I'm still here!

Life, as often happens around the holidays, has run away from me.

Actually, I ran away ... to Disney World, with my dad and two of my sisters. It was delightful, the perfect vacation. However, I returned to a rather frenetic pace of social shindigs and holiday gatherings, then threw myself back into work and working out, and I'll be leaving town again this weekend.

I am not complaining; in fact, I'm quite happy. But, it does mean that the blogs take a backseat.

Never fear; I shall return, for a snippet or two here or there. Meanwhile, have a good chuckle at this photo of me and Dad on the plan home from Orlando. I swear, he has this same look on his face in every photo from the trip. Good thing I know he loves me!

Never too old

I sent off a quick e-mail to a friend today, and it included this line: "You are never too old to go on vacation with your dad."

The line was in reference to the fact that, on Sunday, I leave for Disney World with my father and my sister Pat. Next week, Jenn will join us. Because, let's face it, there's nothing better than being in the Happiest Place on Earth with The Man.

But as I wrote the words, the truth of it sorta settled over me. "You are never too old ... "

I'm living proof of not mistaking age for maturity, or the number of years I've been on the planet as a reason to stop, or slow down, or to wind down in the least. No, actually, as I rack up points on my Frequent Birthday card, I seem to actually ratchet up the intensity of life. Because you are never to old. To discover friends who become family. Take up a new habit, or get rid of an old one. Try a new hairdo. Get an education. Trust in your dreams. Play in the sand. Eat cereal for dinner. Giggle. Try your best and fall, then get back up and keep trying.

It's what kids do all the time. And there's no reason, other than giving up, to ever stop.

Blogger is stupid, but I am thankful

I had this beautiful Thanksgiving post written, and Blogger crashed. Usually it auto-saves. This time? No. Poop on you, Blogger.

It will have to be enough for you to know that I am grateful for lots of things, and I have lots of wonderful Thanksgiving memories. Like eating at our neighbors' house (mostly dessert) when I was a kid and the Great Peacock Rebellion of 1991. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, and I am so ready for it to be here.

The days are becoming darker, grayer and colder here in Chicagoland, and I'll be putting my best efforts toward not being a big jerk about it. Please be patient; this "not losing my shit every winter" thing is new to me.

There's lots of travel on my horizon in December, so perhaps I'll get my sunshine elsewhere. I will update when I can, and when I have something worthwhile to say.

In the meantime, I wish you a very happy Thanksgiving. May you be surrounded with love.

And pie.

Southwest weekend

Unless you've only recently crawled out of bed after a week-long nap, you know that I spent last weekend in one of my favorite places in the world: Tucson. Autumn is the perfect time to visit the Southwest. You never know what you're gonna get, weather-wise, but it's generally guaranteed to be a little warmer than home (and this year, it was only just a little!) and always sure to provide amazing cuisine. The place I stay also provides a whole lot of love.

Sometimes the canine kind. This is me with my desert dog, Pork Chop. I love him. (As if you couldn't tell.)
I arrived late on Friday night. My flight landed at about 10 p.m., and my best friend Mike picked me up at the airport. There is just something about being met at baggage claim by someone who loves you that just makes my heart glow. If it hadn't been late, there would have been three people meeting me - Rae and Kaylee, too - but a hug from Mike was enough to make me tear up.

The desert, for the record, smells amazing. Being there, though it's far away, always makes me feel at home.

Saturday morning dawned bright and early, even though I slept through my alarm. Thankfully, Racheal woke me up and pointed me toward Sahuarita and their pecan festival ... which included the 3.7 mile Nut Run I was registered for. Awesome run. Wanna read more? Click here.

That's me and Rae, pre-race. We are adorable. The race itself wound through the Green Valley Pecan Orchard. Yes, this photo is blurry; I was running, for heaven's sake! It was an absolutely beautiful run.

Look! A clear photo! Mountains in the distance; just beautiful.This is my sweet niece, Kaylee, on a pony ride. I find her heartbreakingly adorable.

Kaylee, feeding bunnies.
Mike, feeding a donkey.

Moo. Cute, and delicious.Rae, Kaylee and Mike on our hayride. This was a REAL hayride. Pulled by big horsies, through the pecan orchards.

Dude in a real Stetson driving the horsies.

Did I mention that Kaylee got her face painted?

One of the few photos I have of Mike where he's not making a face. He looks sweet and thoughtful here; this is how I actually know him.

Big horsies.

Kaylee wants to be a farmer when she grows up. She also wants to marry two boys. Mike and Rae are in for a world of hurt when The Girl grows up.After the pecan festival, we went out for Mexican food. Carrrrne asada. YUM.

I think my dog looks like Walter Matthau.

We had an awesome visit, but as usual, time passed too quickly. We spent the day Sunday lazing around the house, as Mike had caught a bit of Death Plague and was not feeling well. We used that as an excuse to stay in our jammies until afternoon (when the Trianos took me, Kaylee and Rae out to lunchfast. It's so nice meeting old friends for the first time!) and just hunker down together. I like being the person who comes to visit and just becomes part of the household. I don't need to be entertained; I just need to be family. That's nice.

Monday morning came too fast, and I headed out for a final desert run. I took Pork Chop with me, and loved the feeling of running in this beautiful place, with my buddy at my side.

The view along my run.

More mountains, in the distance. Perfect blue sky.

To say that I miss that place, those people ... that's an extreme understatement. But it's nice, too, to spend time effortlessly, knowing that soon we'll all be together again.

Martha, Laverne and Shirley

Okay, my friends ... first of all, last night I got to meet this woman: Martha freaking Stewart

It was like having a visit from the Mother Ship. Yes, I am a bit starstruck/awestruck/giddy. Martha talked about her new book (at 432 pages, it also makes a nice weapon) Martha's Entertaining and gave the audience some wonderful advice, both for in the kitchen, and in life. So I guess I'll be determining what will be my "signature" dish (I don't think grilled cheese sandwiches fit the bill) is, and perfecting it.

The highlight of the evening, though, was spending time with my sister, Jenn. She is freaky awesome. I love her. Letting the two of us loose in Chicago's Standard Club was truly like an episode of Laverne and Shirley. You should have seen us in the bathroom; you'd've sworn it was the first time we've seen indoor plumbing. (And that was before Jenn accidentally washed her hands with mouthwash.)

Jenn and I, in the opulent loo at the Standard Club.

We had a blast. Between dining on "heavy hors d'oeuvres" (which I'm sure resulted in a heavy hindquarter) and sucking down as many pomegranate cosmos as possible, we enjoyed every moment of the evening. (Could someone please tell me what kind of cheese that was?)

We noshed on olives and cheeses and breads and dried fruit, pumpkin soup, mini tuna burgers, crab cakes, these little salmon bites with herbed cream cheese ... and that was before dessert. Lemon tartlets, tiramisu "shots", brownie bites ... sweet mother of God.

We ate. We laughed. And then, we got in line to meet Martha. Completely gracious (and with great shoes), Martha greeted us with appreciation, even after a full evening of talking and signing books. We said our hellos and our thank-yous in a matter of seconds, and were on our way, back to the real world. Back to bagels and coffee from a paper cup, instead of cocktails and finger sandwiches.

But as I rode the train back to The Heights, I couldn't help but think, yeah, Martha probably thought we were the coolest people she met all night.

Either that, or she wondered how Penny Marshall and Cindy Williams got in without her knowing.

Oh, brother

If you're lucky, you are born into a family that loves you for who you are, nurtures your interests, and expects great things from you, all the time.

If you're really lucky, you meet someone along the way who isn't related to you, but becomes family simply by virtue of doing all that stuff, even though he's not technically family.

I am really lucky.

This weekend, I am headed to Tucson to see my brother Mike. It's confusing, to say the least, that I have not one but two brothers named Mike. The first is my twin, my womb-mate, my brother from my actual mother. The second - Mike Rice - I discovered when I was 28 years old, in Charleston, Illinois, while this late-blooming lunatic was in college at Eastern Illinois University. My friendship with Rice was instant. Our connection, unbreakable. Just like family. As we "grew up" together, I somehow became added to his actual family. Their unconditional love extended to me, as if I'd grown up in that old Victorian house in Jacksonville with the wraparound porch and chicken & dumplings in the kitchen.

I was family. I am family.

Mike and I have been there for each other through life's ups and downs. Weddings, funerals, babies (Mike and Rae's, not mine!) and break-ups (mine, not Mike and Rae's) ... Mike has been there, as has Racheal, his wife (but she was my friend first).

We are the very definition of family.

So it's easy to understand why I simply cannot wait to get on a plane tomorrow night and make my way Southwestward. I go because I love them, and they love me. I go, because when I am with Mike, Rae and their daughter Kaylee, I feel like I am at my very best.

You know that scene at the end of the movie "Love, Actually", in Heathrow airport, when everyone is meeting up? At first, it's all the principals from the film, and it's all romantic and crap. But then, it becomes about all different kinds of love - hugs between parents and children, old friends, families.

I disembark from the plane in Tucson and live my own version of that movie.

In less than 48 hours, I will see my brother, my dear friend and sister-in-law, and my niece. I will soak up the love. So time, if you could pass quickly, that'd be great. Thanks.

An open letter to my physical self

I just wanted to say thank you.

The human body has an infinite capacity to forgive you for not treating it particularly well. For years, I took care of my health in a way that could barely be called taking care of my health. And then, yesterday, I had this turning-point sort of day.

Completing a 15K (that's 9.3 miles to those who don't play in the Metric pool) is not something that's generally done by someone who is unhealthy, or someone who doesn't take care of herself. Running that distance - regardless of pace - is not something that's done by someone who mistreats her body. No, this is the sort of thing that's done by athletes. By runners.

I am one of those people.

So, to my feet, thank you. Thank you for carrying me through the beautiful city of Chicago on a perfect fall morning, for continuing to propel me forward even when you started to hurt. For keeping me upright after the race, so I could walk through the party area and get to the main event - the chocolate! And for the record, to my black toenails, I'm sorry I did this to you again. But really, toenails are for sissies.

To my right Achilles, thank you. Thank you for healing, for standing strong through injury and recovery. It's been a tough road, and I still need to treat you gently and with respect. I am so grateful that you allow me to run. There were moments, earlier this year, when I was convinced it was over. But you rose to the challenge, and you allowed me to work my own little miracle. To go from fat girl to 15K runner in just a few years is pretty amazing. I could not have done it without your cooperation.

To my knees, thank you. I know you didn't like the stairs this morning; I know you still feel every step we took together over the 9.3 miles. I promise to keep doing what you need to stay healthy. Together, we will take off the remaining excess weight. I think we'll both be happier then.

To my legs, thank you. I didn't know how strong you were! After a nice bout of stretching this morning, you groaned only a little and seemed to ask, "what's next?" You have adapted pretty brilliantly to this new activity. You still jiggle, and you probably always will, but I think that's just your way. Under the jiggle, though, there's some badass muscle. You, legs, are pretty amazing. How 'bout a kickbox class to celebrate?

To my core, thank you. Poor abs, you aren't sure what's up, are you? I really had to convince you to work at around mile seven, when my lower back started talking to me. You had to step up and hold it together. You did a great job. We have some work to do, you and I, but you came through like a champ.

To my arms, thank you. Running is pretty easy on you guys, but you kept great rhythm, and you were awesome at waving to people along the way. And without you to hold my iPod, it would have been a long race indeed!

To my heart, thank you. Thank you for giving me the strength and endurance to make it through a long run. But most of all, thank you for opening up and allowing me to embrace and love my running community. Because of you, I have run alongside some of the most beautiful, talented athletes. I have been supported, encouraged and inspired by many more, because somewhere along the way, you decided my life should not be a solitary one. I'm not kidding at all when I say I owe my every physical accomplishment to you.

To my shoulders, thank you. Thank you for bearing my worries and holding up my big head, and for reminding me to stand up straight. Running posture is hard!

Finally, to my mind, thank you. For quieting all the bullshit, for letting me get outside of you and into the moment, for trusting in my ability and my training. Thank you for realizing I needed to change and then ... slowly ... allowing it to happen. Thank you, too, for that amazing runners' high thing. I enjoyed endorphin-induced euphoria pretty much all day yesterday. That alone is enough to get me back out there.

Needy and weak

I've been a little whiney lately. Life sometimes hits rough patches; I get that. But a recent conversation with a friend made me realize something sorta earth-shattering for my wee little mind.

I've been needy lately. I've been weak lately. And every time - and I mean every time - I had a weak moment over the past few weeks, someone has been there to share their strength. Every time I had a need - and again, every time - someone has been there to fill it. It's as if the universe has conspired to show me that it's okay. The world will not stop turning simply because I cannot handle everything on my own. In fact, by allowing myself to be weak, I give someone else the opportunity to be strong for me.

Needy and weak, then, is not necessarily a bad thing. Being where we are on any given day, in any given moment, is precisely where we're meant to be. And if that happens to be a day or a moment in which we're not feeling our best, maybe it's someone else's opportunity to rise to the occasion and lift us up. It's not easy to allow it to happen, but I'm learning that my greatest strength is the collective strength of me + those who love me. In that, I cannot fail.

Breathe

One of my yoga instructors has a tattoo on her arm that reads, in her own handwriting, "Just remember to breathe." Good advice, indeed.

Without breath, we really have a whole lot of nothing. And sometimes, the universe conspires to teach us to slow the hell down and breathe. Take, for example, last Saturday. I began the day with a run - the 5K Monster Dash along Chicago's lakefront. To run, ya gotta breathe. For me, running takes a great deal of effort, so it's a constant forward motion to a rhythm in my head that pretty much goes, "pick it up, put it down" to my feet and "in ... out" to my breath. My footsteps and my breath join in a cadence that keeps me going, and the run becomes an exercise (pun intended) in connectedness.

So imagine my shock when, a mere 10 hours later, I found myself in Charleston, IL, having yet another emotional freak-out and forgetting to breathe.

I'd made the journey back down to pick up the Jeep after it had been repaired, and I was so excited to get back behind the wheel of my baby. It started up like a champ, and then I tried to drive it. Sluggish and noisy, especially on corners; there was no way it was drivable. Commence meltdown.

My poor friend Annie, who had driven me down to Charleston. My poor dad, on the other end of the phone. My poor brain, a pool of moosh as my worst fears seemed to become real. Moments passed. I drove around the parking lot, Annie waiting patiently, Dad listening across the miles, in hopes that all would be well. I finally decided I would just go stay with friends for the night and figure it out in the morning, letting Annie go and crying on the phone to Dad. As I journeyed through the one-way streets of Charleston, my dad suggested I try the emergency brake.

In a flood of relief, I found the lever, pushed it to the off position, and all was perfect.

If only I’d remembered to breathe.

The whole event is an important reminder of two things. First, if I’d just slowed the heck down – mentally, emotionally – perhaps I would not have panicked. Perhaps I would have noticed the brake and kept peace in my heart. Perhaps neither is true; perhaps I still would have jumped to conclusions, but I could have done so a tiny bit more rationally, I suppose. I’m quite highly strung, in case you hadn’t noticed. Perhaps I can work at being less so.

Secondly, I was reminded – for the second time in as many weekends – of my intense good fortune when it comes to people who love me. No one would have left me stranded. No one would allow me to endure whatever was wrong with the car in an isolated state, regardless of how it felt in the moment. And even if the worst were true, I was in a place I love, with access to people who would care for me through whatever came next. There was really no need or point to the meltdown.

And so, all’s well that ends well. I spent Sunday with my girlfriends, surrounded once again with the absolute truth that is my life: I may feel alone, but I am not. I just need to breathe, and remember that.

Someone saved my life

I feel like this is one thing I have to do, I have to write, I have to allow to be real ... in order to let it go.

If you were to use the search function on this blog to find the name "Brian," you'd see that this guy is predominantly featured during some of my darkest times. He saved me from myself when I was going through the divorce, showing up when I needed something, someone to cling to. He was my rock. He was beautifully intuitive, knowing what to do or bring or be when I was at my lowest.

He provided me friendship when I was at my least lovable. He saw me through a horrible time. But now, he's just gone.

The last time I saw him was a few days after I had my gallbladder removed in July of 2009. He came over and made me waffles, once again sensing what I wanted most and then providing it. After that, he stopped taking my calls.

It breaks my heart, because he doesn't know this version of me. He has never met Maggie the Runner, or Maggie the Jeep owner. He doesn't know that I've become someone I (generally) really like. He doesn't know that I am, for the most part, healed.

Ours was never a romantic relationship. Well, except for that one time, right before I left EIU. Or that one summer day on the lawn at Rae's apartment. Or on Mother's Day 1997. Other than that, we were best friends. I thought he would always be in my life.

But he's not. So now, even though ever time Elton John's "Someone Saved My Life Tonight" comes on the radio, it's Brian I think of, I have to let him go. I have to accept that he left my life for a reason, even though he never said anything ... he just disappeared. I have to find a way to believe that it isn't something I did, or something I lack, that drove him away, because the wondering has made me crazy for two and a half years.

I have to be okay with being let go, and let my friend, go, too.

But I will always have memories of picnics in the park, great music, 1 a.m. trips to Denny's and that one day when he wouldn't let me go home to watch my husband pack up his belongings and leave me. I wish things were different, but I am eternally grateful that, when he could be my friend, he was very very good at it.

Coming Home

There is something special about Homecoming Weekend at Eastern Illinois University. It's a time for families of a sort to come together. Groups of friends who became family while in school gathered around the dinner table. Groups of Journalism students and their teachers with one common goal - tell the truth, and don't be afraid - gathered over bowls of chili. All of us, everyone who calls EIU "home" in one way or another, gathered near the stadium to swap stories, quench our thirst, and celebrate our oneness.

I haven't been back for Homecoming since 1999-ish. It was a different time, and I was a different person, in many ways. But even then I'd begun to build amazing relationships with people who, frankly, are so much more awesome than I. (Even after all this time, they've not figured it out.) So this trip was a little bittersweet. Going back without Mike and Rae, without Shamie, without Vana or any of our old newsroom crew pretty much ensures that something will be missing. But honestly, it was all okay, because of the people who were able to be there. Old friends, new friends, knitting together to create a beautiful blanket that warmed me all weekend long.

So when the going got tough, and my car refused to make the trip home, I shouldn't have been surprised by the outpouring of offers to assist. This morning, I actually thought to myself, "If one more person is nice to me, I am going to lose it!" But it didn't stop. From the moment the car decided not to go, people made it better. I was shown that, in no uncertain terms, life is good, even if this particular moment in time lacks something. Whether it was a perfectly starry night, having someone work through all the details in a way that made sense, sharing cinnamon toast and coffee shared, hysterical laughter when talking with my father and trying to figure out how the heck to get the rest of my week to function, or a myriad of other things that brought me from a major meltdown last night to the relative relaxation of this moment, I have learned one thing this weekend:

I am loved.

It's difficult to wrap my head around sometimes, and I don't mean this to come from the po' me corner of the world. Truth is, I can be a thoughtless bitch sometimes. I have done things, said things that hurt the people I love. It was never my intention, but I know beyond a shadow of doubt that some of the people who reached down to lift me up today have not always been cared for by me in the same way.

This is what forgiveness feels like.

And then there's the woman I met on Friday. Becky is a mutual friend of the Poulter family, with whom I stayed over the weekend. I can't explain how this happens, but sometimes I meet people and within a few hours, we sync up. (It happens a lot in Charleston, to tell you the truth.) And that happened here. Which is a damn good thing, because I'm pretty sure she saved my sanity at least twice in the last 24 hours.

This is what being in the right place at the right time feels like.

I'm not sure whether it happened when I dialed up my photography professor at 11 p.m., or when I sat on the sofa feeling foolish and pathetic while the tears flowed, or when I lay snuggled in bed under an antique quilt listening to my stressed-out heartbeat in my ears, but eventually, I let myself accept that I was not in control. I could try to cling to some semblance of it, and wind up truly miserable. Or I could just let go. I realized I needed to at about 5 a.m.

I'm still clinging to some of the leftover bits. These things take time.

I have, however, finally come to the realization that this is not a tragedy. This is inconvenient. But it is also an opportunity to take a step back and appreciate that the love thing? Yeah; that's real. Friends new and old, and every member of my family, offered me love, comfort, support, cookies, rides, assistance and at least one pumpkin pie blizzard.

So I came home the long way. From my favorite house in Charleston, Northward we headed ... by way of a tow truck near a corn field, a mechanic's shop, a gas station in Dwight, the house I grew up in and, eventually ... blissfully ... to the little place I call home. It's quiet here, which is a bit disconcerting, but it offers a chance for me to shut off my busy brain and realize, for real and for true, that this day is what coming home really is all about.

Nostalgia

It's homecoming week at EIU, and for the first time in at least 10 years, I'm going. The last time I was in Charleston for Homecoming, I wasn't yet married, but Chris accompanied me. Things are different now. And yet, in so many ways, I am more like the person I was when I was a student.

How refreshing is it to realize that who we essentially are cannot be altered? It may go on hiatus for awhile, but we always return to our core values. The last five years have taught me that the things I value are friendship, health, knowledge and fun. Not so different from Maggie circa 1997 ... except maybe the health thing. Maggie back then went to class, studied hard, worked hard, played hard. She made memories so vivid, it seems like only yesterday we were crawling through a grate in the floor of the gym hallway, or driving home from the St. Louis arch in the wee hours of the morning.

Maggie today works hard, plays hard, and yes, she's still making memories. Sometimes, with the same people she made them with back in '97.

I will spend a good portion of this weekend with Patty and Brian Poulter, two of the greatest professors at EIU. I will see my ish-bro Chunk and his fiance Erin. I will eat chili with the Journalism department, I will watch the homecoming parade, and I will smile, laugh and remember. And make more memories while I'm at it.

10 on Tuesday

Haven't done one of these in awhile! Let's see if I still "got it" ...

1. I love live music. Lucky for me, this weekend brings not one, but two opportunities to enjoy some. On Friday night, my sister Jenn is taking me to see Mary Chapin Carpenter at the Paramount in Aurora. I love her music. (Mary’s, not Jenn’s, although she’s pretty talented, too.) Jenn and I have seen Mary before, and she’s awesome … but it’s been years, and we no longer have the matching cow vests to wear to the show. My friend Karen had an extra ticket to see Matt Nathanson at the Riv on Saturday, and she offered it to me. Hello? Yes please! I love him, and I’ve never seen him live. So we’re planning to spend the evening in the city, with dinner at a wine bar and dessert at a bakery and lots of time to visit. Yep. Perfect.


2. But what am I really looking forward to? Sunday. I have nothing on the schedule on Sunday. I will not schedule anything on Sunday. I will not even walk outside my apartment on Sunday, unless it’s to walk to the Dumpster to throw out garbage. Other than that, Sunday will be spent barefoot and curled up in my little home. I haven’t had a day like that in a really long time. Based on my psyche lately, I need it.


3. I ran six miles on Saturday. That’s my longest run to date. I ran it with my friend Di, in a Naperville forest preserve. It was perfectly lovely; I was a little blissed out, to tell you the truth – doing something I’ve never done before with a dear friend at my side? Yes, please. Working toward the 15K Hot Chocolate race on November 5. Nine miles? Yikes. I can to this. But I may limp afterward.


4. Speaking of, I am in desperate need of a massage … which means that, while I’m far too busy for my own good, I need to get up to Lake Geneva to see my friend Jeremiah, the massage therapist. We barter – he massages, I buy him breakfast. It’s a good trade, but I need to find the time.


5. Last Sunday I did something I haven’t done since about 1998 – sang with my family in church. It was meaningful for lots of reasons, not the least of which being that it has been such a long time since I shared in music with both Jesus and my family at the same time. My dad is still one of the greatest worship leaders ever; the man has the greatest soul, and it translates into meaningful worship for everyone, I think. What a great day.


6. I desperately need to clean my closets. I’m surprised I can actually pull together a matching outfit these days. I wish I were kidding.


7. There are lots of fun opportunities coming up. Like what, you ask? Well, next weekend I will be travelling to Charleston to visit my friends Patty and Brian, and go to my college homecoming. I haven’t been to homecoming in years, and let’s face it – I love and miss my college town. Very excited to get back there, see my friends, eat some strawberry bread and enjoy the atmosphere. And chili.


8. Tucson calls! It’s been too long since I’ve wedged my ass into an airplane seat and travelled to Tucson to see my Southwest peeps. I’m fortunate to have people in lots of places that I can visit. Tucson offers the perfect quick weekend, because Mike & Rae live right by the airport, so it’s an easy trip for just a few days. I will get my training runs in, relax, and eat delicious food. And probably stay up way too late talking, because that’s what we do.


9. Okay, so not only did I run six miles on Saturday, but I ran five last night. Five of the most difficult, horrific miles ever. On a god-forsaken dreadmill at the gym, prior to Salsa/Funk class (which left me really feeling like dancing. NOT.) I felt like I was clawing at each fraction of a mile, trying to get to five. At about 1.5, I moved treadmills. At 3.3, I had to poop. Seriously. But I did it; I made it to five miles. Begrudgingly. Painfully. I made it.


10. I deal with change pretty well. I do not deal well with it when tons of things change, all at the same time. Please take note, and knock that shit off.

Autumn

Fall is in full swing here in the Midwest. The trees are beginning to turn, showing their gorgeous color, and the sun has been shining for the better part of a week. The air is crisp - it's the perfect weather for sleeping - and it's hard to believe there was ever a time that I hated this season.

My mother was not a fan of autumn. Sure, she appreciated the colors, but she told me on more than one occasion that fall, to her, signaled an ending. The earth was going to sleep and the beauty and life of spring and summer were, in a way, dying off for a time.

I think I adopted that feeling, which only got worse when I married a fella who hated winter so much it ruined his autumn, too. I spent years dreading this time of year, but as of last year I declared "no more". There is too much to enjoy.

Case in point, this photograph, which I took on the Fall Color 5K at Morton Arboretum on Sunday, October 2. The orange and gold are just starting to peek out; it's beautiful.

Life is far too short to waste it hating the environment you're in. And frankly, hating it is a choice. You can just as easily embrace it! And when you start doing that, you begin to find all sorts of things that make the season quite lovely ... even mundane tasks take on a bit of beauty.

Take, for example, my drive to work. It could be painful. It happens way too early - 7 a.m. on most days - and I'm rarely ready for it. But I always have a hot cup of coffee. I usually have a warm breakfast sandwich. And I always drive past the forest preserve. Today it was particularly beautiful. The elk were out in the pasture (yes, an elk pasture just happens to be on my route) and the leaves were crimson and eggplant and mustard and brick red and seriously, how can you not love that? Against a cloudless cerulean sky, it was immeasurably beautiful.

And I thought to myself, "Self, this may well be a perfect day." For you, too, I hope. Enjoy it.

Sniffle

I have a cold.

It's true; I've succumbed to sickness. My throat is sore and my chest is congesty and ... dammit, I have a cold.

I am the world's worst patient. So much so that I'm getting on my own nerves. I am needy and whiney (two of the lesser-known dwarves) and I sniffle a lot. I'm gross.

And all that is to say just this: Sometimes, you get sick. Granted, it's been awhile for me, but there are times when you have to admit that the bug has caught you and lay low for awhile. Do that early on, and chances are (please cross your fingers) it will not hold on for too long. Refuse to take care of yourself and you give the virus something to hold on to. Not gonna do that.

So, much as I want to be at the gym tonight, chances are I'll head home and into jammies. Much as I want to lift weights and dance, there is probably an 80 percent chance that I'll recline on the sofa instead. I hate that, but I also know the quickest route back to my routine is to give my body time to fight off the sickeness. Which is not fun, but it has to be done. (Hey, I made a rhyme.)

There you have it: my silent plea to the universe to let me get better so I can be at my best. I'll slow down for a few days. But after that, all bets are off.

Fall

The weather has been awesome lately. Leaves are just beginning to turn, the down comforter is back on the bed (perfect for sleeping with the windows open) and it's time to face facts: Autumn is here.

That's not a bad thing. Although in my past life, I hated the passing of summer, over the last few years I have grown to enjoy it. Sure, it means that snow isn't far behind, but I'm okay with it. And in the meantime, I'm going to enjoy the beauty that is here, now.

This year in particular, however, fall seems to be bringing on a myriad of other changes. I'm learning to cope with my favorite instructor leaving the Schaumburg location of my gym, but that's a rough one. She will be back about once a month to teach Salsa/Funk, but my regular check-ins with Donna Thomas are drawing to a close. It feels like a break-up to me, the way it affects my soul. I know it sounds super cheesy, but that's where I'm at. I'm so happy for her, because she is happy; the change will be good for her, for her family and for her life. But for me? It's tough to grasp.

Why? Well, I'll tell ya.

Donna Thomas is a rare broad. She's tough, generous and amazing. I've only trained with her once, but I will never forget it. She was so kind as to give me a session to help me work on hip/leg strength and balance, to help me rehab the injury. It was the toughest hour of my life! She is groovy. The woman can dance! She's private but passionate, feminine but strong. And she believes in me, and my ability to reach my goals.

Losing someone like that - someone who has had an integral part in my physical transformation so far - is going to be rough.

Yet, it's an opportunity. This is a time to grow, to let the ebb and flow of life carry me to something new. To learn, to achieve ... and to carry what Donna has taught me out into the world. To be generous, kind, passionate and strong.

There are some at the gym who are not taking the change well. They are vocally making this all about them. This makes me angry. While I am personally sad, I have to honor my friend by sharing in her excitement. This is not a tragedy; this is just a change. It's not the first, and it won't be the last.

So we transition. From summer to fall. From Donna to John (and anyone else who cares to teach and coach us along). We ebb. We flow.

We dance.

45 and 10

It's September. My birthday month has officially begun. (Yes, I claim the entire month.) But as of yesterday, I was not much in the birthday mood.

I was a little off, for no real reason except things didn't seem like they were coming together. Plans got altered or cancelled altogether, and I was just not feelin' the love. But then, my friend Patty posted a note to my Facebook, just to tell me she thinks I'm awesome. My sister Jenn called, inviting me to the water park. And shortly after that, Mike Rice called, just to check in. See, it's like people just know. At that moment when the tears just seem like more than I can handle, people reach out. They remind me that not only will it all be okay ... it already is, if I'm ready to let it be.

I should be whole all the time by now, I know this. But sometimes, it's hard. Not gonna lie to ya; it's still difficult to remember that, 10 years ago right now, I was in Disney World, preparing for my wedding. A wedding that resulted in a marriage that was over before our fifth anniversary. I offer this up as yet another cautionary tale: Do not ever get married on your birthday, okay?

Sometimes it still hurts. Lately it's more a question of "What the hell was he thinking?" thank "Why wasn't I worthy?" See, I know that I was. I am even moreso now. It's possible that I was simply too awesome to be married to That Guy, and he knew it. So he left me for someone more befitting himself.

And all that is to say, today is a better day. Today I got up and went to the gym, I ran two miles and I lifted some weights, I took a long shower and then I treated myself to a little breakfast. Then, I drove to a little running store and picked up race packets for Monday's 5K. Yes, I will mark my 10-year wedding anniversary by doing something I never thought I could do. I will celebrate my 45th birthday by acknowledging that who I am today is so far removed from who I was 10 years ago, I'm not sure I would recognize her if I passed her on the street.

So yes, today is a better day. Tomorrow will be, too. And Monday? Yeah. Monday's gonna rock.

Calling in sick to life

Sometimes, it just has to happen. You burn the candle at both ends long enough, and your body just says, hold on there, chief ... not one more step until you get yourself a little rest.

That's what happened this weekend. And I am so glad it did!

Saturday morning dawned real friggin' early. Friday night, sleep was elusive. Come to think of it, the night before every race is a tough one for sleeping. Not sure why; I know I have 5Ks in the bag now. (By that I do not mean to imply that they are easy; they are not. They are hard. They piss me off. But I know I can finish them.) But still, toss/turn/repeat was pretty much my mantra of the night.

But up and out the door I was on Saturday morning, ready to hit Hoffman Estates and run the Root Awakening. And run it I did, at my best pace yet; I finished 13.1 miles in 44:30ish. To most runners, that's nothing; that's walking. To me, it's everything. It's the first race I have ever finished in less than 45 minutes. I'm damn proud.

Saturday afternoon I was supposed to go to Wisconsin, but that didn't pan out. Misunderstandings and such meant I got an afternoon to relax, which felt like such a good idea. Then, Sunday morning rolled around, and I tried to roll with it ... but my sciatic nerve had other plans. Tingly pain, down my right leg ... so uncomfortable.

So I cancelled my plans and spent the day stretching, applying heat and relaxing. I simply stopped, for an entire day. And as of this morning, I feel 99 percent better. Is it possible that I really just needed a break? Is it possible to be healed in a day? Well, if how I felt at 5:30 a.m. this morning, when the alarm went off and I got up and went for a run is any indication, yes, it is.

For the last few weeks I've been wishing I could take a day off, call the office and just not show up. It never occurred to me that I could take back my weekend and just veg. As much as I missed seeing Amber, and going out on David's boat, I was exactly where I was meant to be.

Sometimes, being still is pure bliss.

I have not been ignoring you

It has been a busy summer! And yet here we are at four months 'til Christmas. (Yes, I know, I'm weird.) Lots going on, lots of fun to be had, and we're gonna keep it going for awhile.

Last weekend was comfortably balanced. I spent a little time alone, a little time with my dad and bro, a little time with friends, and an entire day at the pool with my sister. Near perfect, for sure. While I would give just about anything to have an entire day to myself with nothing to do but putter around Casa Maggie, I'm not complaining. It has been wonderful and, dare I say, fulfilling to have a summer like this one.

I've been consistent with running over the last few weeks, too, which is leaving me feeling somewhat ready to start preparing for the half marathon in February, and also a little nervous about the 15K in November. My mantra? "I just want to finish."

I have a training plan. I will get there. Interestingly enough, the exciting new development is that I have an airline ticket. First, my sister Kathie booked our rooms. Then, I registered for the race. Yesterday, my sister Jenn booked our flights. Ladies and gentlemen, I'M GOIN' TO DISNEY WORLD and I'm gonna run 13.1 miles while I'm there.

I can't wait, and yet I'm glad I have to wait. Lots of training to do in the coming months, and I'm concentrating on proper running form so I don't get injured. Eyes on the prize, folks.

And naturally there are lots of fun things coming up in the next few weeks, too. This weekend I'm heading up to Lake Geneva after running a 5K. There is boat time on the schedule; woo-hoo! Next weekend is, of course, BirthdayFest, which includes another 5K and probably a meal with the family, plus time with Linda's visiting family as well. Hopefully some much needed rest will happen then, too.

At any rate, life has been a bit of a whirlwind of late. I'm looking forward to what lies ahead ... but I really want a nap.

Collision

Welcome to August 7, the end of what I have come to think of as the week in which the world I am confident and the world in which I am not collide. (A concept which, I must admit, I have stolen from the character Dana Whitaker from Sports Night. She's not using it anymore, so I borrow.)

July 31 was Muddy Buddy, my original athletic foray - the world in which I am not confident. August 6 brought the Summer Showcase with Liberty Town Productions, an annual revue which I've been fortunate to perform in now for two years running - the world in which I am confident.

Now that the second year of all that is in the books, I find myself strangely at peace. Each time I cross the finish line, each time I take a bow, those worlds collide a little bit. Being able to perform has made me a better runner, because I know how to fake it to make it. Being able to run a race has made me a better performer, because I have proven to myself that I am far more capable than I ever thought.

And the two pursuits together have left me so much more well-rounded. My world is bigger, because it isn't just about fitness or theater; like parents speak of their children, I love them both equally. What they've done for me as a person is immeasurable. But I must admit, my favorite part of either is finishing strong.

Opportunity and the way things sorta fall together

So, I have this bucket of time off to use by the end of the year. I'm taking the first week of December to go to Disney World with Dad. Then, friends called to ask if I can go to Six Flags next week Tuesday. Sure; I'll take a day off.

THEN, the opportunity to spend next Thursday on Lake Geneva with friends from out of town presented itself to me. Well, okay, I can do that; I'll take the day off. Yes, I'll be working every other day next week. Kind of a nifty schedule; a whole week where I don't work two days in a row? Sign me up.

THEN tonight after yoga, I was saying good night to the instructor, and she asked if she could give me her card. Sure, I said; I like her. She's awesome. THEN she tells me she's going to be teaching yoga in the mountains of Colorado in September ... would I like to go along?

Sweet Jesus, yes. But I'm also poor, so I'll need to decline. Granted, this is the sort of vacation I dream of. I've never been to Colorado, and I could go there and just be active, have this amazing opportunity to go outside myself and drink in a part of the country I've never seen. But no. Not this time.

THEN, she says, interestingly enough, I can do vacation for trade. Meaning, if I'm willing to do dishes and laundry, I can go. For free. All expenses paid.

So, we're talking. I need to fully understand what will be expected of me, and I need to be sure both sides will benefit from the arrangement. But from where I sit, I may be visiting Colorado this September, and I couldn't possibly be more excited about it.

Sometimes, things just fall into place. It's been a summer like that. I'm getting good at letting it flow.

So far this summer ...

Okay, so today is the first day of August. We're officially in the "dog days" ... meaning, it's going to get hotter (not sure how, seeing as we've already hit the heat index of 110 for a few days running) and the season isn't ready to release its grip on us yet.

But some will soon begin to bemoan (see that alliteration there?) the ending of summer, what with kids returning to school and all. I say, no way; summer isn't over until September 21, and between now and then, there's lots of time to do what we love, whether it's porch sittin', al fresco dining, playing on the swings or rolling down a hill. No need to panic; you can still check a lot off your summer "to-do" list.

I'm a little proud to say that I've already checked a lot of things off of mine - some of which weren't even on the original list, but they would've been if I'd thought of it! Two months into the season, I have ...

• Completed not one but two races that involved obstacles and mud.


• Spent a day on a boat.


• Spent several days at the pool. Any pool. Lovely.


• Eaten sweet corn. And ribs.


• Gone for a bike ride. Several bike rides. I love having a bike.


• Spent an evening with my friends Dale and Candy, around a bonfire. (Same night I ate the corn and ribs. YUM.)


• Reclined on the grass at the Grand Geneva resort and watched fireworks. Heaven!


• Seen Harry Potter 7.2. Twice.


• Been to Wrigley field for a Cubs game. (They won. Holler. And the hot dog was delicious.)


• Enjoyed my favorite band, Roger Clyne & the Peacemakers, live.

There is more to be done. There is time to do it. So let's enjoy the rest of summer!

Of Tuscany and beyond

Life in Chicagoland has been steamy of late. So today, instead of doing chores around the house - a place that doesn't much get below 80 degrees indoors these days - I reclined on the sofa and watched "Under the Tuscan Sun".

Let me preface my remarks by saying, I love this film. It's beautifully shot, and Diane Lane is simply a treasure.

During the early days of My Divorce, I watched two films that gave me hope while simultaneously making me feel like a total sap. The first was "Calendar Girls". Watching these beautiful, aging women discover their beauty made me believe it could happen, and want it for myself. Perhaps, subconsciously, that movie is what drove me to the gym four years ago. The second, as you've likely guessed by now, was "Under the Tuscan Sun".

I love that movie, and I loved it then, too. It was beautiful for me, in those early days, to watch someone go through divorce and come out on the other side. But one line - just one line - made it completely unrealistic to me.

Frances, the lead character, says, "Unthinkably good things can happen even late in the game. It's such a surprise."

I watched, thinking to myself that this character I loved, this pillar of strength, actually ended the film a simpering idiot. But then, time passed. Bitterness faded. (Though I still wish He Who Must Not Be Named and Judy the Ho would get a mad case of crabs.) And somehow, miraculously, unthinkably good things began to happen.

My life found its way back to me.

Today, I've padded around my little (warm!) one-bedroom walkup in bare feet, loving the cool feeling of the wood beneath them. I've run (on a treadmill), loving the feeling of one-foot-in-front-of-the-other, doing something I did not, even one year ago, know I could do. I've done bicep curls until my muscles cried, and I've done push-ups from my toes. Tonight, I will spend my evening surrounded by girlfriends ... none of whom I even knew the first time I saw "Tuscan".

So what if things didn't turn out the way I'd planned? The truth is ... I simply didn't plan big enough. Unthinkably good things, indeed.

What a weekend!

Yes, I realize that a week ago I officially started my weekend last weekend. (How many times can you use "weekend" in one sentence? Turns out, about three.) Anyhoo ... I had a blissful day and a half off of work, and quite honestly packed the 3.5 days with activity and FUN! It would be difficult if not impossible to tell this story, so I'm going to let the pictures do most of the talking.

First stop: rehearsal for Summer Showcase 2011. There is nothing like working with talented performers who also happen to be friends. Case in point, Polly Ludena. We're singing "Evil Woman" from Xanadu ... it's a freakin' blast.
Next stop: midnight viewing of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part II, in iMax 3D, natch. Complete with popcorn and milk duds. Saw the show with my friend Alexis, Linda and Lorna. Loved it. LOVED it.



Oh, Wrigley Field, I love you so. Justin and Diane treated Linda and I to a Cubs game. And really, you haven't lived until you've eaten a hot dog with thousand island dressing and kraut. To. Die. For. (The Cubs won, btw, and our seats were perfect.)



Remember how I said I loved HPatDH, pt 2? So much so that I saw it again the next night. While seated in a recliner. With a bunch of friends, and blanket that matched my outfit. And beer, calamari, quesadillas and chocolate cake. Hell to the yeah.


The next morning, believe it or not, Linda and I were at the gym for our workout. But Saturday night found us at House of Blues, Chicago to see my favorite Band, Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers. Here's Rog, being awesome.


P.H. Naffah on drums.Nick Scropos on bass, and the divine Jim Dalton (who kissed my hand at the end of the show; no lie) on lead guitar.


More Roger. Because I dig this shot.
What was the setlist, you ask? Well, I'll tell ya. Counterclockwise, Down Together, All Over the Radio, Wanted, I Don't Need Another Thrill, Heaven on a Paper Plate, Mexico, Tell Yer Momma, Maybe We Should Fall in Love, Marie, Banditos, Leaky Little Boat, Switchblade, Suckerpunch, Dinero, Hello New Day, Beautiful Disaster, Mekong, I Do and Nada. Encore was Green & Dumb, followed by a mix of Girly, an awesome cover of the Violent Femmes’ Kiss Off, the theme from King of the Hill, and finishing the last verse of Girly. Awesome.

Here's me and Linda on our way out the door, happy and full of good music.



Sunday morning came too fast, but we had an opportunity to go to the Vernon Hills branch of our gym ... the fancy club, that usually doesn't let in Our Kind of people. So we went, got our dance on for an hour and a half, and then reclined, poolside. Our friend Rebekah brought beverages, I brought sunscreen, and we had a great time. Here's Linda, Donna and me, tired but sublimely happy in the sunshine.



To say that this was a great weekend is a grave understatement. I was so thrilled to have a little time away from work to recharge and remind myself that life is a series of experiences, and when you dive into them ... you can have an amazing result.

Lessons from the Water Park

Twice now this summer, I have joined my sisters for a day at the pool. "Pool", roughly translated, means "holy crap this place is huge and can we go down the slide?" This is what they call a pool. The place is amazing ... and filled with opportunities to learn. Such as:

• My ass fits in an innertube. It's been years, and yet there you have it. Happy little Maggie, floating down a lazy river, or flying down a water slide, tushie encased in what had formerly eluded me. Yeah, that felt good.



• I freaking love water slides! It was a blast climbing up, up, up with Jenn and Bernie, only to go flying down an array of different slides. One dumps you out into a big funnel; another, into what feels like a toilet bowl. Screams and cheers and WOW that was fun! Could've done that all day, but I don't like to wait in line.



• There is a weird "trend" out there for women's swimwear. Seems if your suit is too small, you can just wear your bra under it to provide appropriate coverage. It looks hideous, but for some reason, it happens. There was a woman busting out of a black swimsuit, with a turquoise bra on underneath. Clearly, her suit would not have been street legal without the bra, but here's the thing: bathing suits are available in a variety of sizes. You are not required to squeeze 10 pounds of shit into a five-pound bag. Please stop.



• I have an amazing sense of fashion. I came to the water park in a bathing suit (which covered all the important parts), shorts and a linen shirt. All of which were my size or a little too big. However, it seemed more popular to pour oneself into a denim skirt, use innertubes as a cover-up, or wear a t-shirt into the pool than to use your brain and dress appropriately. Good Lord!



• If you're overweight, accept it. Don't try to hide it under a t-shirt in the pool, because once it gets wet, you just look like the fat guy (or girl) in a wet t-shirt who's trying in vain to cover up the fact that he (or she) is fat. Here's the gig: it's not like all of a sudden someone is going to see you in a swimsuit and realize you're fat. It's obvious, even fully clothed. Adding a t-shirt IN THE POOL just looks like you're fat and dumb. At my heaviest, I still just got in the pool. This is who you are at this moment in time. Just enjoy the pool, and no one will notice or care.



• Dippin' Dots are delicious. And they don't immediately melt in 90-degree heat. Best cooling treat ever.



• My sisters are nuts. I knew this before we got to the pool, but it became more evident as the day wore on. And I wouldn't have it any other way.



• There is no better way to spend a hot day than wooshing down waterslides, floating in a lazy river, jumping in a wave pool and lounging in the sun. Better yet to end the day with hamburgers, fries and family.

Perfect weekend, indeed.

Goodbye to June

This month has been an incredible challenge. Actually, to be more precise, 2011 has been a challenge, which seemed to culminate in an overflowing June. So as I sit here on the final day of this month, I'm more than happy to put it in my rearview mirror.

On the work front, our annual Conference was this week. All the behind-the-scenes work, of course, had to be done ahead of that, and much of it was done by my department. To say that we are all exhausted would be an understatement. This year was particularly challenging, with a lot changing and much of that at the last minute. It's no wonder I've become an insomniac.

Personally, I've had some physical challenges, as well. My Achilles continues to fight me, and although there are days when it feels okay, there are lots of days when it's painful. It's swollen every day. I should find out next week what the MRI says is wrong, and then we'll know how to proceed. Sometimes it's difficult not to feel betrayed by my body. Here I am, trying to give it the care it deserves, and it strikes back with a vengeance. I'm trying to be patient ... but that's a lot harder than it looks!

So I look to July with great hope. Hope that Independence Day weekend brings some relaxation (and fun in Wisconsin, likely accompanied by cheese.) Hope that I'll be able to take part in the races that are on my schedule. Hope that once I know what's wrong with the Achilles, I'll be able to heal it and move on. And hope that, from here on out, 2011 and I will start getting along.

Thank you, June, for showing me how strong and capable I am. (Seriously ... I did the Warrior Dash in June!) Now, don't let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya. I'm ready for July.

Five years

It was five years ago-ish ... the fateful day when my then-husband and his latest woman (now his latest wife) packed up his stuff and he moved on.

Well, good riddance to bad rubbish, my dear. And the rubbish, as it turned out, was both him and his crap. Sweet Jesus, that boy had horrible taste in just about everything, save for his first two wives.

It was a horribly difficult day, made tolerable by a dear friend who picked me up in his soft-top Jeep Wrangler, and drove me all over the Chicago area. All. Day. Long. Top down, tunes cranked. When the top's down, tears dry quickly. We drove for hours. That friend was Brian Shamie, or Cute Brian, as I call him, and he saved my life that day. Though we've since grown apart, I will never forget what he gave me - smiles and happiness on what was easily one of my top five crappiest days ever.

Five years. Sometimes, it seems like yesterday. Sometimes, if seems like the marriage never happened at all ... like it was just some crazy daydream, never part of reality.

But it did happen, I was once married to someone who took advantage of my every kindness and jumped ship as soon as things got really tough. It left me scarred and strong, and with an uncanny ability to open myself up to receive what he was unable to give me: unconditional love. It has come to me from the most unlikely of sources, and from people I never would have met if we had stayed together.

This blog was born out of a need to vent, to let out the emotion of being discarded like yesterdays newspaper. It's a testament to the healing that has happened over the past five years, and what I find most ironic is this: almost every post is one of great joy. This isn't my public-facing pity pot, it's the story of Becoming Maggie ... the real, whole, honest person I've always been, but needed a little nudge to return to.

Which leads me to wonder, what will the next five years bring? Stay tuned. Much is likely to change, but my need to write about it? Yeah, that's a constant.

Thanks for coming along for the ride thus far.

They're playin' my song/s

In the many years I've walked this planet, one thing is constant: Music. I can remember very vivid dreams as a child, imagining myself singing back-up for my favorite artists. I can recall minute details, such as what I was wearing at the age of six, harmonizing to John Denver. My life has a soundtrack, and it weaves through the most important (and unimportant) moments over the past 44 years.

So when my computer gave up the ghost a few years ago, I panicked. All I had was my iPod - my ancient, second-generation unit, which surely wouldn't be around forever. It had all my music on it, but A) I had no computer on which to update or play it and B) even if I did, iTunes wouldn't allow me to transfer it back.

Enter the new computer. My beautiful new iMac is technical perfection. And now, it houses all my music once again. (Note to self: get an external hard drive for backup.)

Thanks to a bit of software, I was able to pull my 6,000 songs off the 'Pod and back into the world. I was not prepared for how this was going to make me feel. I started toolin' around through some of the old stuff on there (Kung Fu Fighting, anyone?) and it was like a light came on. Seriously. Yes, I know it sounds cheesy, but I have my music; all feels right with my world.

Mud, sweat and beer

I can't remember whose idea it was.

I don't know whether to slap them or kill them, if I ever figure it out.

Suffice it to say, back in January, someone said, "Hey, let's run Warrior Dash." And I said yes.

Yesterday was my Dash, and it was awesome. Perfect? No. I skipped a few obstacles, because I just didn't feel safe. It took me a long-ass time to get through the entire course. But I finished, vertical, with no new injuries; that was the goal.

There was a lot of climbing in the Dash. Enough for me to realize I had a fear of heights. Who knew? But the magic of events like this doesn't come from the course, or the obstacles, or the beer, or the turkey legs. It comes from your fellow competitors. Like my friend Linda, who stuck with me through the entire course, knowing that I was not physically at my best, and wanting to enjoy the experience with me. And like the woman who waited for me atop one of the obstacle walls. You had to scale the wall - angled, but still treacherous - using a rope. At the top, you had to find a way to bend and reach over, so you could climb ladder-style down the back. Up there she waited, grabbed hold of me, hoisted my massive thigh over the top and made sure I could make it down.

The chances of me completing that obstacle without her are somewhere between slim and non-existent.

That one gave me the confidence to take on most of the others. The course was supposed to include 10 obstacles, but in the days prior to the Dash, organizers added two ... plus incredible natural obstacles like creeks and muddy, steep hills. We had to dig in, tighten the core, and hope for the best. Looking back over the day, I can't believe I made it through.

At each obstacle, Linda and I took one band off our left wrist and moved it to the right, and took a moment to honor our friend Barb, who could not participate in the Dash because she's in Ohio with her mother, who is not in good health. Those moments provided a bit of a spiritual nature to our race. The obstacles we traversed were nothing compared to the obstacles we face in real life.

3.28 miles. 12 official obstacles. Two muddy hills that required a rope to ascend. All told, before I could get to beer, turkey legs and sweet corn, I climbed a wall, traversed over a suspended cargo net, made my way up and over a box maze (which was really kind of lame), climbed another wall and dropped down the other side, pulled myself up and over a wooden archway, climbed yet another wall and slid down a fire pole on the other side, made my way up a VERY TALL cargo net only to slowly descend (while shaking) down the other side, leaped over flames ... and crawled through a mud pit.

I was feeling a little bit like a wuss, because I skipped a few challenges. I didn't climb on cars (but I did make it through some of the tires). I didn't climb the rickety platforms. And there was no way I was going to climb the wall that went straight up ... and straight down. I took one step up and my whole self started to shake; that was just not gonna happen. But my friend Linda? Yeah, the wild woman completed them all. And realizing that I completed nine of 12, when there were only supposed to be 10. Yeah, I'm a bad-ass.

Today, it's bruises and laundry. And an incredible sense of accomplishment.

Summer? A list.

This summer, while taking its sweet time to get here, has already offered me splendid opportunities to enjoy things I love. Already this year, I have lounged poolside, been out on a boat, and spent a day at a water park. It's been perfect, and it's not even really summer yet! (The solstice is June 21.) So it got me thinkin' ... what else do I not want to miss? Here is my summer to-do list:

• Participate in another obstacle race. (Doin' it this Saturday.)


• Get a bike. Ride it.


• See a movie at the drive-in.


• Rollerblade (without falling on my touchas like I did last time I tried.)


• Grill the perfect burger. (Much easier since Linda gave me a grill.)


• Spend a day at Millennium Park.


• Take yoga at Millennium Park.


• See/hear a concert at Ravinia.


• Let my friend Dale cook for me.


• Fireworks!


• Road trip to Charleston, IL.


• Take a hike.


• Have a picnic.


• Build a sandcastle.

That's it; pretty doable, I think! What's on your list?

The mirror

There was a time in the not-too-distant past when I didn't like to look in the mirror. The girl looking back at me was just not how I saw myself. Back then, I thought the difference was the extra weight. I thought I didn't like my reflection, because that girl was the fatty-moo-moo version of me.

Fast forward to now. I'm still carrying extra weight (although a lot less) and I'm still never gonna be the prettiest girl in any room ... but it's so different now, that reflection.

Who I am is what is different.

On Monday morning, I set the alarm and got up early for a run. (Yes, I did that.) I dressed in black active pants and the green t-shirt we got for running the Sweetness 5K last Saturday. I had just woken up, so I wasn't all cutesy-cute girl. And I caught a glimpse of myself in the big mirror in my bedroom.

I actually said, out loud, to my reflection, "Damn, girl ... "

That's right. I totally hit on myself.

Made me smile. And it gave me something to think about on that run. Yes, I've made changes. I've lost some weight. But the real changes have happened inside my head. I've accepted who I am. I've become something more than I was before. And that has given me confidence. It's the confidence I'm seeing in the mirror.

See, when a man like my ex-husband leaves you for the type of woman for whom he left me, ya feel scarred. It seems inevitable that, when faced with the knowledge that He Who Must Not Be Named chose Ursula the Sea Witch to yours truly, I would envision myself as less than she. (I know, I know ... but that's where the mind goes. The dark places.) He wasn't good for me when we were married, but after he left? Then he was horrible for me.

My point, I suppose, is that this has been a five-year process. It was five years ago this month that he packed up his stuff and moved out. Five long years.

Five years of growth and opportunity. Five years of peeling an onion, layer by little layer, to find out what's shakin' inside.

That's not to say that we're done; no, not by a longshot. I am still in the process of becoming, and I hope I always am.

Of weekend plans and baby carrots

I'm always hungry. This is not necessarily a good thing, especially with the weekend approaching and, with it, a slew of food opportunities ... which may or may not be appropriate.

Tonight I was planning to go to the gym, but then I thought it through and realized that was kinda dumb. I have a 5K in the morning; overdoing it tonight could make tomorrow difficult. So, tonight I'll be doing laundry and straightening out my abode.

Tomorrow's "race" is the Sweetness 5K, to benefit the Walter Payton Foundation. I was supposed to run it with two of my sisters, but both of them backed out. One has work that is calling her out of town; the other simply has too much work. Which was all well and good, honestly, because my running pals Mama Dee, Pam, Simone, Shelly and Meg are running it, too. But still, my sister Kathie didn't want me to be out there "alone", so she'll be running with me. (And by "with me", I mean "approximately ten minutes ahead of me.")

After the run, we're hoping to spend the morning/afternoon at the water park. There are storms in the forecast, however. Please make them go away.

The rest of the weekend will be comprised of Thai food and theater with Kathleen (my friend Kathleen, not to be confused with my sister, Kathie, who is also a Kathleen) and working on a massive pictorial project for a friend of mine. Should make for a relaxing weekend.

BUT ... I need groceries. I need them to be cheap and healthy. Looks like I'll be cooking some this weekend, too. So, off we go, into the blissful two days of non-work-life. Enjoy it!

Need a break? Try a 24-hour vacation.

Ahhh, Memorial Day weekend. Love it. Summer's distant call steps up close and screams in your ear, "I'M HERE!!!" At some point over the three-day weekend, it becomes time to let summer in.

My weekend started out delightfully over a splendid dinner of chips and guac. I wish I were kidding, but no matter. It was tasty. Saturday dawned bright and early, as the Misfits Run Club gathered at 6:45 (yawn) to get a 30-minute run logged before strength training class. (After which the smart people jumped in the indoor pool. Too cold for outdoors on Saturday!)

Saturday night found me in the living room at a friend's house, enjoying the company of some great girlfriends - especially Gretchen, from CT! So good to finally meet her. Anyhoo, it was a lovely evening (I brought mojitos) but I gave myself an early curfew. This girl is no longer equipped to burn the candle at both ends!

Sunday dawned stormy, and I seized the opportunity to lay in bed with my coffee and "The West Wing" on DVD. Perfection. I followed the storm system on The Weather Channel and determined that I could leave my house at around 5 p.m. to head north for my 24-hour respite.

The drive to Lake Geneva was beautiful. The storm had passed, there were a few clouds in the sky, but mostly it was just pretty. I arrived in time to visit with Amber and Jeremiah, have some spiked lemonade by the pool, and still primp before heading out. Our friend John's band was playing at a bar in Burlington, WI - the Sly Fox - and we wanted to check it out. Drank a little beer, played some darts (I came in last ... and one of the players is blind!) and enjoyed the music. Truly a fun night!

Then, Sunday arrived in all its glory. I headed out for an early morning run, and was surprised (shocked? dismayed?) at how hilly Lake Geneva is. After my warm-up walk interval, I turned a corner and BAM. Hill. Okay, I'll take you on. Thankfully there was a bit of a breeze and a lot of shade along my route, because it could have been brutal! Hills, heat and humidity; guess I'm gonna have to get used to that if I'm gonna run in the summertime, huh?

Back at the house, I dripped sweat and Amber made breakfast. Eggs, sausage, toast, hash browns, coffee ... all from the comfort of my chaise lounge. Delightful! After tidying up, we put on our bathing suits and headed for the pool.

My suit is so cute! I made a good choice; and only $20 at Old Navy. A few hours in the sun was enough for us, because at 1:30 it was time to get on a boat!

Our friend David invited us out onto Lake Como for lunch, beverages and a good time. It was 89 degrees, but out on the water the breeze was so lovely, I wasn't going to complain. We spent several hours out there, talking, laughing and enjoying the scenery. Just beautiful. I definitely felt like I'd truly departed my everyday life.

As 5 p.m. approached, it was time to head to shore, pack my things and point the Jeep south. The drive was perfect - top down, light breeze, complete harmony with the world around me. I can't imagine a better way to usher in summer than with a little activity, a little relaxation, and a lot of time with the best of friends.