Everyone Loves An Engagement!

What have I learned this week? Everyone loves an engagement. And of course, for good reason!

Before I get started, everyone cool your jets, this is not my engagement. Last week we got great news that my brother (and soon to be sister-in-law) are engaged! Its funny how such great news creates a certain euphoric state amongst everyone, not just the future Mr. and Mrs. Kind of like the indescribable baby high I felt when my nieces were born.

Growing up, trailing behind my brother by just two years, we shared a lot without even knowing it. He went off to college; I followed two years behind. He went off to grad school; I followed two years behind. He secured his first job; I trailed a year behind. As we both became older, and that baby gap began to close, we even shared friends, experiences, and dare I say, laughs. Without knowing it, he's paved "the way" for me in many ways, and to see him (and his fiance) so happy, so content, and so crazy about one another, makes me so excited to again follow the example he's set.....eventually!

And so with another wedding comes another welcome member of our constantly changing family, no longer defined by Mom, Dad, Andy, Katie, and Kevin. When all is said and done, my family won't just double in size, but as I've learned with the introduction of my nieces, and sister-in-law, its bound to triple, maybe quadruple in size by the time we're all accounted for.

So congratulation again to the happy couple, we feel very lucky to have you both!

Off The Wagon

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It's been....two three four weeks since my last real run...

...Ugh.

With the exception of maybe 3 or 4 running-walking-running miles, I have been out of commission. And yes, it feels exactly how it sounds. Gross. 

How could it be? How did this all happen? Well kids, coming down from my post-half marathon high (I have to stop milking this, its been over a month already) I have seriously fallen off the exercise wagon. Hard.

Technically speaking, I would classify my last real run as my race. That's right, my May 6th race. What started out as a little post-race reward has turned into an out of control, spiral of lazy.

It started out harmless enough. Post-race I was feeling great. Not only had I finished my third half, but I had beat my personal best time when I was expecting to do much worse. School was over. I was temporarily unemployed on vacation. I could finally relax with nothing on my plate. Life was good. I had previously read that following a long race, it is customary to take a day off for each mile completed. 13.1 miles = Roughly two weeks. Typically, I had taken a little less than two weeks, but time moved quickly and before I knew it my two week "get out of jail free" card had expired. I gave myself a serious mental pep talk that the 13th day would be the day; the day to get off my ass start moving. Back to routine, enough of the lounging, eating, drinking, and sunning (well...temporarily, of course). 

But, conveniently, things kept getting in the way of my fitness dreams. The bad weather, the beautiful weather (ironically enough), evening cocktails with friends, reality TV, the usuals. Before I knew it, 6:00pm would roll around with no run completed for the day, and I'd be headed somewhere else, making it impossible (but not really) to get a workout in. 

As you can see, I am not short on excuses for this behavior. But not-so-deep-down I know that's just what they are; excuses. I feel tired, and gross, and so not my usual Victoria Secret self. I know that four, ok FIVE, weeks ago I completed a huge fete. That a few weeks of consistent exercise and I'll be back to 5-6 miles easy. But, the inner toddler in me keeps screaming I JUST DON'T WANNA!!!!

So today, the day I swear to be the last day off my exercise wagon, I am looking for a new challenge. Something to get me going. Spinning? Swimming? A new class? Join a gym? A 5K? A 10K? Something to get me moving and give me something to look forward to in the next few months. 

So as I sit, butt planted firmly on the couch, I welcome your suggestions openly...

...just don't wake me from my Kardashian-induced TV coma.

Welcome Surprises

Well, we did it! Graduation is finally behind me and it still doesn't feel totally real. My parents were in town to support me, and I was actually excited to walk and attend my graduation. Surprisingly, walking to receive my masters, in a way, felt like a bigger accomplishment than my undergraduate degree. I'm sure part of this was due to the fact that I was one of five students receiving my degree that day. 

The countdown to graduation had been never ending (can we say, Am I There Yet?). It was one thing after another, this due, that event, this deadline, blah, blah, blah. In the days leading up to graduation, I found that I was forgetting that while I would be staying in Philadelphia post-graduation, this would be the end of the road for some of my friends. While I was so excited for graduation, I wasn't ready to see them go. I was so focused on graduation that I forgot that this anticipated, oh-so-exciting event was also a marker for some of my friends'  dwindling days in Philadelphia before moving, starting jobs, beginning new chapters, and leaving me. 


This sad-yet-happy feeling really began to weigh heavily on me in the past few weeks and got me thinking about my expectations upon arriving in Philadelphia almost two years ago. I had left a great group of friends, both at college and at home, and expected that graduate school would be filled with acquaintances; school friends, part-time friends, as terrible as it sounds to say, non-substantial friends. I don't know if it was the expectation that more students would be working full time, or that graduate school would be more work than undergraduate, and in turn, less fun than undergraduate, but I was convinced that graduate school would be a "nice to meet ya, see ya later" type of environment. 


Two years later, I have to say this couldn't be further from the truth. Some of you will stay, and some of you will go, but many of you have become lifelong friends and will always be just a phone call away. We've navigated one another's stresses (personal and professional), lamented and worried about the same deadlines, projects, internships, and directions our lives were heading (personally and professionally, again). Our time together has been highlighted by an immeasurable amount of laughs, weekend trips, lazy days, wild nights, and calorie filled frozen yogurt, late night pizza, and taco night binges. These two years together have surpassed my wildest expectations, and I've created a whole new group of friends that I cannot imagine moving forward without. 


Who knows where the shuffle of our lives will take us in the next few months, let alone the next few years. But, my welcomes surprises, I know you'll all still be there. 


Until next time.. 

Marathon Mania

And so, the marathon has come to an end. Figuratively and literally. 

This past weekend I was back in Pittsburgh (where it all began) to complete my second Pittsburgh Half Marathon, my third half to date. Per my usual self, I was nervous, but this time I was more "laid back nervous" (what does it say about you when you have varying degrees of neurosis)? This laid back nervousness consisted of being unsure of whether I was properly prepared, but too tired, lazy, cranky, short for time, to do anything about it. As finals and final projects wrapped up I couldn't decide where to focus my energy; graduating or crossing the finish line. As it turns out, it was a bit of a split effort. My training schedule took the biggest hit though, as failing there wouldn't result in lack of a degree.

So, the big day arrived Sunday and it was ready or not. My unspoken goal was to break 2 hours 10 minutes. At my last half I had shaved 7 minutes off my original time and hit 2:13, so I figured breaking 2:10 was the next logical goal for someone who was half heartedly training. To be honest, I was prepared to be disappointed and meet my November time of 2:13...at best. 

As my sister-in-law, boyfriend, and I woke at 5:00 a.m. I was as ready as I'd be. Obnoxious green shorts (to identify me in a sea of 25,000 runners), check. Bib, check. Sporty hat, check. Entering the city I felt the same rush and sense of excitement as before. It did something for my confidence, but I was still concerned.

As the gun went off, I wished my sister-in-law well as she darted ahead of me, and settled into 2+ hours of conversation...with myself. Around mile 3, the day grew hot and it seemed the water stations were moving further from one another. Turns out I had only prepared about 90 minutes of conversation between me, myself and I, and at mile 9 I hit a big wall. An, "I may actually have to walk this out" wall. But I carried on, scolding myself for getting myself into this yet again. As the miles hit the 10, 11, 12 marks the hills were steeper and more frequent. I knew the last mile was all downhill, and thank god, because it was the only thing getting me to that bright yellow mile marker. I imagine I looked hilarious moving at a pace which could only technically be classified as still "running." But at least I was moving.

As I hit mile 12, I checked my time and was still in line to finish close to my 2:10 goal if I hurried. Thank god I could see the finish line. My legs felt like jello, I don't even think my mouth was producing saliva at this point, but I went as fast as my legs (and Eminem) would carry me. 


To my surprise, I crossed the finish line with a final time of 2:10:17. Easy to be disappointed that I didn't break my goal, but still in shock that despite my worrying, and lack of training, I had still improved by 3 minutes from my November time. 


It was only after I was back at my brother's house, relaxing from my grueling day at 11:00 a.m., that I finally realized what I'd accomplished. For the first time in months I felt totally relaxed. I had not only surpassed my goal, despite my self doubt, but I realized that I had accomplished something not many people do. Not just with my personal goal that morning, but elsewhere. Not everyone runs a half marathon, or elects to continue their education. Not everyone can push through their training, whether it be 12 weeks, or 2 years, or the 6 years it took to get me where I am today. Not everyone can conquer a marathon, let alone what can feel like multiple marathons at once. 


I felt a sense of relief, and accomplishment, that in one week I had continued to test a major personal challenge (becoming a runner), and would walk across the stage to receive a masters degree, a major professional accomplishment. A tale of two marathons if you will; one literal and one figurative. 


Crossing the finish line on Sunday wasn't just about the running, it was about realizing I was a successful finisher. Not just on the course, but elsewhere. Other challenges will surely present themselves, but today I can breathe easy. The marathon is over. 

Dr. (Self) Diagnosis

It all started yesterday. In my scheduled dedicated  training for the impending half marathon (May 6, eek!), I started to notice that my body may not be the temple that I once imagined it was.

It started first, with my hamstring. Friday was a hectic day; I was on campus in the morning, home in the afternoon packing for my girls weekend in DC, and knew I had to get one more run in before leaving for 2 days of what I knew would become an eating and drinking binge (understatement of the year). My dehydrated self (who realized only after her awful run, that she had only ingested coffee and diet coke that day) felt like crap after my 10 6 4 miles and had to hop in the shower immediately to catch the bus and get moving. Meaning, I did not follow my own golden rule; I didn’t stretch! Some people can get away without a post-run stretch (I’m looking at you boyfriend), however, I do it religiously to avoid feeling all knotted up and tight the next day.  And what do you know. The next day, which included copious amounts of walking in my less than supportive $5 Old Navy flip flops, my hamstring was allllll sorts of messed up. Tight. Sore. Inflamed. I kept stretching and pulling and relaxing, to no avail. Immediately, I self diagnosed myself; I’ve torn, pulled, ruptured (insert scary word), my hammy. Bye bye half marathon. 

Upon returning home on Sunday I iced, I elevated, I rested, Ibuprofen-ed, made my boyfriend throw me a pity party. And by Tuesday, I was back to normal. Imagine…

Cut to Tuesday. I’d been entertaining as part of my internship, showing a reporter around the city all day. Art Museum. Walking tour. Here, there, everywhere.  I put on my best walking shoes and was ready to take on the day. About halfway through our trip my TOES were killing me. My shoes had plenty of room, were flat and comfortable; now what? The only way I can explain it, is my third and fourth toe felt like one was on top of the other. Have you ever not cut your toenail once, and the sharp edge dug into your other toe in too tight shoes? Kind of a sharp, sting? No? Anyone, anyone? Bueller? Well that was EXACTLY it. Except my perfectly manicured toes were the picture of perfection. No sharp outliers. Nothing. As the pain persisted through the day, I did something you should never do. I began Web MDing. By the time I arrived home, I walked through the door and told my boyfriend:

“I have bad news…I have Morton’s Neuroma..”

Yes folks, I’d Googled myself into a self diagnosis. Morton’s Neuroma. I then continued to spout off the following, to a rolling set of eyes, my voice inserting an “OMG this is so me” to every symptom I was experiencing:

(Ahem) "Patients with this problem frequently say they feel like they want to take off their shoes and rub their foot. This pain may occur in the middle of a run or at the end of a long run. If your shoes are quite tight or the neuroma is very large, the pain may be present even when walking."

While the pain is quite annoying, especially when one is trying to train for a long race, it got me thinking; was it Neuroma or just (my) neurosis?

There was the time I was convinced my shortness of breath was some sort of heart problem at age 23, my sore leg must be the result of a blood clot, and my previously explained overreaction that my slightly worn hamstring would in fact require amputation.

Only time, open toed shoes, and a few Google suggested remedies, will tell.  In the meantime, I’m open to suggestions about my Neuroma…or neurosis.

Will-ing and Won't-ing

I have been in a major slump. To think, I thought a whole month without a new post was bad (cue April 1), but when I realized I was approaching two months, I had to put an end to it.

These last two months have been wilder and crazier than even I imagined they could be. Remember my last post, where I vowed to become a morning runner, commit to my training schedule, and kick this half marathon’s ass in May? Well, much hasn’t changed.

I am, however, slowly gaining the confidence in myself that I knew was in there somewhere. When you go through the motions for so long, school, work, running, etc., it’s just one foot in front of the other. One step at a time. Left, right, left, right. But some days, you step out of line. You upset the ebb and flow of the routine that’s holding you together, and you panic. Everything becomes questionable. What happens if one foot just won’t move in front of the other? What if there really just aren’t enough hours in the day. To finish the work? To find a job? To cross the finish line? *Insert panic attack*

As illogical as it sounds (illogical, me?) there have been moments in the last 8 weeks where all of my fears, all of my insecurities, were very real. I was won’t-ing more than I was will-ing, experiencing a very real physical reaction to the weight of all my won’ts. Down and out, suffocated by my worrying, my stressing…my won’t-ing.

In the last week, however, I experienced something very uncommon for me; a moment of Zen. A confidence boost. An “everything will be ok” moment.  And I can’t put my finger on what exactly triggered it.

Maybe it was my weekend with my family. The carefree stress of seeing my beautiful nieces, my brothers and sister, and knowing I could have a beer at 4:30 p.m. and eat as many meatballs as I wanted, if even just for two days.   

Maybe it was relaxing with my best friends, who know me better than anyone, and who constantly prove to me that this hard work pays off.

Maybe it was finally listening to my boyfriend, who kept reminding me I was weeks from never having to do this again.

And as simple as it sounds, I began will-ing. I just realized that I will, because I never wouldn’t. I would never not finish.  

I will finish my work because I will graduate.

I will become employed because I will find a job.

I will finish the race because I will follow through.

And just like that, all the anxiety and stress has flat-lined. Turns out I just had to be willing to stop won’t-ing.

Running Out of Time

I’ll admit it, I’ve been MIA. Big time! You probably read this title and think, “we get, it, we get it, you’re busy—more like, are we there yet?!”  (Is this really how you treat me when I’ve been gone so long? I expected more of all of you…). Deadlines, time crunches, and papers aside, I have a bigger problem than school/work/real life (pick one). I am running out of time. No, really! Or maybe I should say, I’m running out of running time.

Remember my running relationship? It’s the classic story of girl-meets-Nikes, conquers more than she can ever thought possible, and the two live happily ever after. I’ve completed two half marathons; running makes me feel strong, and healthy, and on top of the world (and slightly more confident come bikini season). All that “I am woman hear me roar” bull shit. That’s me! So naturally, fresh off my latest accomplishment in November, it seemed natural to sign myself up for the Pittsburgh Half Marathon. Back to where it all began, but this time, with my boyfriend, sister-in-law, and brother. Ahh, to be young, naïve and full of hope.

If my presence here is any indicator of how upside down my life has been this semester, you can imagine that my last two months have been fueled by buckets of coffee, a roller coaster of emotions, and many a 'breathe in a paper bag so I don’t pass out' moments.  I have a new appreciation for those who work full time, attend school, and manage to weigh less than 350 lbs. My “training” (I don’t even think you can call it that) has been dwindled down to a mere 3-4 days a week, 2 of which typically fall on Saturday and Sunday, so we all know how that goes.  I’ve tried many a morning to drag my butt out of bed just an hour early so I’m not left with the 5:45pm guilt of knowing that my muffin top is getting larger, and my goal time is dwindling towards just “completion.” But, guys, nothing will get me out of bed.  Coffee ready and brewing? Nope. Alarm clock on the other side of the bed? Get up, snooze. Have to get up to go to the bathroom anyways? Pee and its back to bed. I’m a lost cause and may never be that morning goddess who radiates sunshine at 6:00am during my 8 mile morning jog.

But, the reality is, I don’t have a choice. I’m running out of time. As my calendar displayed that scary number this morning ,“1”, I knew that I had been shoved stepped into a new month; I’m officially 9 weeks out. Getting back here is a first step of sorts; making time for the things that matter, the things that make you feel good, which writing here does. 

So here it goes, my 9 week resolution to GET MOVING!! Because, so help me God, if I’m passed by a pregnant woman or a woman with a baby stroller again, things are gonna get real.