I honestly had no idea I was grimacing this much . . .
There are things we do because we need to. There are things we do because we want to. And then there are the things we do because we have to.
A week and a half ago, I had to run a half marathon.
I am not a runner. As a kid, I hated running. I picked up running as a teenager when I discovered just how terrible I was at sports. I loved being active, and if I couldn’t make the varsity basketball team, well . . . After my rock-climbing accident, I discovered cycling. My right shoulder was severely damaged in the fall, and in the months that followed, my right arm couldn’t swing properly. Running was out of the question; cycling, on the other hand . . .
I got my first road bike for my 21st birthday and was hooked. I still ran often because, let’s face it, putting on a pair of running shoes is a lot simpler than pumping up bike tires and fixing flats, but, in reality, cycling had my heart. That’s why the furthest I’d ever run until October 20th was seven miles. That’s why the furthest run I’d done recently was six.
I’d always thought about running longer distances, of course. I had friends who’d run half and full marathons and reveled in their dedication. How could I not admire someone who purposely put their body through that much pounding? I wondered if I could do it, too—and knew deep down that I could—but I hesitated to sign myself up for the task. Why would I, unless I had to? Continue reading
Grr . . . My post on my half marathon is almost finished. Almost. But, as I’ve been working on it for several hours now and have to work in the morning, I’ll have to leave you with this teaser for now.
This is me and a lovely Asian woman on the last stretch of the Nike Women’s Half Marathon in San Francisco last Sunday. I’m giving it my all, and . . . Well, for a laugh, just compare the looks on our faces!
She is having way too much fun! (I was hurting at this point . . .)
Image: Mine and Nike’s
It’s mid-afternoon on Saturday. I’ve been home nearly a week and have only posted . . . once?! Big race is tomorrow (I’m running the Nike Women’s Half Marathon in San Francisco), and all I keep thinking is, “What do I want to say?” There ought to be a lot after my trip—and there is—but all I keep coming up with is:
Life is . . .
Which then launches into:
“Life is . . . too short, so love the one you’ve got,
‘Cause you might get run over, or you might get shot . . .
Take a small example, take a tip from me:
Take all of your money, give it all to charity . . .
Lovin’, is what I got, I said remember that.
Lovin’, is what I got . . . I got, I got, I got.”
It’s the lyrics to a popular song by Sublime that came out when I was in grade school. It’s a song that’s a little bit timeless—as in, it could have come out yesterday, the melody and beat are still so fresh in my mind. Not all of the lyrics are good, of course. But I find it interesting that even mainstream artists who talk about smoking pot and getting high keep coming back to the idea that life is short and love is all we’ve got . . . Continue reading
I miss you. What? How is that possible? I don’t know, but it’s true.
Funny that my little blog has become something of my home. I share my thoughts here, and you respond. You tell me that I’m not crazy. For that, I owe you everything.
A few weeks ago I proposed a regular Friday section focusing on travel. I should have known better. I can’t even get myself to bed on time let alone post a weekly section on time. I’m sorry. I do plan to write at least once a week about travel, though. I just can’t swear that it will pop up in your “Reader” section at a specific time.
This Friday (yesterday) I took a day trip to San Francisco. The weather was perfect, and I got to drive over the new Bay Bridge, a white, sleek monument to modernity that stands in stark contrast to the dark metal contraption — the old bridge — beside it. I broke the law and took a few pics for your benefit while driving. ;)
The new bridge to the left and the old on the right.
.. Continue reading
(oh, curs-ed place),
where dreams forgot
where all’s amiss,
and I, its long lost token . . .
(oh, bless-ed place),
where winging worlds
where dreams unfold,
of tales yet told;
and lovers, reunited.
… Continue reading
My view from across the street.
They were surrounded. From afar, I couldn’t tell what all of the hullabaloo was about. I moved closer and stopped on the sidewalk.
Across the street, a man wearing a red jumpsuit was teetering on the top of a ten-foot ladder. The ladder was free-standing. With incredible strength and skill, the man was balancing on the ladder while his team member held a unicycle—also ten feet tall—upright in front of him.
This wasn’t your usual street performance. I walked across the street.
The men had on headsets and were bantering back and forth, joking with the audience. “Don’t try this at home, folks,” said the man on the ground. “Try i’ at school—then you can sue your teachers if you ge’ hurt,” said the man in red. He had a thick British accent. The audience laughed and gasped as he began “walking” the ladder forward—arms pumping at his sides as though he were running—and moved from the ladder to the unicycle, torso falling forward, then backward, trying to find his balance on the seat. Continue reading
I was being compulsive. Again. I’ve told you I’m a clean freak, right? Well, I am, and today it was about my car. I’d just gotten it washed after my trip to San Francisco (more on that later), and now, next door at Chevron, I was wiping dirt off of the engine under the hood.*
As I was working, I suddenly became aware of a car right behind me.
“Excuse me. Miss?”
I turned around to see a large Hispanic man leaning out of an old tan Buick. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt despite the warm weather and a thick black mustache over pale lips. A dark-haired woman sat in the passenger seat beside him. Continue reading