Bye Felicia; I’ve Found Me A Rock Star

Why are some men such dicks?  Please note I said “some”, as I have heard rumour there are some decent ones out there.  I’ve recently had my heart completely played with, and yet, I still have a strong desire to find someone to spend my life with.  What the f*ck is wrong with me?

After my recent five week, action packed, exciting little fling, I spend two weeks dealing with the aftermath.  He didn’t know what he wanted; he blamed his ex; he blamed me; he apologized (twice); he ignored me after apologizing.   It was exhausting.  Physically and mentally.  For a person with severe anxiety, the uncertainty and back and forth was excrutiating.  I’ve basically been stuck in a constant rumination that damn near killed me.  Ok, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration.  At times, however, I became so obsessive in thought, I literally ran myself to almost death.  The miles put on my runners these past two weeks is damn impressive.  My body aches, I’m tired, but not gonna lie — I look pretty great.

Back to the topic of dick.  Funny, cause that is his name.  He doesn’t go by DICK, but he really should.  My heart was awakened after five dormant years, and now it aches of loneliness.  Even though it was bullshit, he made me feel special and wanted.  DICK.

STOP RIGHT HERE.  A miracle just happened….. haha ok, not a miracle, but let me take you back to a crush I had going last summer Read here Play Me A Song.  MR. Dave the rock star, just appeared on a very popular dating site.  Granted I now know he is only 33 years old, so like 9 years too young.  Still, he’s single — the crowed goes wild.

Fuck you DICK.  I’m off to stalk a rock star.

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I’m Too Anxious For Myself

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It’s been two long week, and I’m anxiously going out of my mind.   Anxious and moppy can describe the mood I’ve been plagued with — it’s not pretty… not pretty at all.  Two weeks ago, I tore my calf muscle teaching my fitness class, and I’m still not able to walk on it.  For a person of my activity level, this is bloody torture.  I need my exercise, it’s what I use to deal with my anxiety.  I WANT TO RUN damn it… I just want to run.

Then there is my car.  My money sucking, aging, stress machine.   I took it into the shop yesterday morning, and it will not be ready until tomorrow.  Money stresses me out, and my car bill is going to be around $1400.  Brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it.  I’m unable to get around by foot, and I have to rely on friends for rides — I feel like a child.  A child ready to have a temper tantrum.  I feel like sitting on the floor of my office and screaming my face off…. hmmmmm I wonder if that would get me some paid time off?

My calf and my car will eventually be fine, but the waiting has me anxious and stressed out.  Ah well…. a breath and some wine will get me through another night.  Thank god for wine.

Mindfully Aware

An eerie gothic fog rolled into town this morning.   The thick gray air felt damp and cold, as my friend and I navigated our way down the city’s empty streets.  You could see our breath with each exhalation… our pace fast and steady.   All was quiet except for the sound of feet hitting pavement.  It seems we were the only two people awake, and we had the city all to ourselves.  We were free.

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The chill in the air sunk into my bones, and when I arrived home all I wanted to do was soak in a steaming hot tub.  Nevermind that I had only 30 minutes to get ready for work, I needed to heat my body and ease my aching muscles.   As the water began to fill the tub, I peeled off my running gear and tossed them in the laundry basket.  The house was chilly.  Goosebumps formed on my naked flesh, so I wrapped my arms across my chest in an attempt to shield myself.  Next, I stepped into the tub and slowly lowered myself into the scorching hot water.  A sigh of pleasure escaped me; one by one, my tense muscles relaxed.  For 10 minutes I tuned out; not a thing in the world existed or mattered.

It was still dark when I finally left for work.  As soon as I started the car, I turned the heater on high so as not to undo the warmth I still felt from my bath. “I Started a Joke” by the Bee Gees played quietly from the car’s radio : I began to hum.

My drive to work is a steady uphill climb on the major highway that runs through town.  The higher I drove, the thicker the fog got.  I could barely make out 5 feet in front of me, but I didn’t care — I was warm.  Warm and safe.  15 minutes after leaving my house, I was parked in front of the 30,000 sq/ft building I work in.

I sat outside my office with the car running for a few minutes.  My eyes closed, head against the head rest, and hot air tickling the exposed skin between my shoes and pant hem.  I was taking in the morning.  Every last minute of the beauty of being alive.  This morning I was not anxious or depressed.  I did not care what the rest of the day had in store for me.  This morning I was simply mindful — mindfully aware.

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I Raced Myself, and I won!

A sea of red could be seen for miles across our city on Sunday morning.  On your mark, get set, go…. and we were off.  Thousands of bodies trying to cross the start line; eager racers jetting to the side in an attempt to pick up pace.  Slowly the mass begins to separate as each finds their place and the race is on.   I pick a spot near the middle; I put my headphones in and start my place list.  “Thunderstruck” by ACDC gives me a beat to find my rhythm — two breaths in, one out, two breaths in, one out.  I repeat this mantra; ignoring the urge to stop before I begin.  “Keep it slow and steady”, I remind myself.  “Don’t go out too fast, or you will burn out too soon.”


Right in the middle with my headphones in…. breathing 

I fight the urge to pass the girl to the right.  She is clearly 20 years younger than I am, and she has her game face on.  I stay two strides behind and keep my focus.  Breathe – Breathe – Breathe.  “… working double time on the production line…” song number three begins, and I’m warming up.  My pace has quickened and I’ve left the 20 year old in the dust.  I spot my next competitor.  If I pick up my pace just a bit, I can pass him on the left and cut in front of him.  Here I go, the speed burns my quads, but I push on.  I’m right on his trail; I move to the left, and I pass him.  “Another one bites the dust…”  I can see the water station coming up; should I stop?  No, too soon.  I buzz by, leaving a thirst group behind me.

Heel to toe, heel to toe — my feet have their groove, as my arms pump in unison.  I’m running alongside the river now, and I spot a log drift slowly in waves.  My eyes lock on the log and count how many steps it takes to pass it.  One, two, three, four — it’s gone.  Up ahead I see a group of walk/runners.  They are on their walk cycle; I pick up my pace and skirt around them.  “You may be right I may be crazy, but it just may be a lunatic your looking for… ”  I wave at the familiar faces standing on the sidelines.  They cheer me on, and put out their hands for a high five. Slap one, two — I’m floating on air!

Can this be right, the turn around already?  It is!  Volunteers cheer and wave me in the right direction.  I’m on my way back, and I maintain my pace.  There’s a man to my right, he’s inching ahead of me.  I let him go by — I watch as his legs propel him forward.  I keep my eyes fixed on the back of his head.  I’m counting again.  I count the bobs of his head, up one, down two – one, two, three.  I’m beside him now, and I move in front.  Not by much; can I keep this pace?  How far behind me is he?  I think I can feel him right on on my tail.  I pump my arms and tell my legs to move.  Faster, just a little faster — I need to gain some ground.

Here comes the final climb.  It’s slow and gentle, but my tired legs can feel the incline.  “Focus on breathing; the faster you go, the sooner you’re at the top” my internal voice repeats itself over and over until I reach the peak.  It’s all down hill from here.  There he is, he’s coming up on my right again.  I can see his picking up speed as we start the decline.  Little does he know, I can fly down hills.  Should I?  How much further is it to the finish line.  If I pick it up now, will I still have enough for the final push?  I go for it.  Pump, pump, pump my arms.  I drive my knees up, and he’s gone.  Behind me know.  I must keep up the pace to keep my lead.  I see the last turn only meters away.  I’m at full speed, as I turn and see the crowd surrounding the finish lane.

“Pump, pump, pump… breathe, breathe, breathe – go, go, go – don’t stop” I chant myself through the gates, I only have a few seconds until I’m there.  “Keep pushing, you can do it” My feet hit the finish line, and adrenaline rushes through my entire body.  Every inch of me is alive with excitment.  Someone puts a finisher’s medal around my neck, and I shuffle out of the finisher’s circle.

This is not my first nor my longest race; however, it was one of the most satisfying.  The older I get, the more I appreciate what I can get my body to do.  I’m not a top placing runner; I usually finish somewhere just above the middle of the pack.  For me, it’s not about placing — it’s about pushing myself.  I came in at 57:30 minutes in this 10km race.  I’m 41 years old, and that is the same time I had when I was 30 years old.  To me, that’s a win!  My internal dialogue is what gets me through the finish line.  I don’t care if I actually pass my targets; however, they are what I use to challenge myself.  With every pass, I build my confidence, and I move further and further ahead.  I’m so proud of myself and everyone else that made it from start to finish on Sunday morning.

A race is like life; you must keep going and push yourself to the finish line.  Each pass is a goal achieved, each marker a moment of realization.  My hope is to come to my life’s finish line full of pride and excitement for all I accomplished — I raced myself, and I won!




Morning Interrupted

The sound of the alarm startles me this morning; can it really be 5:00am already?  I hit the snooze button and snuggle back into my bed.  5:05am, off goes alarm number two – NOOOO I don’t want to get up.  And here comes the internal dialogue I have with myself every morning:

“Get up and go for your run, you will be happy you did”

“But I’m tired, I can go to the gym after work today”

“You could, but it’s Friday, so you probably won’t… you had that glass of wine last night, if you don’t run it off, you will have muffin top all day”

“I don’t want to”     “Get your lazy ass out of bed”     “F*ck”       “OK FINE”

My feet hit the cold floor, and I stagger into the bathroom.  The light is blinding, why am I doing this to myself?  I brush my teeth, brush through the tangled mess of my hair, and scrounge through my laundry hamper for clean LULU.

I’m no longer thinking at all; I’m on autopilot – If I stop to think, I might change my mind and climb into bed.  The car is cold, so I put on the heater, adjust my mirror, and crank up the raRoad2dio.

I DID IT, I’m on my way downtown, and I’m going to get my run done!!! I park the car in front of my favorate cafe, tie up the laces of my worn runners, and hit the streets.  I warm up with a slow jog until I round the first corner, now begins the laborious climb up 1st Avenue.  1st Avenue is six blocks of “hill” – Lung burning hill.  My legs want to stop, and they ache all over.  I make it to the top, give myself a pat on the back and continue on.  “Pop Goes The World” is playing on my Iphone –  I’m feeling pretty good.

30 Minutes later I’m at the door to the cafe and ready for my coffee.  Greg, the barista, rings in my 20oz almond milk latte, and I settle in to for a quick read before it’s time for work.

Just as I open my book, a man sitting in the next booth decides to start up a conversation.  From the looks of him, I would guess he lives on the streets and had come in to warm up.  I humour him (I’m polite that way) by engaging in some friendly chit chat, and then I turn back to my book.  This did not faze him one bit; he continued to talk.  Honestly, I have no idea what he is talking about.  His speached is slurred and quick; I hear something about Cleopatra poisoning herself, and “Ain’t that a F*cking thing.”

My patience is wearing thin by now, and all I want is to be left alone.  I  pretend not to hear him and stare at my book hoping he will stops talking.  It doesn’t work, I turn my body completely away from him and focus hard on the words in front of me.  Still he talks.  It takes 10 minutes for him to run out of steam before he gets up and saunters out the door.

Part of me feels bad that I didn’t want to talk to him, but mostly I’m relieved he’s gone.  If I were a better person, giving up 10 minutes of my day would be no big deal.  But I not and this is my time.  As much as it pains me to get up so early, I treasure every moment of it.  I enjoy the empty streets as I run, I enjoy the first sip of my latte, and I enjoy the piece and quiet.

Although my morning wasn’t completely lost, I felt annoyed by the interruption.  Generally I’m pretty social and I will talk up a storm when I feel like it.  MY mornings are sacred though, and I don’t feel I should have to give of myself all the time.