Author: nicole

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40 miles

Today I hit my goal of 40 miles.
Today I hit my goal of 40 miles.

Each month during “running season,” I set a mileage goal. Most of the time it’s 50 miles, but this August I cut it to 40 so I could add strength training to the mix. Some months it’s down to the wire in terms of whether or not I’ll hit that magic number. In fact, one month it seemed so unlikely, I pretty much gave up.

Last month was another close call. On the very last day of July I ran a personal long of over six miles in order to pull out a victory.

I was very proud of myself, but I’m not a fan of close calls. I just can’t stand the tension. So although today would’ve been optimal for cross-training, I opted instead to head out for the winning miles.

For my troubles, I spotted a deer. And although I wasn’t able to snap his picture, I was able to at least say hi before he dashed back into the woods.

All in all a challenging but satisfying run.

runkeeper FB

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6 to go

I’ve been 40 for six months! Yesterday was my half birthday.

We have to blame Sojo and Sam for this whole half birthday thing. They are the ones who introduced me to the concept, and it took a few years before I actually paid attention to the calendar and remembered my own. But this year, finally, I did, and so happy half birthday to me!

Some days it seems I haven’t accomplished much this year, but as I sit and reflect, I have to admit that’s impatience talking.

I’ve gotten new opportunities at work and landed some interesting freelance contracts. I’ve made strides in my creative projects and midway between my birthday and my half birthday…

Me and Blue in NYC at an impromptu engagement party.
Me and Blue in NYC at an impromptu engagement party.

I got engaged. *shimmies*

It’s been a fun year thus far. My only regret is not documenting more of it. I’ve been writing morning pages and journaling semi-regularly, but I can do more to record this chapter of my life. In anticipation of the next six months, I plan to write a letter to myself to arrive on my 41st birthday.

There’s always a balance to strike between living life and writing about it, but inspired by Pearl Cleage’s work, I want to maintain the one, increase the other, and enjoy the hell out of both.

Cheers to life and love and all that jazz. And happy (half) birthday to me!

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Today, again, I ran.

Screen Shot 2014-08-18 at 10.23.08 PM

And it was a great run, too. I lifted weights yesterday, which means squats among another things. And although my legs started to feel it toward the end of today’s 3-miler, I really can tell the difference. I really love the difference.

I saw my two regulars today. I’ll call Ivan and Dan. I’ve never spoken to either of them except breathless good mornings or smiles or waves. They are both mustached men. Ivan bikes. Dan runs.

Ivan and I often arrive around the same time, which is interesting to me since I don’t have an official start time. But time and again, there we are. He pulls up in his Jeep, unloads his bike, straps on his helmet and rides off into the distance as I’m walking up to the start. We don’t see each other again until the next morning I’m out for a run.

Dan, on the other hand, doesn’t arrive when I do. Most of the time I go out for a stretch – anywhere from 1.5 to 2.5 miles – then I turn around and come back in. I’ll usually pass Dan on the home stretch. He’s a walker. His stride is an interesting cross between a brisk march and a stroll, all while his head tilts a bit to the right. In case I miss the gait, the mustache peeking underneath the army green baseball cap gives the game away. And sure enough, the hand juts out in greeting just as we pass.

A few mornings I’ve gone running much later than usual, only to find Dan on the home stretch while I was just starting. And the other day, I took such long rest breaks, Dan walked past me on the way and turned around and passed me again on the return.

I like seeing them. The regulars. The other day I recognized Ivan’s jeep approaching as I was preparing to turn on the main road leading to the Greenway. And when we both arrived, his wave was a little more vigorous than usual. It had been a few days since we saw each other.

Today, again, I ran. And Ivan biked. Dan walked. We waved and smiled good morning.

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Have you made art today?

I’ve been asking myself this question daily as of late. In part, because it reminds me that I am an artist – something I’ve only recently embraced. And in part, because it spurs me to action if the answer is no.

There’s a lot going on these days. It seems some of us have become caught in a cycle of  seeking and finding the worst in each other. Of creating solutions that perpetuate vengeance and violence rather than compassion or healing.

When reality is ugly, brutal, far from utopia and idealism, art shows us beauty and possibility. It encourages. Resonates. Reminds. It gives us new questions and new ideas. It pushes. Heals. Helps us to expand. Art is activism.

Whether you paint or dance or cook or sew or write or act or sing or whittle or sculpt or compose or love or…

Have you made art today?

The institutions of human society treat us as parts of a machine. They assign us ranks and place considerable pressure upon us to fulfill defined roles. We need something to help us restore our lost and distorted humanity. Each of us has feelings that have been suppressed and have built up inside. There is a voiceless cry resting in the depths of our souls, waiting for expression. Art gives the soul’s feelings voice and form.

~Daisaku Ikeda

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Welcome back, power.

Greenway creek spotted during a run break.
Greenway creek spotted during a run break.

I lift weights from time to time.

It’s not my favorite type of exercise, but I enjoy it enough to give it a go for weeks or months at a time, and the benefits are definitely worth the investment. A few months ago, I retired the weights for a while. It felt more of a drag than a joy and besides, the weather was finally warm enough for running. Like most things that resonate, I knew I’d pick up the barbell again, but I didn’t pencil it in my calendar.

My runs have been good, but really great. My legs had stamina but lacked power, and I didn’t see any improvement in the offing. For me strength is sexy and it was time to bring sexy back.

About a week or so later, I pulled out my barbell and dusted off my Pump DVDs. I decreased my monthly mileage goal from 50 to 40 to make room for strength training. As expected, the first runs post weights weren’t easy:

But today? Today was a different story. I started off faster and maintained my pace longer. And unlike recent weeks where my legs worked hard to keep up with my lungs, today they put in equal work.

Welcome back power, I missed you.

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Old Snippets

I’m organizing.

This is one of the first steps in my creative process. It’s resistance, or maybe it’s preparation for creation. All I know is, I can always tell how serious I am about writing by how much I suddenly have to clear off desks and organize files. Ha.

Today’s resistance-preparation is clearing out some of the random notes I’ve written in my computer’s Stickies app. Some of these are a few years old and most of them are interesting.

The one I’ve pasted below was written on Christmas Day 2012. At first I had no idea what was on my mind, but on second thought, I was pretty sure it was about love.

It was stream of consciousness so this is unedited. Maybe I’ll expand it, revise it, or something. Maybe not.

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Coming out of a cave is at once liberating and fear-inducing. Eventually, you see, one comes to love the cave without so much as a second thought. It is home. It is cozy. One is protected from the elements. And there again, in many ways, from life itself.

And there I was, comfortable in cave-as-home. Caged. And here I am, out. Free. And it is joyful. Yet painful. Elements assault underused senses. The prickly sensation of blood flowing through sleeping organs. It’s uncomfortable.

Laughter as sunshine. Tears for rain. Breath – sometimes quick and shallow, other times relaxed, deep – so much wind.

 

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The view from my window

A windfarm in Indiana.
A windfarm in Indiana.

I’m with Blue and the kids in Indiana. We’re up here for his family reunion. Lots has been going on in the past several weeks, but all of my writing about it has been private, thus far. It’s time to start blogging again and I have a few updates coming soon. Today I just wanted to peek in and wave hello.

Hello!

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Thoughts on a Friday

I love this album.

Yesterday was the 30th anniversary of Purple Rain. I had the purple 45 growing up and listened to it until it was all scratchy. And then I listened to it some more.

I was in elementary school when it came out, so it’s likely I didn’t get it right away, but who remembers? I’m pretty sure I still have the saucer-sized vinyl disc and a plastic yellow 45 adapter stuck in the center of it.

It’s somewhere buried in the stacks of albums, cassettes and 8-tracks in the basement.  But I’ve not been home to check them lately.

To the house, is probably more accurate than home. As I wrote long ago, home is where the heart feels welcome. My heart and home are with Blue. I’m in the process of moving again.

I have an essay brewing about getting back in the swing of things after a year of transition. And now more transition is on tap. I have a couple of essays brewing, actually.

Speaking of writing, I’m thinking about taking a creative writing class. I’d like some sort of structure and accountability. Writing groups have been suggested to me more than once, so I do plan to look into those as well…

Years ago I claimed I had nothing to say. Not that what I had to say was valueless – I claimed to lack for ideas. I have the ideas. Just gotta to spend more time putting them on paper.

I’m a prolific thinker, but writers write.

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Comfort zone

As a general rule, I love routine. I like to be oriented. I want clear directions. I want to know what to expect. As a child, my parents thought it was cool to say things like, “Let’s go!” without any explanation as to where we were going. Some people think this is adventurous. I found it highly irritating.

Sometimes my mother would give me a choice between some wonderful surprise or staying home. If I couldn’t know in advance, I always chose to stay home. They never caught on that I just needed to know what I was getting in to. The ice cream, the movie, the {insert wonderful thing}, was simply not enough of a draw. The key thing for me was knowing what was going on. Having a clear sense of place and belonging.

I’d like to say I grew out of it. The truth is, I am just more willing to be uncomfortable. I dislike going into crowded rooms if I am unfamiliar with the layout. I’m not excited to strike up conversations with strangers just because we’re near each other.

I will do these things, and I can make the best out of it. I can smile genuinely and find points of connection. I can get oriented in a disorienting situation.

But it doesn’t bring me pleasure.

Many times I’ll opt in to uncomfortable situations just for the sake of growth. Or love. Or some such noble reason.

But every now and again, I opt out.  Just for the sake of me.

Sometimes I’m shy. Sometimes I’m an introvert. Sometimes I’m moody. Always I’m me! *shimmies*