and blood asthma sufferer, wheezing her way up the hill.  I got some Daft Punk to shove my ass to the top and catch my breath, then deadmau5 started thumping away for a super-fast take off down the hill.  I love a downhill run. I jammed past all sorts of trudging unemployeds, hipsters dressed inappropriately for the weather and venue, and the young starlets wearing extensions that probably cost more than two months rent.  Depeche Mode helped me weave around cute groups of moms and babies and dogs, all of us exchanging smiles as I went on by.

As I neared the bottom of the hill, feeling quite energized by this workout, the Doobies came on for a cool down.  I thought about just how long LA has been part of my life, but also how just plain weird of a place it always seems.  As “Minute By Minute” played in my ears, I thought about coming here every year as a kid, head exploding every time I saw a limo or a movie star or the Beverly Center.  I have been lucky to see LA over several decades and lived here for 11 years as an adult, and while it is a place built on having the newest new all the time, I don’t miss the feeling that I have to keep up with that anymore.

I will keep coming to Runyon though.

Day 20: Girlie Girl Gets Feet Wet

18 Sep

One way to make a day go by fast is to cram it with appointments back to back, all over hell and yon, and break my One Thing A Day rule. And then write about it, which counts as a Thing.

Today started off with the alarm in Weekday Mode, which is at 5:30AM. I know. Hideous. However, I cannot wake-up and start doing geometric proofs, let alone string words together to form a sentence for about 90 minutes after waking. Hell, I cannot even remember if I gave Duke his meds within 90 seconds of shoving them down his throat. I need the extra time to actually wake up, and more than likely I will still be rushing and be late. Been this way my whole life, so at least I am consistent.

I also needed the extra time to pack a bag with a change of clothes and all my make-up and toiletries because I was leaving the house in work-out gear. At 7AM. In questionable weather. To go work out.

With the Mudder less than three weeks away, one of the local Hunnies and I decided to do a torture, er, training session with one of the coaches from her boot camp. We planned to meet in Golden Gate Park, which has its own micro climates depending on which patch you find yourself, and like they say in New Mexico, if you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes. I checked the weather online and found out that it was not cold or windy, but just described “foggy.” That I can handle.

But then I got to the bridge:

Ew. Slime Fog. So not my favorite.

The park was just as slime fogged as the bridge, but now we had to get out of our cozy cars and exercise in it. Once I am sweating/dirty/wet/scraped/mosquito bitten/aching I have no problem just being a mess. But there is a definitive time delay filled with my whinging, tiptoeing, tentative protests and worry about clothing stains. Today was no exception. Realizing I would have to cross a field of mist drenched four-inch grass and clover, I gulped down that dread anticipating the water seeping into my shoes and drenching my socks and feet. I am also the person that will hold a shot of Nyquil in my hand for hours, miserably sick, just not wanting to choke it down even though relief will soon follow only because I hate the taste.

We got to the workout spot and torture commenced. Most of it came for me in the form of a TWENTY FIVE POUND medicine ball that we were made to shoot like a basketball from a deep-kneed squat, and then do an axe chopper with it, slamming it down from over our heads into the ground, oh and just for fun, squats with a reverse bicep curl. 20 reps and two sets each. Are you f’ing kidding me? Have you seen my upper body? NOODLES for arms. Not that this was about upper body strength, yar yar yar, use your legs! And your core! And your back! F*CK YOU TWENTY FIVE POUND MEDICINE BALL!!! I do think I would have done way better with even five pounds less, but dammit to hell, I did get it done, and now know where my lats are.

After an extremely satisfying two rounds of spar hitting in gloves into the trainer’s pads, we finished up. I must say, my right punch was starting to develop some feisty accuracy and I took his direction on adjustments really well. I looked down and was covered in sweat, sand, dirt, and even some blood and bug bites. Also a big smile.

It was awesome, second only the warm shower in which actual dirt went down the drain.

Days 29, 28, 27, 26: The (Long) One With 9/11

12 Sep

From Thursday to tonight I have only gotten in two runs and one unplanned made-me-miss-the-ferry nearly two-mile walk (at least I had a beer buzz).  Considering the amount of food I consumed this weekend, not to mention the wavering emotions, I am a little frustrated I did not get more mileage in to counteract all the carbs and stress. I’m going to make like Rudy Guiliani and blame 9/11.

My mom was visiting this weekend as it was my nephew’s 2nd birthday.  Nothing makes time go faster than watching a small human grow, mostly because they change so radically in such a short period of time.  I am glad it works out that change becomes glacial once we hit our adult years otherwise we’d all be having nervous breakdowns trying to keep up let alone stay present.  On Thursday, Day 29, my mom came with me on the 3-miler.  She walked and I ran with the dogs ahead and then back to her so she could see me and forward and then back.  It seemed like a really good idea at the time, except that the dogs were totally confused and I was short-fused (I mentioned my mom was in town right?) and so what is normally therapeutic and fun became tangled leashes and jerky starts and stops.  Also fun was the moment that a confused Rocco decided to take a dump right in the MIDDLE of the blindest intersection on the entire route causing a halting back-up of a moving truck which blocked all cars behind him, my mom to blurt out the oblivious question, “What’s going on?!” and me trying not to killed by surly, entitled suburban drivers as I picked up the stinky logs of poo.   I admit it: part of me wanted to throw the bag of turds at the glaring drivers, but I tend to have bad aim.  Once we got to the trail, mom took a few pics of me running ahead.

Looking west.

Sleep was elusive on Thursday night too.  Although I have one helluva comfy couch, I think I only eeked out about four hours.  Friday Day 28 workday was fine, beers came early, but the trains were running late, so I walked superfast all the way to the ferry building but still missed the good (aka high-speed) boat.  I sat down and fell promptly to sleep for a good 40 minutes.  There would be no run when I got home.  Sorry doggies!  I did manage to get a look at the spectacular  fingernail moon and Venus in the western sky just above the horizon of Mt. Tam.  Um, wow.

Saturday Day 27 was also 9/11.  Nine years since the hijackings and attacks.  Nine years.  I was up very early so I almost immediately tapped into the memories of of 2001.  We all have our stories.  Mine is similar to many I am sure, but my life today is so very different from that morning’s life.  As I cooked and cleaned my way around the casita with the memorial gatherings playing on my TV, I burst into tears.  I remembered seeing the 2nd plane hit and explode live on my TV and the chilling, nauseous adrenaline of shock and confusion wrack my entire body.  I knew something was very, very wrong.

I let myself cry, and then would pause from cleaning to listen to moments of Michelle Obama’s speech at the Flight 93 memorial service.  Then I would go back to dusting, trying to let the progress of going from dirty to clean be a small and normal triumph over the sadness of the day.  Completely weird, but it helped.  I switched over to the radio and there was a set of California themed songs playing.  When “California Stars” by Woody Guthrie and Wilco came on, I smiled and cried.  This was the song I played in my classroom the day after 9/11 for my students to try and explain how I felt safe that we were not at Ground Zero, but also the to feel the connectedness of all Americans.

When my family arrived we had a birthday brunch in the stunning weather of the late morning.  It felt good for us to  be together and eat and laugh and sing and blow out candles and watch hummingbirds and dance and pet the dogs and just be.

Here's how.

This beautiful, but understated day then took a frustrating turn for me.  Upon returning home with my mom from a trip to the mall I checked the mail.  I received a letter from the SF Transit Authority which was in response to a violation protest I had filed back in April.  It is far too irritating to re-tell the story here, but basically, the letter said my violation was valid and I was liable for the cost of the citation.  Right there in front of my mom, and I am pretty certain because of her presence, I completely lost my temper, began screaming, yelling and cursing, and then hurling my aluminum water bottle from the Marin Marathon across my kitchen impaling it into the cabinet.  Not my finest moment.  I don’t think I would have done that had I been alone or with someone else, which is sad to me that I think it’s okay to behave like a 12 year old in front of my mom.  HOWEVER, our story is long and sometimes brutal…

I realized I was not going to be able to recover from the abyss I put myself into, mostly because I was looking at spending the rest of the evening with my family.  It didn’t feel safe to me to be with them when I was in this fragile of a mood, so I drove her to my brother’s in near silence and mono-syllables.  She was kind and gave me something I needed and then I left and cried all the way back to my place.  Car-crying is big for me.

It was time to run.  I looked at the dogs and had to tell them they were not coming this time.  Poor Duke had had a seizure in the middle of the night on Friday and was extra-drugged so I would not have taken him anyway, but I knew I needed to go fast and long and alone.

I hit a nice stride at about mile 2 and let my mind get connected with my body.  I thought a lot about the Tough Mudder and the team and how I need to work out more and that I am not even really sore from a work out yet but that I also don’t want to hurt myself and I paid close attention to my creaky knees and my form.  I realized I was running faster and stronger, and had the sensation I like to call the “magic carpet” where it feels like I am floating and the road is moving under me.

And then the 9/11 memories came back.

I thought about how last year, I sent out an email to friends and family, expressing my love and gratitude for them.  Many wrote back with the same sentiments.  I also sent an email to my ex-husband, as it was our life I was living when the planes hit.  I had not communicated with him in probably two years, and none of what was going on then was of the positive variety.  I told him I was thinking of him and that I hoped he was well, which was true, but was not surprised that he could not even return that gesture of goodwill.  My thoughts came closer back to the present, but the emotions still near the surface.  I thought again of  “California Stars” and my adopted home state.  The music knew what to do, and “Como Ves” by Ozomatli came on, its marching beat and whistles shifting me into fifth gear.

And then, of course, Tom Petty with his song, “California.”

California’s been good to me
Hope it don’t fall into the sea
Sometime you got to trust yourself
It ain’t like anywhere else
It ain’t like anywhere else

It’s time to roll,
I’m all done.
It’s time we better hit the road
I got work later on,
It’s time we better hit the road.

California’s been good to me
Hope it don’t fall into the sea
Sometime you got to save yourself
It ain’t like anywhere else
It ain’t like anywhere else…

(Digression: I love this song more than most, but I also get homesick for Santa Fe whenever I think about how many years I’ve been in California.  There is a melancholy beauty to this tune that zings right in on my sense of the transience of my adopted home and many feelings of what is “home” exactly?  I am still searching for it… )

Even with all the visits of memory ghosts, I was both elated and calm as climbed the last long hill to this current version of home.  I still felt a pang of guilt for my temper tantrum, but I had called and apologized to my mom before I left on the run, and then decided to forgive myself.  I have had an extremely tough set of years, and 99% of the time, I do not throw things.  I got practical and looked to the fridge for hydration.

Looking for my Purity water.

Sunday Day 26 came and went, with a detour into some seriously delicious noodles and soup dumplings at a hole-in-the-wall Anthony Bourdain would approve of.  I did the airport run and drove home, easing into Sunday night with a lot of writing, cooking and reflecting.  I didn’t run, but thought all about the previous three days.  I thought about my nephew’s birthday celebration too, and how I danced and sang with him to The Beatles “Hello Goodbye” one of the best songs in the history of the world.  He kept saying, “Dance to The Beatles with Zia!”

Finally, I remembered yesterday’s run and how it healed me.

Day 30: Pep Talk

8 Sep

Oh holy hell, it is Day 30.  Not sure why I am feigning shock at such news.  It’s not as if the physics of time and space were going to undergo some kind of major shift while I was living my life down here on Earth… procrastinating just a wee bit.  (Waaaaaaaaaaay less than I used to however so, WIN for me!)  Nope, time is just following its natural path and I am the one assigning all these feelings about it.  Time does not give one hoot about them, which when I just pause on that, is quite comforting.  The List still needs to get done whether or not it is 3AM on a Tuesday, or your birthday, or it’s moving day, or Happy Hour Friday, or you’re at a meditation retreat.  The List, well, MY List and the emotions I foisted upon it, is like an enormous beast that can range from gentle hibernation to fits of rage depending on what part is being soothed or prodded.  Right now, it’s at a medium simmer and I don’t want it to boil over if I ignore it.  No need to add an unnecessary clean-up to The List.

If I rely on my several decades of life experience now under my belt AND remember not to be too arrogant that I have it all figured out, I know that I need to stay focused and present as I have a shit-ton of shit to get done in the next six weeks, not even including the Tough Mudder.  If your list is anything like mine and also includes the services of expensive experts (bt-dubs, they are worth it every time… ), then there is no time like the right now to get this shit done.

Onward.

Day 32: When A Run Is Perfect

6 Sep

My God it was beautiful tonight.  The long, hot Labor Day weather perfection eased into a mellow, dry-breezed evening.  It was cloudless, giving the sky a kind of HDTV clarity.  Mt. Tam looked taught and precise against the darkening sky.  Oddly too, a helicopter was flying right up against the base of the mountain, but it was so dwarfed it looked like a model aircraft.  I am fascinated by helicopters, even after years in LA where their chopping and whizzing is part of the soundscape.  This one I could not hear.  (Dance-running to Cut Copy during that stretch.)  I could only see the red tail light at one point as it hovered along the southwest side of the ridge and then its whole frame reappeared as it flew up and over to the Pacific.  Just so gorgeous the whole moment.

I continued my run along the trail fueled by this beauty, and invigorated by my lack of aches or exhaustion.  Sometimes I notice when pain is missing and therefore the struggle of pushing through it.  All of the sudden that moment of pure presence clicks into place, that transcendent time of joy, ease, gratitude, reverence, confidence, strength and validation.  Even when this moment lasts only for a few seconds, it is gentle in its release.  There is no hard come-down like a caffeine crash; it is a gentle transition back to reality, and a bonus deposit of goodness has been credited to my heart.  I was again reminded that I love to run.  I am so grateful for running.

After my mini-meditation, my mind found its way back to The List and I realized that I need to move training higher to the top.  (All other List-y items I so look forward to checking off for good.)  Yikes, the Tough Mudder is in five weeks and I have not gotten drenched or muddy or even completely silly yet.  Emails will be going out to the Mud Hunnies this week!

Day 39: Those Who Mind Don’t Matter and Those Who Matter Don’t Mind*

30 Aug

Sundays can be hard for me.  Just even typing that seems like a really (?!!?!) go tell-it-to-your-therapist in Santa Monica luxury problem which of course, I have told her all about… years ago.  This has happened to me before.  I had a busy weekend: two parties and all the regular chores and errands too and a live Emmy telecast to watch and critique with my best friend all while making-our-own pizzas.  I was thinking, okay good, no time for wallowing lots of fun and food and silliness.  But then, somehow, those damn shiftless gremlins got into my skull about midday yesterday and just knocked me off my pillar of calm and clarity and fun.  Could the teensy hangover be to blame?  Or that my dog had a seizure at 5AM but I had not even gotten four full hours of sleep yet?  Perhaps the worry over impending car repairs and the leaking air suspension… hmmm.  All totally manageable on a normal day, but for whatever reason, Sunday jumbled my brain and worse, my confidence.  I also made the mistake of calling my mom and dumping it all on her, causing needless worry and not getting the kind of even, warm, genuine support which I craved.  I know better than this, but the gremlins had turned into full on Mean Girls and those bitches were not going down without taking me with them.

I should have called my friend who has rescued me from them before.  Once she slams the door on their screeching, she calmly and lovingly helps me unravel that heavy knot in my chest I wound up as I listened to their taunts.  (She has four daughters from age 14-22, she KNOWS.)  Her most effective trick for getting me to focus usually involves reminding me that whatever problem I have exploded to nuclear proportions in my head is basically meaningless because more than likely I have confused my worth as it relates to a thing, money, a job, or a clearly abusive person who I should remove from my life anyway!  She often says, “Is it cancer?  No? Okay, then guess what?  This does not define you in any way whatsoever.”  And then I believe her and she reminds me again that it is okay that I married the wrong person before and guess what, now I have a clean slate, and money problems, yeah who cares, it is actually the best time to have them because they are so common, and what else, your car is not fixed yet, well you have AAA right?  The worrying won’t fix it, she says, we love you.  Your friends and family love you and want you to be happy and that is all that matters.  You don’t have cancer.  And I breathe a small sigh of relief.  And I tear up and promise not to forget that it is my happiness that matters.

And tonight, what made me remember all of this was a particularly cathartic run and a couple hundred yards of walking lunges and three sets of sprints and that had me grinning from the inside out.

But then, in the midst of an endorphin high and blues kicked to the curb, another friend tells me her mom has just been diagnosed with leukemia.  This time, cancer is in the mix.  This time, even after I shut the Mean Girls down, cancer shows up.  The very thing my friend always says is the only thing that I am allowed to be concerned about.  I realized what she means in a flash.  Although cancer also does not define us, it can kill us, as opposed to say, a divorce.  (Divorce is more like chemotherapy. It makes you sick for awhile, as you inject all the toxic crap from the marriage into your spirit.  The injections continue until you finally face the inevitable and split, and then, just when you feel like it might kill you because of the stomach churning stress, you stop.  And you heal.  And you become yourself again.  It is exhilarating.)  Cancer is nasty and wily and terrifying.  And it must be defeated.

All of us get the blues whether a Sunday or not and attend the very tedious pity parties we throw in our honor.  None of the problems (money/job/marriage/relationship/kid/house/car/school/etc.) we face that trip us into these funks are unique, and that is why we have friends and family to remind us of our inherent value to them.  They don’t care about the failures we fret about; they have all gone down in their own flames and we didn’t care.  In fact, failure is when we are at our most open to see new solutions.  And that is why the only problem that requires our undivided attention is one that might actually kill us.  Because we want to stick around for all the fun and joy and celebrations of triumph over failures or to comfort each other on a bad day.

So I get it now.  Cancer is not to be trifled with.  It will only crumble when faced with a massive counterattack that is not distracted by Mean Girl voices.  Also, I don’t mind telling cancer to eff the hell off.

*Dr. Seuss

Day 43: Zzzzzzzz

26 Aug

So.  So.  So.  Tired.

Just wanted to document because I did not run, brain is mush, and am thinking that is definitely related.  But should probably sleep more.  And I still haven’t made tomorrow’s lunch or watered the plants or picked up dog poop or written some thank you notes or  finished my book or bought my winning lottery ticket.  Good news, even with such fatigue I know I will not get sucked into this Kate Hudson/Matthew McConaughey disaster… zzzzzzzz.

Bed.  I need to go to there.

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