Reasoning Rhythm

Running 11 miles at under a 9 minute pace under pristine circumstances should truly make one feel good. Freaking great. On top of the world. Jumping for joy. Shouting from the rooftops. You get the point.

Well, is it obvious this is not the case. Future goal: perfect the ability to mimic feelings with words. Mastering the art of the eye roll years ago isn't cutting it with the inability to actually see the eye roll. Again I found myself strolling along, easily could have carried on a conversation gliding under just the right amount of clear blue sky, a perfect light breeze allowing my habitual braid to stay intact, a cool 70 degrees, good tunes, sans band aids..... Snap out of it. On repeat since unlacing. I should have a Pandora station with the voices in my head these days. True, lots running through my mind. Usually runs right out within the frame of any form of speedy repetitive leg movement. I've always said I don't feel like myself if I miss a run. Total out of body experience. In a body I'd rather not inhibit. So what's the deal yo!?! Focus. Unfocus. Breathe. Relax. Smile. Think. Don't think. Ugh. Ugh. UGH. One chooses to be happy, a mantra to live by. One I live by. However, after hours of the voices in my head telling me to be happy, I've chosen to think instead. On paper it's all peachy. I've never liked peaches. Fresh peaches, yummy. The canned kind gooped in slimy corn syrup sloshed on top cottage cheese forced down during adolescence may play a slight role in this. If only I got that psychiatry degree. Plenty of time. Insert light bulb, thank you Mr. Edison. Too bad Mr. Gates has yet to discover how to give words the power to ignite action. Time. Such a mind blowing concept. Today it feels like it's running out. I know, I know. Yes, I'm young. However, according to whomever they may be, I'm behind. No need to worry about any weird finger tan lines, no need to rush home to have dinner on the table, no need to try to figure out just how we're going to pay for a college education, no need to even worry about we. Cue the violin. Not sure who to thank for that one. The ironic thing is, is typical me, everyday me, running junky me, peaceful, nomadic me, does not care what they say. Thus the pleading desire to make the voices in my head to just effin shut up. I've been known to think too much. Serious direct relationship to my date of birth. Seriously. If only I would've got that astrology degree. Unseriously. But, but....I think (shocking) the lack of cloud cover has gotten to me. California has turned me into a hopeless romantic. So now, these thoughts will not end. It's making my skin crawl. I intend to learn a rain dance. Then again, maybe, just maybe I should this time put this Pandora station to use. Time is running out on some things. How far will it get before I need those band aids again....

Rosey State of Mind

I ran 12 miles today. Well, let me explain. I ran/walked 12 miles this beautiful, sunny, warm, breezy California afternoon. To say I have a new appreciation for all those who have ever completed a marathon, or even "just" a half marathon (as many runners coin the less intense mileage), would be a flat out lie. See, I am extremely in awe of all those who've crossed that finish line. Never even have safety-pinned a bib or numerically labeled myself, I can simply only imagine the feeling of partaking in this tradition. True, it is on my bucket list. However, I recently discovered it may have moved up in rankings. Thus my double digit stroll. "I feel the need, the need for speed." Maverick, Goose and I are on the same page. Despite my lack of totting medal bling, when I lace up something inside me ignites. I run for many reasons. One of them: to beat myself. Daily. This past week, setting a PR at 3 miles/20:03 minutes. Damn, that felt good. Hence my anxious twitch triggered at the mere thought of 26 point 2 miles. It has been a while since my last post. A really long unintentional pause. Over the course of these past 8 months I've completed tasks not on my bucket list. Topping the charts: 3 days driving solo from Detroit, Michigan to my very own piece of paradise in Orange County, California. Now I am not one to hate. It, like love, is a strong word and should be used sparingly. I H.A.T.E. driving. Getting me through it was the opportunity waiting on the other end: an actual real job. You know, the ones grown-ups have and a college degree used to get you.

As the recent Senior Campaign Manager for a national non-profit, I assist those who are relentlessly fighting for a cure for cancer in raising money and crossing a finish line. My boss, bless her heart, strongly has expressed her feeling that I too earn my keep. It's about time for me to talk the talk and walk the walk. Many things in life are mental. One chooses to be happy, irate, succumbed to drama...another blog, another day. Running is mental. Your mind will give up before your legs do. My mind just wants to go fast. My mind thoroughly enjoys hailing butt. This perfect Sunday afternoon, I spoke to my mind. I told it to just relax, take the time to smell the roses. I've never been the rose type. Hence my inability to slow the f down. I completed my first ever 12 mile outing at under an 9 minute pace. Crap. Time to choose a favorite shade of rose.