The Fatal Flaw

I know that I've touched on "Find the Fatal Flaw" in a previous post, but to reiterate: Find the Fatal Flaw was a game that my girlfriends and I would play when we went out. It stemmed from being hurt way too often and was a form of self preservation. It segued into dates, where it was easier to pick a guy apart then it was to concede any emotional ground. Hey, we were young and probably shouldn't have been dating. Sadly, finding the Fatal Flaw became way too easy. And once played, it is a hard habit to shake. Two years ago my friend tried to set me up with her brother. It didn't work out. He was actually kind of a jerk when we initially met. But after several more encounters we became somewhat acquainted. We became FB friends and ever so often we'd exchange texts. I always felt as though I annoyed him when I would text him or fb him. When I mentioned this to him, he laughed and said he loved my stories and jokes. And we became friends- the real kind. He would text when he was debating changing jobs. I would ask him for boy advice (ps- he sucked at dating advice). Oddly enough we never hung out. But, little by little, over two years time we became good friends. In January I sent him a text about going on a date and finding a fatal flaw before appetizers were served- the guy asked what kind of underwear I was wearing? Blech. After I told the weirdo to lose my number I sent Tim a text. It was 10pm my time, and since he lives in Kentucky, it was 1am for him. He applauded me giving the guy the boot and then asked, "Have you ever played Find the Fatal Flaw with me?" Hmmm...No. I told him that since we never dated I had never thought to list his flaws. As a joke, I started listing some of his habits: side hugs, thinks he can actually be a contestant on The Voice, likes to throw in uplifting quotes, and averages hours to respond to a text. When he didn't respond I wondered if I had crossed a line. So, I called him at 2am his time and left a long rambling voicemail about how I was joking, I was soooo sorry, I addressed each of his flaws and pointed out that they're actually good things. I summed it up with, "I can't think of anything flawful about you!" I then went to bed feeling really guilty. I woke up the next morning to the longest text I have ever received- it was actually broken into five texts. Apparently, he passed out after hitting send on his initial text. He apologized and then listed all of the things he valued about me. He ended with, "I'm afraid to know how well we would click, if and when we actually hang out." Huh? Was I reading into things or was he interested? That night he called and we talked for 2 hours! I realized that maybe I was interested in him. He had all of the attributes I wanted in a guy, he made me laugh on a regular basis and I knew that he was an all around good guy. So we started "talking" (apparently this is some slang term that means you're interested in someone, but not dating them). Being the pessimist that I am I figured that his fatal flaw was who he is- my best friend's brother. Things would get complicated and messy and in the long run I would lose both, at least that's what my fears told me. But when I finally told him this he said, "I would never put you in that position. I will always be honest. We are two mature adults who will always be in each others lives. If things get messy, it will only be for a minute." Hmmmm, well played, sir. It's funny to look back on this, now that we're dating.

Everytime I fall a little bit harder

I am two weeks in to a 4-6 week ban on running. Not self imposed (I'm not crazy), but I'm actually following the doctor's advice- this time. Back at the beginning of February I started to have shin splints. I took a couple of days off and figured they'd go away. Then I ran a race and busted out two of the fastest miles, I've ever run. Hey six minute mile! After the race, I eased up on the distance and began to focus on speed work. I'm not sure if that's where I went wrong. The shin splints returned with a vengeance. Suddenly any downhill running or flat stretches were accompanied by an aching pain that simultaneously felt like my right shin was on fire. I'd stop, stretch it out and keep running. But that was merely a band aid. I figured, maybe the street that I ran on was too hard of a surface. So I hit the trails. That seemed to solve the problem for a minute.
One day on the trail as I crested the top of a mile long climb I thought "I didn't hurt at all." Sad when the pain is consistent enough that you recognize its absence. And as I started the rolling descent those words would blow up in my face. The pain came back and no amount of stretching helped. I hobbled all the way down. And as I got into my car I realized "Shit. Something's wrong."
The next day at the doctor's office I told her everything and as I heard the words coming out of my mouth I started kicking myself. Had I really just kept running with that pain? Why hadn't I made more of an effort to take a break and let my body heal? Could I have prevented this? She poked, prodded and stretched my leg and then said, "It sounds like a stress fracture." I didn't even know what that was. As she outlined what it was she also mentioned that I wouldn't be able to run for AT LEAST 4-6 weeks. And that's when I lost it. I cried and all I could think was that I wanted my mom there. I'm laughing as I write that. Seriously, I'm such a drama-rama. You would have thought that she said I needed my leg amputated. But all I could think was all that hard work, all that time, all that sweat- for nothing. It was all gone. The idea of having to start over really sucked. When I went home I put my running shoes in the closet, figuring it would be easier than looking at them everyday. I guess it's true, you don't know what you've got til it's gone.
Fast forward: And after a bone scan, which required me to drink some weird liquid which made me ever so slightly radioactive and required copious amounts of water (I think I spent the majority of my morning peeing) it turns out that I don't have a stress fracture. Score! But apparently I'm working my way into a stress fracture and have to go to physical therapy and still take time off- treating it like a stress fracture. Lame!
Went to PT yesterday. The first thing I said was, "I don't understand, I thought I was doing everything right. I increased my mileage incrementally. I took the appropriate rest days. What gives?" Remember how I wasn't happy with my shoes? Turns out I've totally changed the mechanics of how I run on my right foot to accommodate my shoe. Apparently the front of my leg was absorbing most of the stress and my calf muscle was underdeveloped. Blew my mind! I mean, I had just written about not being happy with my shoes. I'd even noted that they sometimes hurt my foot. Weird how I just kept thinking I still needed to break them in. The good news is that I can do low impact exercise and I can get back to running in a couple of weeks. I'm thinking about making a chain to count down the days. Not-so-bad news: I have to ease back in and can't pick up where I left off. I'll take it. The doctor also recommended that I increase my protein and calcium. I'm supposed to really be cross training, giving my legs a break from just running.
I've realized that this is my third injury in three years- hip flexor, bruised heel bone and now this. Hoping this is the end of the road for these things because I really do love running.

That one guy, that one time

I forgot to write about this, but I think this story totally exemplifies how ridiculous I am when it comes to boys. My older sister mentioned how I used to be so boy-crazy when I was younger and I just had to laugh. Used to be ? Still am.
When I went home a few months ago, my sister decided to ask at the dinner table if I was dating anyone. My response was that I hadn't met any guys that I was interested in dating. She responded with, "That's the problem. You date guys. You need to date a man." Seriously.
But back to my story. I've been putting in some serious mileage on the trails, thanks to some gnarly shin splints. I love taking Titan out on the trails too, because I can take him off the leash and let him run around being nature dog. We play a fun game of leap frog. He runs ahead of me and stops 10-15 feet ahead and stops to wait for me, his tongue happily hanging out. I catch up and pass him, and after 5 feet I'll look back and call him. Probably one of my favorite sights is seeing him running towards me, full speed, tongue flapping. If you want to see a dog smile, come run with Titan.
On this particular day (a Thursday) we had left the house kind of late and I was afraid that we wouldn't be able to beat the dark. So we were running harder than usual. Titan also decided that he wanted to play in the creek instead of his usual splish-splash walk through. I get that he's lab and genetically predisposed to finding fun in every puddle, but we were on a schedule. I wasn't afraid of animals or things that go bump in the dark. I was afraid of my own clumsiness and tripping over rocks, etc. So, I pulled my mini-water buffalo out of the water and forced him up the trail. At this point I was sweating and breathing pretty hard and since I was running, I was probably making some weird faces.
As I ran uphill a man burst through the trees. Rephrase: A HOTTTTT man burst through the trees. He was wearing a turquoise Nike dry fit shirt and had on black running shoes. A weird detail, but I couldn't stop but to think, Who wears all black running shoes? Hott dude had two dogs who were also off leash and they of course wanted to make friends with Titan. Hott dude saw Titan's poop bags which I tie to his harness and are often mistaken for wings and asked "Why she had wings on". "She's a he and those are his doggy bags." He laughed, gathered his dogs and we headed our separate ways. But the rest of my run was spent thinking about his nice smile and his perfect stubble. Seriously, he had the most perfect facial hair. Little known fact about me: I love facial hair. It makes guys look more rugged, more manly and I like that it scratches me.
As we raced down the trail trying to beat the sun I chalked up the encounter to just that, a nice encounter. So imagine my surprise as I hit the trail head and saw who was waiting. Hott dude was leaning against the fence, his two dogs in the back of his car. As I approached I tried to think of something funny. My mind went blank and all I could say was "Hi". He said that since it was getting dark he wanted to make sure that I got to my car safely. (Chivalry and good looks? Pinch me!) We chatted about running and Titan and he said his name was John. I mentioned that I was going to be taking Titan to the b-e-a-c-h the following day and he said he "just might have to run into me there." I was psyched! As I got into my car the song that was playing was Taylor Swift's "Enchanted". (Full disclosure: I have the musical taste of a 14 year old.)This was a sign, right? A good sign.
When I got home I attempted to face-stalk John. Attempted. Do you know how many Johns, Jons, Jonathons there are? A LOT. I retold my roommate the story over and over, every time with a new conjecture. "You know, I bet he rescued his dogs." "He probably has a really great job, but volunteers, too." "He seems like one of those guys who has his shit together and wants to get married and have kids." "He probably shaves and automatically has that perfect stubble."
The next day I took Titan to the beach and waited... not very long. Five minutes into playing fetch Titan split his nail and started bleeding. As excited as I was with the prospect of seeing John there was no way I was going to let Titan bleed out. So I packed up the pup and took him to the vet. He got his toenail removed and a new rawhide bone.
I've seen John since then. We run on the same trail and always share a "Hi" or wave but no conversations.
I'm cool with that.

change

At the end of October of last year (2011) I had run 12 races in 9 months and I was pooped. I decided to take some time off and not worry about "the next run". Well, that time off turned into 2 months. TWO MONTHS! And just as running had become part of my routine, not running also became a part of it. So in January I decided to get back into it. Things are so easy to commit to when you're not actually doing them (i.e. I am going to floss everyday. I am going to be a vegetarian. Oooh. I will meditate EVERY morning with the sunrise). Did you know that it takes two weeks of doing something regularly to make it a habit? Ugh. And getting back into the habit of running has not been easy. Let's get all the negatives out of the way first- my running buddy, Courtney, moved. Not across town, but two states over. Seriously, who is going to simultaneously yell/encourage me? This whole motivating myself business can wear you down, just as much as the physical. Because I now run by myself I run in the early evenings, not the morning. According to Runner's World, it takes two weeks to acclimate to changing your regular running time (morning/afternoon/evening). I often feel like I'm competing with the cars and they always win. Plus, there are those weirdos who like to yell at me as I'm running in the bike lane, or worse, attempt to high-five me. And another thing, I think I hate my shoes. I know it takes awhile to break in shoes (sorry, couldn't find a stat), but I'm not sure if these are going to be my slightly muddy glass slippers. We'll see.
Now, on to the positive. Courtney and I decided to get on the same running plan and text/call/email in the results of our run. It's not to be competitive, but to have accountability to someone. So even though she's a two hour plane ride away, it helps to know that she's sweetly cursing at the same sky on long-run days. And while running during rush hour isn't my ideal, it has also given me structure to my day. I HAVE to do those errands right after school and it stops me from watching hours of lame tv. As for my running shoes, I've discovered that my foot only hurts when I'm running on an uneven surface, and they're pretty badass for trail running. Clearly, all of this points to the fact that I am resistant to change. I hate change. Scratch that. I hate change that is imposed on me. If you force change upon me, I become a petulant teenager. But given the choice and the chance I often want to do something radically different, if only for a little change.

Give it a try.

Growing up I had many different ideas of what I wanted to be. I wanted to be a lawyer, like my dad. I wanted to be a news reporter, like Peter Jennings. In high school, I had an amazing math teacher and thought, "I can be an engineer or an architect." In college, thanks to Dr. Saldivar, I thought about becoming a researcher. I also entertained for many years the idea of becoming a nun. Off and on the idea would pop up. When I was little it was because I had this romantic ideal of praying and living a pure life. After a year of volunteer work, I came back to the thought, but this time with the idea of committing my life to social justice and serving others. You see, I become so enamored with so many things, I often think "Maybe that's it!" But teaching? I never thought that that was what I wanted. Yet, somehow, everybody else seemed to know what I didn't.
I don't claim to have many gifts. I am patient, when I want to be. As a child I used that patience to hold grudges that would go on for months. I like to think that I am fair. I don't like choosing sides and I like to get as much information as possible before making a decision. But perhaps my greatest strength is my ability to love. I love being able to give my love to others and think that maybe this is better than getting love in return. Love can take many forms- a hug, a smile, a squeeze of the hand, one's constant and unwavering presence and just saying "I see you." And maybe this sounds self righteous, but I truly believe that I have enough love to give.
I work in special education and have been introduced to a number of kids who constantly make me smile, laugh and realize how lucky I truly am. One of my favorites is Peter. Peter is autistic and very gregarious. If he does not know you he will introduce himself but warns you that he doesn't like to shake hands because he doesn't like people touching him. When I first met Peter his parents were working on some of his social skills. And while staring intensely at people would seem rude to you and I, Peter didn't understand. After telling Peter that staring is rude, he adopted a stance of turning his head away and avoiding all eye contact. When we pointed out that that was just as rude Peter decided that perhaps alternating between staring and turning his head in 30 second increments might be the answer. When we stopped Peter from doing that he became exasperated. And as he questioned me, I had to agree that some of these unspoken social rules are fairly ridiculous.
Part of my job is to ensure that special ed. students get the support and assistance they need in regular ed. classes. Special education is divided into 13 subcategories. These include orthopedic impairments, speech and language, math computation, reading comprehension and autism, just to name a few. So when special ed. kids are in general ed. classes, I am there to ensure that they understand the material to the fullest extent. But with some kids, like Peter, I am there to also ensure that they acclimate socially. I would like to point out that Peter's peers understand he's different, but I have never seen anyone be rude or say anything rude to him about his behaviors. And he has some interesting behaviors. Teachers and students alike have learned that when Peter says Hi, you respond and look him in the eyes. A quick response without fully acknowledging him will result in Peter repeating Hello until you respond appropriately. Peter likes the desks in his row to line up properly. He always tries to be one of the first ones to class to adjust the desks. If you happen to be sitting in a desk that needs adjusting he will ask you to stand and then fix the desk. And while it might sound ridiculous and unnecessary to you and I, it is very real to Peter and fixing it means that the day can continue on. Some of the kids even help him out moving the desks, stopping to look back at him as he directs them which way to go.
Peter doesn't like math. He often gets frustrated and agitated when shown new material. His initial response used to be to scan the room for me and say "Ms. Rivera, this is too hard." Then, I would help him set up the problem, starting with the steps he knew and slowly incorporating the new information, all the while repeating "You can do this. Just give it a try." When Peter had a handle on the lesson we would do our version of a high five. Because Peter's autistic he is sensitive to touch and doesn't like to be touched- and he'll tell you. So we both put our hands into the "thumbs up" position and briefly touch our thumbs. And then he goes to work.
In the last semester I've seen a change in Peter. When he's confused he still looks for me, but when I approach he puts his hand out to stop me. "I'm just going to give it a tryyy." Sometimes it's hard to watch him try and not step in, knowing that he's doing the problem wrong. But I want him to try. Sometimes he'll even turn to a peer to ask for help, and now others know the "thumbs up" high five.
In December I decided to apply for my Masters in Special Education with a certification in behavior modification. I thought back to last year when I wasn't accepted to UCLA. I decided to reapply and to some other schools that also had strong programs. I also thought about how upset I was when I didn't get in and a little voice in the back of my head asked "What if you don't get in, again?" And then I heard Peter's voice telling me to "Just give it a tryyyy." So I did, I gave it a try.

Hangover...

I realized a long time ago that dating in SLO has many pitfalls, but perhaps the biggest one is that my girlfriends have either dated or slept with all the boys our age. They've even slept with the same guys and later compared notes. I have sat through too many dinners where the girls bitched about another girl dating a guy one of them hooked up with years ago. They commonly refer to guys as "my Chris" or "Alicia's Cody", even if a decade has passed. These prefixes allow for all to know who conquered and claimed said males, and who you'll be crossing if you attempt to do the same. I get it, there's a code. But there's also the rules of supply and demand. When there are X amount of guys and 2X amount of girls, chances are you're going to hook up with a friend of a friend's.
I haven't really been myself lately. I've been drinking too much, going out too much and just not caring. I blame all of this behavior on not running (injury and illness). When I run, I go to bed early and fill my spare time with the gym or exploring trails. I don't have time to mess around with 21yr. old boys (yeah, I went there). I also don't drink a lot when I'm running because I'm constantly thinking about hydrating for the next day. Money that I've been using on dinner and drinks would typically be earmarked for new running gear and another race. Needless to say, running keeps me out of trouble.
I think I've been bored. And I haven't really run for two months. Excuses, I know. I'm just trying to figure out how I got here. The first night of debauchery was laughed at. Really? Did I do those things? Haha. Funny. But by Round 4 I was just as puzzled by my behavior as some of my friends. And then I crossed that line.
I hooked up (in the most innocent of definitions) with a "friend" of a friend. To be fair, I didn't know who he was, but he definitely knew who I was. One of my biggest fears is that I will just settle for the first guy who pays attention to me, and thus far my actions have proven me right. One of the things I miss most about being in a relationship is falling asleep next to someone; unfortunately no girlfriend can give me that. So I basked in the compliments that this tall, cute boy was showering me with. Then as I got more drunk I gave in completely to the flirtation. Lame. Fast forward two hours and I was walking home, hand in hand with a dude I'd just met. Somewhere between then and the next morning when I woke up, bits of information started clicking in my drunk little brain. Things he had said that night and things Girl X had said started matching up and I realized who I was sleeping next to. Her EX! I shook him awake (5am wake up call) and asked if he had dated Girl X. He responded with, "I thought you knew." My response was "Shit, she's going to kill me!" I grabbed my shoes and ran out the door. I did the 20 minute walk of shame (yeah, I was one of those girls) and tried to figure out what the hell had happened. I knew if I told her she would make my life miserable, but I didn't like this feeling of guilt that was starting to pull on my heart.
The next day I called the person I knew wouldn't judge me and spilled all to my baby sister. When I was done, she said "That doesn't sound like you. What are you going to change?" I realized that the people I was doing those things with were more drinking buddies, not friends. You can't really lean on a drinking buddy. And I do want a relationship; a boyfriend. I want to get married and have kids. I'm not going to get where I want to be if I continue making these choices. It's kind of like that Coldplay song, "When you get what you want, but not what you need."
So, for the past three weekends I have made a point to stay home, not drink and spend time with the people I love. I bought new running shoes and I've gotten back into the swing of running. I'm not saying I can't drink or go out, I just need to get right with myself before I do. I haven't told Girl X about her dude and I probably won't. Turns out, she's still hooking up with him and dating some other dude. So, yeah. It turns out running does more than keep me sane, it also keeps me out of trouble.

I run for ice cream!!!

At the beginning of this year I made the resolution to run more races than last year (eight). But then I decided to amend the resolution by running 12 races in 12 months. I planned to run a beach race, an adventure race, an obstacle race, a trail run and a half marathon. Phew. I also made a mental note to attempt to blog about each. THAT hasn't happened, but I am happy to say that it's August and I've run 10 races. Not going to lie, I love the nervousness that happens before a race, the anticipation kills me. Once I know I'm doing a race that's all I want to talk about or think about. I'm planning on running a 10k on Sunday, but I ran a 5k at the beginning of August. It was part of the summer series in Santa Barbara and it was a BLAST! I feel like something magical happens when I run in Santa Barbara- I want to run harder and for longer. It might be the ocean breezes or the awesome views. Whatever it is, it propels me forward.
My little sister came to visit and we decided a day of shopping and racing would be perfect for sister bonding time. The weather was perfect and we even found tanks at Lulu Lemon that we were sure would help us pr. There was just one tiny glitch. I had a cut on my right heel. The day before while trying to wrestle the dog inside (away from the mailman, who was whistling up the driveway) I had scraped a large portion of skin off of my right heel. Now I'm no baby, but while attempting to clean my cut I screamed and cursed loud enough to warrant concern from the lady next door (I'm pretty sure she spies on us). I strapped two band aids on and hobbled around giving the sad smile and accepting all sympathy that was given.
As soon as I laced up my shoes I knew I was in trouble. My running shoes hug my heels- real tight. It's one of their greatest attributes. As Nikki made fun of my skip-walk to the starting line, I imagined the inside of my shoe where my band aids were being rubbed up and down, the adhesive slowly working it's way off. And then we were off.
A few steps into the run I knew the band aids were gone. I could feel the top of the heel of my shoe stabbing my heel with every turnover. And my socks became like sand paper. Friction on an open wound is definitely a form of torture. For the first half mile all I could think about was the pain. Dreading it, anticipating it and feeling it with every footfall. And then I realized that my shoulders were practically up to my ears, I was so tense and my hands were balled up in tight fists. I had two options- stop, take my shoe off (the cut wasn't going away) and walk back, OR I could suck it up (the cut wasn't going away) and do what I came to do- RUN. So often in running you have to transcend the physical. So I did just that and before I knew it I was at the turnaround point.
As I finished the race and scanned the crowd for my much faster sister the thoughts going through my mind were, do I want the ahi or chicken wrap? Should I get mint chip or cookies and cream ice cream? (This was one of those awesome races where they provide food for the runners.) Suddenly, there was a tap on my shoulder. "You're bleeding." What?!! I quickly scanned and groped myself trying to remember if I'd been shot and hadn't noticed due to the adrenaline. "No, on your leg." Right. I'd completely forgotten about my heel. Turning around I saw that the band aids were gone and when I took off my shoe I found that my sock and shoe were also bloody. The sock had also been pushed up so it appeared as though I had a large wound (the kind that might warrant amputation). It reminded me of Curt Schilling's bloody sock in the 2004 World Series. Bad ass. Lesson learned. Sometimes you need to pull over and stop (February race- when I bruised my heel bone) and sometimes you need to push through the pain. You're the only one who knows which is the right choice. And no, I didn't pr, but I chose the ahi wrap and cookies 'n cream makes everything better. I'm definitely glad I pushed past the pain, because only then did I find my bliss.
*If I knew how to add pictures I would add the pic of my bloody heel.