Semantics -- I mean...

Now does this guy look moody?

In a recent entry I made some comments about my father's side of the family -- that they were "quiet, introspective, shy and sometimes moody."

She looks a little moody.

I just want to clarify that I don't think of these traits as negative. And anyone who does is really lacking in imagination. Let's get into it.

Quiet: Quiet people make non-quiet people nervous. No one knows what to do with a quiet person in the group. "You're awfully quiet," someone might say. Never, "You're wonderfully quiet." And why not? What's wrong with being quiet? Should we all make noise? Aren't there enough of each of us to balance each other out? Take my older brother, for example. He did not get the quiet gene. He literally talks so fast that his mouth can't keep up with his mind. It has gotten to the point where he doesn't even try to keep up anymore. His mouth keeps up for as long as it can, then just mumbles a bit until it catches up again. He might say to me: "The thing about getting into shape is, it takes longer for your body to get out of shape when you're sick and not working out than yerthnkwilndthnwhnygtbktrnnngagin pause you'll feel better than before you were sick." See -- we balance each other out.

Ethan mid-sentence.

Shy: I read an article once about how shy people were really just self-involved. The theory being that for someone to be shy, they must be thinking about themselves all the time, worrying what people will think of them. If they'd just stop to think about something other than themselves, they wouldn't be so shy.

Right. Only shy people spend half their time wondering what other people think of them. My guess is that outgoing people spend just as much time thinking about themselves and what other people think of them. It might just manifest itself differently. Maybe instead of being shy and nervous, they are gregarious and overbearing, trying to prove themselves to those around them. Again, we balance each other out. If there were only one kind or the other, we'd get really bored.

She definitely looks shy, quiet and moody.

That is assuming that there are only the two kinds. Shy or Outgoing. Quiet or Loud. No shades of gray between the extremes. I don't believe that at all. I suppose we all tend to be closer to one extreme than the other as a rule. But we all have our days. And certain situations bring out the opposite extreme in us, wouldn't you say? When you're really in your element, doing something you love with people you are completely comfortable with, I bet that's when you find yourself in one of those wonderful gray areas.

Introspective: I'll quote my dad on this one and hope he doesn't mind. "...if you take away the other adjectives, introspective sounds downright thoughtful. Pensive, even. Hey, close to, dare I say it? Wise." How true. Introspection -- self evaluation. Examination of one's thoughts, feelings and sensations. Socrates once said, "An unexamined life is not worth living." (Of course, he also drank poison hemlock, so...)

My dad taking pictures of his dad's pictures.

Which transitions nicely to our next topic.

Moody: I think most people mean grumpy or grouchy when they describe someone as moody. But the moods aren't all bad. The moods are sometimes quite good. Which can sometimes be the problem -- extreme highs lead to extreme lows. But those are the extremes. In the meantime, what you're dealing with is someone who is expressive, someone who shows on the outside what she's feeling on the inside. Sometimes she'd rather not show it, and sometimes she tries hard not to show it, to no avail. My friends all tell me that I have no poker face. (And to think I was once an actress.) My moods show. And I'll admit, sometimes I wear them proudly. I'm not sure how to explain it, but I have always felt that all moods, bad or god, have to be felt to the fullest extent possible. Not put on, not faked, not exaggerated. But felt. I guess it has to do with what is real and what is true. You feel what you feel and there's not much to be done about it. You feel. Truly, deeply. Maybe even madly.

So there it is. I am all of those things. I am quiet and shy, I am introspective and moody.

But that's only one side of the coin.

Tune in next time when I dissect my mom's side of the family...

My poor, unsuspecting mother.

8 Mile

Note: This post has nothing to do with Eminem.

This Saturday I ran 8 miles. 8. I ran 8 miles. I have to repeat it because I still can't quite believe it. Shocking. And even more shocking, the final four miles were easier than the first four.

You know how in life there are moments where you hit the wall? Well, in my experience, in running, there are moments where you are over the wall. You're running along, and you feel as though you are coming up on the wall -- you're pretty sure the wall is just around the next bend -- but then suddenly your body shifts into a new gear and the wall is behind you. You've jumped the wall. Or morphed through the wall. Either way, the wall is gone and it's all downhill from there.

That's how it felt after mile 2 on Saturday. Those first two miles though, they're always killers. It's gotten to where I don't like running fewer than 4 miles, because otherwise you're coming up on the wall almost the whole time, and just when you've cleared it, it's time to quit.


Something tells me though, as I look forward to a nine or ten mile run this weekend, that there are more walls ahead and they won't all be so easy to get around.

No easy way around this one.

Lighten Up

So the sun finally came out and made me feel better this weekend. I ran for the first time in weeks on Sunday and felt pretty good during and afterwards. OK, that's a lie. The during part sucked, but the after part was OK. It was good to know that the first time back was out of the way and it would just get easier from here.

Unfortunately, I haven't seen the sun since. I worked all weekend and have worked late every night this week. It's Wednesday night and I haven't run since Sunday. I'm supposed to be at the team run right now, but instead I'm sitting at work waiting for some copies to be made so I can approve them and then finally get out of here. But the running is a lost cause at this point.

And I am very unhappy about it.

I swore to myself I wouldn't let this happen. I'd just tell them no when I had personal committments. I wouldn't let work stand in the way of things that were important to me. But when there is a deadline and no one around to help or take over for you, what can you do?

Other than look for a new job, that is.

Not that I'm blogging about my job, because I'm not that stupid. I would never blog about work. And I'd certainly never do it at work. I'd do it at home if I did it at all. But that would imply that I had time to do anything outside of work, which I don't. So clearly, I can't be blogging about work. It's just not possible.

So, to be honest, I'm fighting back golfball sized tears right now. Tears of frustration and disgust and exhaustion and hunger. I just want to get out of here. I know it's not Guantanamo Bay or anything, but it's bad enough to moan and complain about.

On a lighter note, I was watching an episode of Law & Order last night as I made fried eggs at 10:30 p.m. and this character, who happened to be a gay janitor, was being charged with murder. And he said, "Typical. Blame the gay janitor." And I thought, yes, it's true, I do always blame the gay janitor. Don't we all?

Anyway, that made me laugh really hard. I wondered if the actor was like, "Dude, are you sure that this line is right? I've never personally blamed a gay janitor for anything." Clearly I'm a bit loopy, but still, it made me laugh and that's worth something.

I just got the copies back and they look fine (not great, but what can you do), so I'm going to see if someone will un-shackle me.

Notes from the Dark Side

Today was one of those days when the blinders are ripped off and you see your life for what it is.

Not much.

Or at least not what you'd hoped.

Let me preface this by saying that I know better than to blog about work, and that I would never be so stupid.

Anyone who knows me at all knows that I'm a capable, educated person with skills and interests worth exploring (if I may say so myself). Anyone who knows me well, knows that I am bright and clever, creative and funny, eager to be challenged and can do just about anything I put my mind to. Yet somehow, I find myself surrounded by people who think I'm useful only to take notes on what they're saying. Every day I face an unsupportive, non-nurturing atmosphere. Worse, an insulting, sometimes degrading environment where my talents are overlooked and my skills are underutilized. Where I'm interrupted, talked over and talked down to. And the real shame is that I have something to contribute. And they've asked me there, so I assume they want me there, but it turns out I'm just a note-taker recording their brilliant thoughts and ideas while my voice goes unheard.

I tell you, it will kill your soul a little bit every day. And most days, you find ways to look past it, laugh at it, remember that it could be worse and figure that it can only get better.

And then you are blindsided by a day like today. A day that forces you to look around at your life and ask yourself if you're even really living -- to look to the future and realize you have more of the same ahead -- to look back and remember times when you cared about how you spent your days, where it meant something to you -- it was what drove you and moved you forward.



But the moment at hand offers none of that. And suddenly you want your mom and your dog, but both are far away, and nothing is here to console you but tivo, chocolate and stacks of journals filled with entries just like this one.

My maternal grandfather fought in WWII, drove over a land mine and broke both legs and all but a few bones in his body. He was in the hospital for a year before he could even come home. It was doubtful he would walk again. But he did walk again, and much more than that. Until a week ago when, at the age of 91, he had hip replacement surgery. And so pleased was he that they were helping him feel better, all he could say to his doctors was what a wonderful experience it was.



I clearly lack such a sunny disposition and positive attitude. I inherited a lot of traits from that side of the family, but that wasn't one of them. I'm more like my father's side of the family: quiet, introspective, shy and sometimes moody. Throw in my mom's energy, excitability and need to please, and that's me -- for better or for worse.

And today it's for worse. You couldn't get me to look on the bright side right now if you held a gun to my head. And maybe that's a good thing. The truth may hurt, but it's pretty important to recognize it and deal with it, at least every once in a while. Apparently, that's what today was for. I'm probably supposed to take some kind of action or something to make things better for myself now. Sounds exhausting.

Besides, I have a week of Daily Show episodes to catch up on tonight. I don't have time for taking action.

Do U Lie?

The verdict is in -- I'm sick. Not that I didn't know that. But now the doctor has made it official. He says I have two infections -- one viral, one bacterial. How he knows that just by looking up my nostrils, I really don't know. Anyway, I'm sick, but I'm back at work. Very busy. Very miserable.

So how did I end up in this state? All these hours on the couch has given me a lot of time to think. And I think I've figured it out. I'm a big fat liar.

Last Friday, when I started to feel better, I told myself I was well enough to show up for the team run on Saturday morning. Saturday I told myself I was well enough to run four miles. And Sunday, when I started feeling sick again, I told myself I was fine, ignore it, keep going.

I was lying. And I'm pretty good at it. By now, I suppose I ought to be.

I spent much of my early life looking for ways to get out of going to school, to girl scout meetings, or to any organized social event. A lot of the time I didn't have to lie, because I would become so anxious in anticipation of the event that I would make myself sick. But some of the time, when the anxiety didn't manifest itself physically, I would -- sorry Mom -- I would lie.

But back then, I wasn't a good liar -- I felt too guilty and was too afraid that I'd be found out. So first I had to convince myself that my lie was the truth. And then, once I had myself convinced, I could try to convince others. Whether the others believed me or not, I can't say for sure, but I believed it. I spent years perfecting the art of lying to myself.

And it didn't stop when I was out on my own in the real world. I remember once asking my roommate to call my office where I worked as a receptionist and tell them that I couldn't come in because my doctor had ordered me to 24 hours of vocal rest. Apparently I'd called in with the flu so many times that I felt I had to come up with something -- more believable?!

Now I find myself in a job where I can come and go as I please as long as the job gets done, so there's no need for lying. What a relief.

Except now the problem is -- I can't trust myself. In fact, so aware am I of lying to myself that I am constantly suspicious.

During the week when I was sick, I questioned it constantly. How do I feel really? Am I just going easy on myself because, like when I was little, I just couldn't face going in? Was I just being lazy? Constant tests to see if I was really sick. How did I look? Are my glands swollen, or have I just put on a few pounds? Am I achey, or am I just stiff from not moving all week? The only sure test I had was the thermometer, and it consistently told me that I was, indeed, sick.

So I'd been telling the truth all week. I really was sick. How was I to know that I would start lying to myself just to get out of the house?

Maybe I'd been lying to myself during all the runs. Maybe I wasn't feeling great. Maybe I wasn't getting stronger and faster. Maybe I was just pushing myself too hard.

That's the problem with my relationship with me... Me just can't be trusted.

The Blame Game

The problem with feeling better after being sick for a week is that you grasp at it and try to hold on and push it forward into complete recovery. I ran four miles yesterday after having not moved from the couch for six days. And today, I'm back on the couch. I don't blame the run. I blame my roommate. I blame her for being in Japan when she should be here bringing me soup and telling me to go to the doctor. If she were here, she would have made me go to the doctor days ago. But instead, she's in Japan eating Sukiyaki and drinking saki and singing karaoke, while poor Joanna fights off the plague!

If she hadn't just bought me an iPod Shuffle for my birthday, I might not be able to forgive her.

4 Miles is 4 Miles

OK, so on Friday my fever finally broke and I started feeling better. And it was time to face the decision of whether to show up for the team long-run Saturday morning. For no better reason than that I couldn't stand staring at these four walls for another day, I decided to go. I thought maybe just showing up would make me feel better. If I put in a slow mile or two, all the better.

I talked to the coach before running, and her advice was to take it slow, and if I felt like it was too much to stop and go home to bed. The rest of the team was running 6-8 miles. I decided I'd only run four.

I took it really easy and walked a few of the hills. I had to keep repeating in my mind, "no pride today... no pride" so that I wasn't bothered by all the people passing me. As bad as I felt, I still found myself starting to pick up the pace. It was a real challenge to keep my pace as slow as I felt it should be. I did allow myself to pick up the pace when I came upon walkers. I knew they might actually be going faster than me, so I tried to put enough distance between us that it would be a while before I'd have to deal with them. Really. I was going that slowly.

I felt pretty good afterwards -- better than when I started, to my surprise. The coach checked in with me as soon as she saw me to see how I did. I told her it had been more of a mental struggle than a physical one.

After the run, we all reassembled at the YMCA for a Connection to the Cause breakfast, where several of our honored teammates spoke about their struggles with cancer. The point was to bring us all back to the reason we were showing up at the crack of dawn on Saturday mornings in the first place. The timing was perfect for me, because lately I've had tunnel vision focusing on my running and have been completely ignoring my fundraising obligations, even though I'm only halfway to my goal.

In addition the the honored teammates, they had an oncology nurse talk to us about how our efforts directly affected the cancer patients she worked with -- not just their health, but their well-being. She told us of the wonderful show of thanks she got from her patients as she trained with TNT for the Chicago Marathon last year, and how much it meant to them to know that there were people like us out there working for their cause.

Later, as I talked to my mom on the phone about the team run and the meeting, it occurred to me that what I had done that morning was no small feat. I had run four miles while not feeling well. And it was only a few weeks ago that four miles seemed like quite an accomplishment to me.

And then I thought about one of our honored teammates, diagnosed with cancer at 22, and his struggle to get back into running after getting a clean bill of health from his doctor. He had always loved to run, but couldn't run at all while he was in treatment. His mother had trained with TNT during that time and walked the Bermuda Marathon around the same time that he finished his treatment. Her progress in training, he told us, paralleled his progress in healing. He had promised her that he would train for a marathon too when he was strong enough. And together, last year, they finished the San Diego Marathon.

For a moment, my four mile run with a bad cold paled in comparison. But only for a moment. Because, for me, running four miles at all is an accomplishment, let alone with a bad cold. We all have our limits and our challenges, and we deal with them as they come the best that we can. And right now my challenge is the flu, or a cold, or bronchitis, or whatever this relentless bug is. And just showing up for TNT training today made me feel better.

And that's what I love about this program. It's good for everyone involved.

Sorry -- didn't mean to get all sappy on you there. I blame the Nyquil.