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.

But of course!

Today I found myself sitting on the beach eating a cinnamon roll and drinking coffee. It's one of those slightly cool, overcast days. I pulled my hood over my ears and started counting the waves. It's what I like to think of as brooding weather. It's neither depressing nor overly happy weather. It just is. In church yesterday the Gospel said (totally paraphrasing here) "It is not what is on the inside that defiles someone..." Envy, hate, laziness, etc. As soon as I heard this I sat up and looked around. It was as though a light bulb had gone off. Of course, it is only what we do to ourselves and, in turn, others that makes us less wholesome. So many of these things are put upon us by the outside world. But how do you let it go? It makes me wonder, how much of our lives do we choose, and how much is dictated to us? Even when I'm by myself there is this "ideal" that is the standard. It is what I measure myself against. I often question, do I do things because I want to, or because I think I have to? How do you attempt to explain to others your choices and at what point do you stop and give in, maybe they are right. How often do I do things "just because", no rationale involved? Not necessarily unaware of the consequences, but steadfastly assured that this is the right decision. I feel as though my life has been lived in one extreme or the other. Wantonly careless or afraid to take the next step. From one end of the pendulum to the other. Perhaps this is what life is all about, trying to find the balance and maintain it.

No good, horrible, very bad... You get the picture.

I feel like I'm fairly optimistic. I love Mondays. When things are tough, more often than not, I can say, "It will get better." Maybe I'm having an off couple of weeks. I haven't been ME, lately.
Let's start with the biggest obstacle. I didn't get into UCLA. I applied to their program knowing full well that it's very competitive. They only take a handful of applicants a year. Yet, I silenced the negative voices that said, "What if you don't get in?" Of course I was getting in. Have you seen my resume? I was really looking forward to doing school full time. Nothing else. Just school. And now? I talked to an admissions counselor who gave me some options. Maybe that's the silver lining. I have options, but none of them equal me starting school in the fall. I'm ready to leave. I need something new. A new adventure, out of this rut. I hate my house, most of my really close friends have moved- I just feel so lonely. Yes, I will take some cheese with my whine.
And boys. I recently met a guy. He's cute, smart, hilarious and adores kids. I thought we were cool. And then... SILENCE. Kind of bummed. Maybe I'm being overly dramatic, but sometimes I wonder if I'm just not loveable.
I've been trying really hard to find some positive things here. But I can't. I actually cried for the first time in a long time. I have been craving something new for a while now. I feel like I'm slowly shrinking and dying inside. Ugh.
In church today the priest talked about faith, love and hope, the virtues of Christianity. At one point he said something that really resonated. "While Faith is spiritual, Hope is physical." Faith is what supports us and holds us up as the world crashes around us. Hope is what drives us forward. You don't hope for something in the past, you hope for something in the future. Hope is what pushes us to keep our eyes on the prize. My favorite Bible verse is Psalm 4. "Know that the Lord works wonders for the faithful; the Lord hears when I call out." Well, here I am calling out. I hope that Faith and Hope will carry me through this and I can get back to being ME.

The One

I recently received a text that made me reevaluate one of my many theories. The text said "Hey P, moved to Texas. Just wanted to let you know that I've been dating someone seriously." Wait. WHAT? The text was from Aaron. The ONE. I haven't spoken to Aaron in 2 years. He emailed a year ago, the standard How's life? email. I haven't seen him since I boarded a plane after breaking up with him 3 years ago. Wait, take that back. I saw him at a race, but he didn't see me. I was pissed that he appeared to be better looking. Why couldn't he be bald and fat? My only consolation was that he appeared shorter. I was perplexed with the text. I assumed he was dating this whole time. In fact, I'd seen pictures of him on his brother's facebook with the same girl he'd cheated on me with. (She'll remain nameless.) When I mentioned that to a male roommate he responded with, "Well, doesn't it soften the blow knowing he cheated on you with his soul mate?" Wrong answer, dude. Initially, after the break up I thought we'd get back together. I hung on to every last aspect of the relationship.And for the first month after the break up I would spend my days crying and telling anyone who listened that I hated him. But he would call or text every night and I'd be better. Until we said goodnight. Then I'd be a mess- AGAIN. I ruined myself over this guy- mentally and physically. Why? Because he was THE ONE. You know, THE ONE! That whole fairy tale misconception that there's THE ONE out there for everyone. You just have to look hard enough and hold on tight when you find him. Blahblahblah! I call bull shit. "Bull Shit!" So, I concocted my own theory of THE ONE.
I believe that there are many ONEs out there. (Yes, I made something that is technically singular plural. I realize that this is improper, but it's a theory so just go with it.) There is THE ONE who you first fall in love with. THE ONE you get your first kiss from. THE ONE who teaches you new things. There is THE ONE who crushes your self esteem. And THE ONE who is your biggest cheerleader and shows you just how amazing you are. There is THE ONE who makes you question your beliefs. And there is THE ONE who breaks your heart in a completely absolute way. And yes, in the end, there is THE ONE that you marry. These guys that I dated (and who had the privilege of being called my boyfriend) were all at one point THE ONE. There was Nic, my on-off college boyfriend. He was THE ONE who showed me that just because a guy's a great friend doesn't mean that he'll be a great boyfriend. There was Jaime, he was THE ONE who was way too smart for me. He read books and listened to music that I hated. Why did I try to be something else for him? Ugh. There was Brian, who was THE ONE who wanted to get married and have babies right away. I was 22! Too soon. There was Hritz, he was THE ONE who constantly told me that I was beautiful and smart. (Serious self esteem booster) But when it became long distance I was the one doing the traveling. Eventually I realized that I shouldn't have to beg my boyfriend to see me. Hritz, was also, THE ONE who I decided to get back together with. But nothing had changed. The saying goes, if it's not broken, why fix it? In this case, it was not fixed- it was still broken. And there was Aaron. He was the only guy that I thought I was going to marry. Clearly, he was not THE ONE. In fact, he'd be THE ONE (said ominously to denote that he's an ex and all around bad dude. He's the guy in all black in the fairytale to let you know he's not the Right ONE). Yin and yang, one and the same.
But back to the text. How should I respond? My mean side wanted to text back "Who is this?" or something bitchy like "Don't screw this one up." Another part of me wanted to say something nice like, "Hope all's well with you and good luck in Texas." I eventually opted for neither. Silence.
**Listening to Pandora as I write this and Alanis' "Unsent" is on!!
"I used to be attracted to boys who would lie to me, and think solely about themselves". True. "Used" to.
PS- I really don't spend all my time wistfully staring out the window thinking about dudes. Hopefully, future posts will show that.

There is no Santa Clause

I don't even know how to start this. My mind is spinning the conversation over and over and I still want to cry. Perhaps the best word is distraught. I am distraught.
Today I got to see my best friend, J, whom I haven't seen in a year. She is without a doubt my best of best friends. She is the other part to my puzzle piece. She can pick up my spirits and give out a good tongue lashing all in a matter of minutes. She is fiercely loyal and someone I have counted on as a constant in my life for 16 years. She lives in a different state and we don't get to see each other a lot. But we still talk on the phone and when we do see each other we revert back to the roles we had growing up. It's nice to know that some things don't change. I can think of no better way to spend an afternoon than swinging in the hammock giggling and sharing with a best friend.
The conversation started innocently enough. You see, J just filed for divorce- on February 14. But we weren't sad. Yes, we mourned the marriage and the hopes and dreams that went with it, but we also celebrated the fact that J was free. Free to pursue her dreams. Free to make her own decisions and find what makes her happy. J's wasn't a happy marriage. She had found her husband in compromising positions with other women. She had been forced to leave California because that's what he wanted. She was told he didn't want kids, even though he had once promised otherwise. And J was not completely innocent. She used her intelligence and acerbic tongue to insult and degrade him every chance she could. Two unhappy people only make each other miserable. So after five years of marriage they chose to end what probably shouldn't have been started.
After covering all of the important things (where will you live? what will you do?) we moved to the more trivial, do you think you'll start dating? I asked her this after warning her about a series of unfortunate dates I'd been on.
She looked me in the eye and said, "You can't judge me. Promise me that." What?
J then proceeded to fill me in on her "friend". A man she had met 7 years ago had found her on Facebook over a year ago. She was flattered by his attention but pointed out that they were both married. He claimed that he merely wanted to be friends, but in that same message confessed to having been attracted to her when they first met. Facebook messages gave way to texts, then skyping. Now as her marriage is over it has become non-stop phone calls and flirting. And yes, he's still married- with two kids.
As my mind began to realize that J was inserting herself into the plot of a lame Lifetime movie my heart began to sink. Growing up I had a very close group of girlfriends who were all religious and though we didn't go to the same churches (we were Catholic, Protestant and Muslim) we all shared the same core values. When J was baptized we all went, we celebrated Eid with S and they all came to my Confirmation. We held each other responsible and accountable. They were and are my moral compass. These friends are the voices in the back of my head whenever I waver.
J must've sensed my growing anger because she stopped and asked, "What are you thinking? Are you mad at me?" Yes. I was mad that she could so brazenly think that her actions would have no consequences. I was mad that she could be so selfish and think only of what she wanted. I was mad that the person I had always counted on to stand on the right side of good could be so wrong. How could she think that this was right?As I told her all of this I started crying.
"P, this is different than you and Aaron. I haven't slept with him. He's in a loveless marriage. He wants out."
I knew she would be defensive and stubborn, but my job as a friend is to tell her when she's making a wrong choice. She would do it for me.
I pointed out that her distracting him couldn't be helping his marriage. It's one thing for him to give up on his marriage on his own, and something completely different for him to be carrying on and deceiving his wife. How could J want to be in a relationship that has so much deception? Wouldn't he do the same to her? As J started to cry I knew she had thought of these things, as well. I reminded her of how when I found out Aaron was cheating on me and how she had sat on the couch wiping my tears and how she had held back my hair as I threw up from all the turmoil.
Reaching out my hand, I looked at her and said, "I don't want you to be THAT girl. That girl that I hated. It's not worth it, is it?" As J hesitated, I said "Then you have changed. You would have never thought this was right." I might as well have slapped her. "Don't say that! I am still me, P. It's still me. I feel like you're disgusted in me. I'm J and you're P. I'm still me."
We stopped talking about it after that and sat in silence. Eventually we decided to get some food and watch the last of the basketball game. But it still hung over us.
And when J went to leave I said our usual goodbye, "You're J and I'm P and I love you." But before I let her go, I whispered, "I'm not judging you. I just know that this won't make you happy."
I don't know what will happen to J and A. I wonder that she can't see that this is so wrong. I will keep reminding her what the right choice is, because that's what friends do.

Unicorns

I have theories. In fact, I have theories about some of these theories (meta-theories?). I border on the verge of crazy-town ever so often and these theories rationalize most of my actions.
I haven't seriously dated in the last three years. THREE YEARS! I've gone on the occasional date and the even more rare second date, but nothing serious. Initially, after my last relationship I had decided to take a year off and "date myself". I would do all the things I wanted, and I gave myself permission to be as selfish as possible.There was no set end date and no real reason why I decided to make it a year. So a year passed. And in that year I really started to get to know myself. To consciously choose to do things by myself, for myself. I really honed in on the things I loved and that which was quintessentially ME. In that year I made more friends and my social circle expanded. I put all of those friendships before any relationships. With so much love from my friends I was happy being single. I didn't need a boyfriend when I had a gaggle of best friends who loved me. And that year quickly melted into two years.
Last January was a turning point. Suddenly, my friends were all pairing up. Two best friends became engaged and everyone else spontaneously found a significant other. It was like musical chairs, but the music stopped playing for me. Game night became awkward when the couples had their "inside" jokes and I was left with no partner. I was no longer included on movie night and I became appalled by my friends' need to constantly touch or kiss each other as I attempted to have a conversation. Everyone was twitterpated except me.
I resolved to remedy the situation by finding a boyfriend. Easier said than done. After being set up on a series of horrible dates (a guy who may have been gay, the construction worker who was dumb as nails and the breathy, nerdy guy from church), I decided to take matters into my own hands. On-line dating. Match.com to be exact.
I paid for a month's subscription and waited for the inevitable onslaught of potential suitors. And it came. The number of cheesy lines and "winks" was initially an ego boost. But as I looked deeper at these guys I realized the flaw of on-line dating: too much information can be a bad thing.
Back when I lived in LA and did the whole party scene my friends and I came up with a game called "Find the Fatal Flaw". It was our way of guaranteeing that our hearts wouldn't be broken like they had in the past. Self-preservation, if you will. Everyone was responsible for sizing up any guys the others were interested in. My weakness has always been tall, blond boys. And while I became weak in the knees my friends would quickly point out the cell phone strapped to his belt (how did I not see it?) or the gum he was chewing (a clear sign of halitosis). Find the Fatal Flaw guaranteed that no one was good enough for us. We would give out wrong numbers, point and laugh and pat ourselves on the back for seeing past all the pretty faces.
As I perused profiles on Match I started finding "flaws" in everyone. Too tall, too short, too nerdy, too dumb, not cute, too cute, he smiles weird, he's a Republican, he's a vegetarian, too skinny, too fat, he does (_____) for a living. I realized if I was still playing Find the Fatal Flaw I probably wasn't in the right place to be dating. So I canceled my subscription.
And here I am, one year later. I've been on a couple of dates and realize that there are some great guys out there, but usually I just want to make them my friends. Friends tell me I'm too picky, but I think I deserve to be. And from this picky-ness the theory of the Unicorn was born. I am a tomboy at heart, I like to get dirty, watch sports, eat steak and drink beer. My personality can be loud and demanding, at times. Because of this I am often attracted to "jocks". They understand wanting to go play catch/tennis. They get that I thrive on competition and like to "sweat out" my issues. They understand the loved up feeling I get about March Madness and checking my bracket every night. They get that Sports Illustrated will be read cover to cover and you don't interrupt me during a playoff game. That being said, I am also a girly-girl who refuses to wear flats on a date and hot pink is still my favorite color. I balk every month at having to pay rent, but will drop a wad of cash for a new dress without batting an eye. I also am a sucker for a good "nerd". Those guys who understand the importance of literature and grammar. They wouldn't be caught dead texting me "Sweat dreams" (that's you, Mr. Construction guy). When I propose a trip to a museum or the Boeing factory they don't roll their eyes. They enjoy movies with subtitles and are willing to try new foods. We can have a conversation with differing views and come away having learned something new. We can play history hop-scotch as we discuss the ramifications and historical context of world events. My conundrum is that I am attracted to jocks but crave the intellect of a nerd. To find all of these things would be rare, much like finding a unicorn. So, my quest for a unicorn continues.

First Loves

First loves are never planned. You don't get to arrange your life and say,"It's all in order! And now I'm ready." First loves catch you by surprise. Perhaps it is the unexpected that makes it so wonderful. Everything becomes new and an adventure. And because it is a first, you are not jaded by past events. You are innocently blinded and easily give your whole heart. Running was my first love.

I recently started running again, and by recently I mean about 5 months ago. It all started when my friend, Lealah, asked me to join a running group (Running Grrrl) that she was starting. It would be all women, all levels, with the common thread of loving running. I actually didn't even want to join, but I did. When I became a part of Running Grrrl I had no aspirations of being the fastest runner or of even completing a half marathon. Lealah asked me to become a part of the running group and I said “yes”, because she's my friend. I had no intention of really becoming a part of the group. I figured I could tell her that I was working, something came up, and I would just keep excusing my way out. Not because I didn’t want to be a part of the group, but because it was running.

I fell in love with running at a young age. I would watch mesmerized as my dad laced up his shoes and came back sweaty, panting and smiling. I realized early on that running came easily to me. And I used it to my advantage, beating all of the boys in my class, which meant I was always picked first for games at recess. Sometimes on the weekend my dad would take me out to run with him. We would go out and run from telephone pole to telephone pole, and I would relish every “win”. As I grew up running remained a part of my life. In high school and college my tennis coaches joked that it was my ability to run down balls, not my hitting, which kept me in my matches.

After college I had an on again, off again relationship with running. Remembering the fun that I used to have with it I would come back and try to pick up where I had left off, only to be punished for my absence, left panting and sore from muscles I'd long forgotten. Inevitably, I would decide that I was bored with it, and I would move on to something new. Running was that relationship that I always came back to and it never let me down.

And then I started dating THE EX. Running became our thing. We did a couple of 10ks or just ran the bike trail on date night. It was great. I had never been in a relationship where I was so completely comfortable being me. I was head over heels in love. And then we broke up.

I have never been one to trust easily. All too often I had seen friends' hearts smashed by giving of themselves too easily. I spent years building up walls to ensure that I wouldn’t be hurt. And then when all the walls came down I was told I wasn’t worth it by the person that I’d built my life around. I shattered.

In the aftermath of the breakup I threw myself into work and running. In the moments of silence that I had I would beat myself up and review every aspect of the relationship, and then I would cry to the point of throwing up. Where had I gone wrong? I rationalized that the demise of the relationship was due to some flaw in me. If only I could have been prettier, smarter, funnier. If only I could have been more.

In an attempt to silence everything and assert my worth I turned to what I knew best: running. I started training for a half marathon and I made the horrible discovery that physical pain is easier to bear than emotional pain. I couldn’t bear the immense sadness, but I could handle running to the point of exhaustion. I slowly began to punish myself. Every footfall became an accusation. I found it in my heart to forgive him, but could not reconcile that he and his actions were one and the same. I found myself to somehow be complicit in what had happened. I should have know what was going on. How did I not know? And every step became more painful. But I loved the pain, mostly I loved knowing that I was the one inflicting the pain. And I vowed that nobody would get to hurt me again. I took what I had once loved and twisted it into something dark and painful.

A month and half went by with little sleep and constantly pushing my body. I was working two jobs and running every chance I had. I dropped to 89 pounds. I couldn’t walk up stairs without getting light headed. And then I got sick. When I walked into the doctor's office I was numb. I was numb as she explained the strain I was putting on my body, and my heart. I was numb as she painted a picture of what would happen if I continued. She said that I was putting too much strain on my body which had led to an infection. I was exhausted. I stopped running when I came home.

I moved shortly thereafter and started to rebuild my life. I rediscovered all of the things that I’d given up. I went back to church. I fell back in love with writing, tennis and music. I made new friends and realized that I could stand alone and be alright. It took a year and a half to gain back the weight that I had lost, but it was a physical reminder of what I had done to myself and how far I had come. The girl that I once was, the girl before the boys and the self-doubt, re-emerged- strong, passionate and optimistic about the world around me.

Occasionally I would run. I would run for 10 minutes at the gym. I would run while playing tennis or chasing the dog. But I no longer ran for fun. I had a pair of running shoes that I carried with me every time I moved, but they were lifeless and spent, just a memory of what was. And then Lealah asked me join the running group.

Like I said before, I had no intention of joining. But Lealah's enthusiasm was infectious and the next thing I knew I was standing at Montana de Oro with a group of women I didn’t know, praying that I wouldn’t have a nervous breakdown. Before I started running I promised myself that at the first hint of pain I would stop. I was afraid that all of those old feelings would come rushing back. But there was no pain. I was met with smiles and words of encouragement. And I only felt relief when I finished. Still, I thought it was probably a fluke. I decided to tempt fate and ran the next week and was just as hesitant, but nothing happened except being slightly sore. My fate wasn’t entirely sealed though until Miracle Miles (a fundraiser for foster children). Running on the beach, surrounded by people, they all just melted away. It was just me. No iPod, no self criticism just the sound of the water and my own breath. And I realized that I was happy. I was HAPPY. Perhaps the hardest thing to do is forgive yourself. But I'd finally done it. I could no longer punish myself for all the could'ves, should'ves and would'ves. Those old ghosts had been vanquished and there was nothing more to prove to anyone else or to myself.This was the running that I loved, the running from the playground, running after my dad to the next telephone pole, running to get to the ball. It had come back to me.

Actionwriter

*Old stuff*

Summer jobs are supposed to be fleeting. A quick way of making some money and today, while assisting one of my students in the seemingly impossible task of typing up an essay on Oedipus Rex, I became mesmerized by her very diligent and patient one finger typing method. And it reminded me of the typewriter that my dad used to force my siblings and I to use while working for the summer at his office. It was the bane of my existence. Seriously. I don’t know its origins, or how it came to be in the office, but it sits on the desk next to the computer. It’s such a weird juxtaposition of past and present. You know how shotguns have a kick that propels you backwards? This typewriter has a related kick. Maybe because it's called the Actionwriter (IBM). Anyways, you can be typing away (very carefully, because there's no backspace button) and it will suddenly kick and the next letter that you type will be 2 inches below the rest of the previously typed letters. So you have to proceed with caution. I do the one finger typing and leave a respectful pause in between each keystroke. Actionwriter would always manage to get me though, just as I was getting cocky enough to rest two fingers on its buttons. And I would be forced to destroy a perfectly nice, watermarked envelope. Thankfully I've made friends with the paper shredder. It destroys all of my mistakes. And when I'm bored I shred different colored paper just to see the rainbow of confetti. This got a little out of hand.

*Follow up to Something New*

Since I couldn't get Mr. Persian Wedding Dancer out of my head I went and sent him a message on Facebook. I only did this after I ran it by all of my very straight, uber-macho guy friends. I let him know that I had had fun dancing with him and thanked him for being my unofficial wedding date. Now all of my guy friends guaranteed that he would respond at least with a thank you. Two weeks later- cricket, cricket. Nothing. Maybe he's gay? (Eli's response.) Maybe he just wasn't all that in to me? (Sammy's response.) Who knows? I tried.

Something new

I haven't written in awhile. I feel like I should start every entry with "dear diary". Hmmm. I might. I went to a wedding this weekend. It was a crazy, over the top Persian wedding. I don't think I've had more fun. There's just a feeling that you get at a wedding. That collective feeling of love and wishing well for the couple that is so bountiful that it washes over the guests making them all sappy. Yeah, I was sap happy. I was sap happy as I watched the Cirque du soleil performers. I was sap happy as I ate my filet mignon and danced to Michael Jackson and Lady Gaga. I wasn't so sap happy as I watched a guy my age put the moves on my drunken little sister. But back to me.
At a certain point in the evening I had to go back to my room (drunk little sister). And on the way back down the elevator stopped on the sixth floor. In walks one of the groomsmen- the one who gave the adorable speech and ended with "I love you" to the groom. Let's pause for a second. This groomsman was not the type of guy I normally go for. He was short (5'11") and slightly round (not athletic/muscular). But he was smiling and adorable. PS- I hadn't been drinking thanks to my sister's shenanigans. Needless to say, we ended up dancing the night away. And he was funny. He was sweet, funny and a perfect gentleman. Sadly, he lives in Irvine, 4 hours away. No numbers were exchanged, no future meetings were suggested. We just went our seperate ways at the end of the night. And I was left wondering what the hell had just happened!
I am constantly on guard against ALL men. I've been hurt too many times and don't dare risk getting burned at this point in my life. Maybe later, but not now. Was it the loved up wedding that had made me feel something for this guy? I don't know. All I know is that I wanted more! So I did what any sensible girl would do. I facebooked him. I was slightly disappointed to see that his profile was set to private, but that didn't stop me. I found his friend, who's a friend of my brother and found some pictures of him. Pictures of him drinking, pictures of him being silly and lots of pictures of him with girls. Blech! So sad when a crush crushes you.
So maybe we weren't supposed to be. But it definitely got the ball rolling (in my head, at least). Maybe I'm ready to start dating. Maybe ALL guys aren't out to hurt me. Maybe I should just smile and dance once in awhile. Who knows.

For Now

Well,
I decided that I needed an outlet- a physical manifestation of my internal dialogue. This is it. I just took up running again, so at first it might be all about running. We'll see.