I am, after all, Exceptional!

I believed it.  Pretty much every time. 

"I'm really busy."

Poor sad, busy man, so overwhelmed with... life... that giving him his space would be just so, understanding.

Sure, okay... so many of us are into being so busy we are too busy to add much more, seems to make logical sense.  I am a logical, understanding, nice woman, I get it.  

Then my bubble of justification bursts as I remember what that darned book's author said.

Greg Behrendt, author of "He's Just Not That Into You" has written:

“I'm about to make a wild, extreme and severe relationship rule: the word busy is a load of crap and is most often used by assholes. The word "busy" is the relationship Weapon of Mass Destruction. It seems like a good excuse, but in fact in every silo you uncover, all you're going to find is a man who didn't care enough to call. Remember men are never too busy to get what they want.”

Makes ya think.  Makes me think.  And how clearly I am able to recall so many quotes and lines from that reality check manuscript.

Essentially, Greg and his book have ruined my life.

Like so many girls growing up in the liberating 60's and 70's, I was taught by my dear mother that I am exceptional.  The logic was clearly reinforced by all those blasted Disney movies, holding on for Prince Charming even though little Suzie might be under dressed or shabby, the good-hearted girl will get her good knight!

But Greg slaps me, and all other women, to reality with the harsh words that most likely I am the rule and not the exception.  That most likely the reason Mr. Could-Be-Right hasn't called is NOT because business is so prosperous or that long distance running endurance training is so rigorous that he just was not able to find the time to call or visit or have sex (in between golf games with the guys) -- he simply "just isn't that into you."

Eventually, smart (if not exceptional) women like me finally do realize it is time to open up the space he had been emptily inhabiting, for a new man.  Go out and pursue another opportunity to be simply adored!  "Don't waste the pretty!"  (Thanks, Greg.)


But then, just as the ink has dried on a date invitation for Saturday night, the ass comes back and says, "I miss you."

(Yeah, you miss me so much that you are calling me on your way to meet the guys for a beer.)

It is so sweet, hearing those words, hearing that voice again, feeling that fit, that familiarity, that comfort.

So tempting.   



Ladies!  Warning!  DON'T get stuck here, in this dead space of  thinking he is just about to realize what a mistake he has made.... Greg might just be right!  If he thought he made a mistake, he would be knocking down your door making sure no one else has moved in.

Responsibilities with work, kids, sports, church, the farm animals, the weeds in the garden, the ever so popular required golf games, they all have priority in life.  I do understand the true importance of having to do a job, having to make money to pay for bills, having to show up for things, for events, for parties, and to clean things (like your car or lawnmower), log running miles and buy groceries (milk and beer and little fake chicken pieces in the shape of race cars).  All these things should not, however, ALWAYS be a priority over you. 

Thus, here is the clincher, the true point of my blog today -- directed at you, my female reader, my daughters, my co-workers, my friends, MY SELF....  As you sit waiting for that Disney kiss to awaken you, for the white horse, for the carriage, for the man climbing a fire escape with flowers instead of catching his flight out of town (insert any movie fairy tale b.s. here), you may be MISSING the real catch, the real love of your life right in front of you (do you see him?  he's the one bearing gifts and promises of back rubs and sweet kisses!).  I am not saying you ARE, I am just sayin' maybe.

Obviously this blog is a sarcastic tribute to my life as a single woman.

I can say with unusual certainty that it sucks to love a man, to choose a man, and then not to BE chosen.

Greg and his book present a mighty fine argument to we women who are waiting for the light of realization to come on in our man's head.

“...what I can do is paint you a picture of what you’ll never see when you’re with a guy who’s really into you: You’ll never see you staring maniacally at your phone, willing it to ring. You’ll never see you ruining an evening with friends because you’re calling for your messages every fifteen seconds. You’ll never see you hating yourself for calling him when you know you shouldn’t have. What you will see is you being treated so well that no phone antics will be necessary. You’ll be too busy being adored.” 

Sounds right.  Makes sense.  I hear the echo of those words repeating, daily... a man would rather be trampled by elephants than admit he's just not that into you. 

~ Tell the heart whom to love, though. ~

As naive as I feel saying it, we -- I -- will probably continue to hold on hope for true love to reign, for all my days of caring to matter, for him to come pattering back...

...for that exception to the rule to finally... be me.

Love Hard

So I am closing on my new house today.  After three years living in the "Friendship House," I will do what was originally intended and become a landlord, and to go on to (finally) a little more counter space, a few additional closets, and 1 3/4 bathrooms.  (I have a separate blog post drafted in my head about the meaning of this move, figuratively, emotionally, but will share that point another day.)

My daughters and I were going through the rooms quickly yesterday, taking pictures and measurements, anticipating what would go where, when Alicia got a text from Sean that there was an explosion at the finish line of the Boston Marathon.

As details quickly surfaced, panic set in... I personally know literally dozens of friends running the race.  I love those people!  Were they all okay?  How bad was it all?  All the buzz of moving fell away as we scrambled to make calls, get word that folks were safe.

Thank God, by the end of the day, I was able to learn that all those runners I knew in Boston, and their families were fine.  I just prayed for all those hurt, or worse.

I was wide awake until after 4 a.m., writing emails and texts, sending notes of care and hugs of understanding to my friends.  It was all I could do at 4 a.m.

That's just me.  I love hard.  

Oh, but trust me, I am in no way accomplished at this loving thing.  It is actually my biggest failure in life.  Still I keep trying to do it better... and every day, I feel saddened to see that those I love just slip farther away, diluted into the depths of all we have "to do" and keep up every day.  Indeed, it is difficult to love in times like these, where people kill children and families and each other.  It is hard to witness.  It is hard to give of our real selves when there is so much to possibly lose.


Despite getting older and supposedly wiser, despite all the books I have read on the subject, and collecting schools of thought and opinions, I still cannot figure out men and their general lack of personal, emotional response.  Does it matter to you at all that I love you?  Or do you look at me like I am "crazy" at worst, or "needy" at best?  Do you turn away from me so you don't feel?  Is it easier to watch life happening in horrific two minute news clips which you can switch off if it all gets too graphic?

It's great we can all sit around on the internet and post caring thoughts to those we don't know who suffer traumas (seriously, really great we virtually "come together" in tough times)... but what of those you see at home every day?  Have you reached out today -- hugged them *for real* -- said "I love you" in person?

Unfortunately it seems, the more we are able to globally reach out to others, the less we personally exchange.  In fact, I do believe I feel more alone in my life now than I ever have -- even though Facebook tells me I have 751 friends!

Those who know me know I find great value in our various technologies of today.  I am on my computer probably 7 hours of every 8 hour work day, and cannot imagine what we did back in the day of solely land line phones and U.S. mail letters.  If I stretch my mind, I think I remember those days. 

That's one of the reasons I have chosen to live in Medina.  Folks ask me where my new house is, and I say, just across the Square from where I am living now.  We still have the idea of small town caring going on here, in our neighborhoods and small local businesses.  Eric next door mowed my lawn yesterday morning, not because I asked, but because he had the day off and was "glad to do it."  Bob, another neighbor, returned my bread pan and said thank you for the banana bread.  I noticed that Joe a few doors down had collected fallen tree limbs and piled them next to my back porch.  Friends of my daughters friends offered to help me move.  I walked Savanna home from work last night.  These are things we used to do, and still *can* do if we only make the time. 

So, you may look at me strangely when I hug every runner at races, finishing later because I walked a couple miles catching up with a friend.  You wonder where I get the time to send cards, or bake bread, or arrange flowers for gifts.  You are probably tired of hearing about my funny pet stories, and a little nauseous with seeing pictures of my daughters.  You may walk past my office during the work day and wonder why I sound like a counselor or a coach with my colleagues, why I tell them personal details, ask questions, listen.

Well, this is why.

Because though we cannot end hatred in the world, in our own community, we can contribute to kindness.  We have a choice every day to treat others with respect, to reach out first and risk rejection, but believe more in goodness and friendship.  It is unfortunate that acts of horrific violence get more news coverage and joining of forces than many acts of peace.
 
We cannot change "them" but we can make small changes within our own selves -- to lead with love, and accept love with open arms when it is given to us.

Unfortunately it takes a day like yesterday for the perspective to clear.... It's going to take a lot of pooled light to battle the growing darkness.

I hope you are with me:  love hard.

See that hero?

In all my nine years of running ultras, I haven't ever posted a 50k race report.  Not sure exactly why, and yet it seems probable that aside from my very first 50k race they have passed by as uneventfully as a marathon.  "True" ultrarunners do honestly get pretty pompous about running marathons and 50k's as training runs for the 50-milers, 100k's and really long races like the 100-milers.

My elitist attitude has toned down over the years, though, as my training miles and race times have dwindled to slightly embarrassing numbers.  It is now an accomplishment for me to finish a 50k -- as if I am hanging on by a thread to the runner I "used to be."  That's what happens when too many Saturdays pass by of sleeping in, and too many late evenings at work and cold winter nights serve as plausible excuses to skip a training run.  I guess I figure if I can still complete a 50k, I still have hope of becoming pompous again.   But then the terrible finish time makes me sad for myself, for being so weak and incapable.  

Yesterday morning, at 5:15 a.m., limping to the door, letting the dogs out, seeing the new fallen snow, I seriously battled with wanting to quit before starting.  The Green Jewel 50k is a yearly event for me.  Except for the initial year, May 2008 I believe, when it was a 100k/50k with maybe 15 competitors, I have run all of them.  And yet going to the bus and traveling to the starting line and completing 31 miles on the pavement seemed just like torture.

I was ready to send a text message to Joe when I got a wake up call from a fellow runner, who basically told me to put on my big girl pants, suck it up, and get going to the bus.

Not many folks out there are really invested in my running any more.  Not like many were invested in the beginning, but I have let my community down by not showing up to so many fun events and runs.  I don't even know most of the folks manning aid stations anymore.  I haven't kept up with my peeps; I didn't even know that a "good" friend got DIVORCED last year!

Why do I hang in the middle, in I-don't-much-care Land, and either DO IT WELL or QUIT?

Because of folks like Tim Adkins.

Tim is a 22-year old from Lorain who finished his first 50k yesterday.  I had the honor of spending the last five miles or so in the race with him.  I learned of Tim's health challenges as a child, when at age 7 he nearly died from drowning.  Though his heart was revived through CPR, Tim was in a coma for four months.  Doctors at one point told Tim he wouldn't ever do something so physical like run.  But after three marathons in the last year, and now the Green Jewel 50k, Tim has another medal to show everyone he can and WILL do what he wants.

You see, being in the middle to the back of the running pack, I get a chance to meet special people like Tim.  Inevitably every race I get to hear of a grand story of comebacks and strength despite the odds.  We have heroes right here in Ohio, in fact.  If you spend any time at all with running groups you will meet all sorts of ultrarunners who have turned their addictions to alcohol or drugs into an addiction that benefits them:  running.

We have amazing folks all around us.   Each one of them has a story, each one of them has a personal bucket of tears.  Next time you are in the back of the pack just counting down the miles, ask someone "why this race, why today."   You will see a hero next to you.

Lately, for every race I drag my unmotivated butt to, the Lord arranges my meeting up with someone TRULY amazing.  The message to me:  "You think YOU have challenges.  HA.  Listen to THIS.  Get rid of your lame excuses and appreciate the life I have given you."

Tim Adkins could have looked outside at the snow yesterday and said, "Naw.  It's too tough.  Too uncomfortable.  I'm not going."  Probably most of the 132 finishers yesterday had some valid, plausible excuse for NOT starting the race.  And yet each one of those runners, completely healthy, injured or sickly, unmotivated or untrained, energetic or lonely or sad or tired, accepted the challenge.

I know that no excuse is much better than a whole slew of good ones.  I know I need to put my big-girl pants back on and get that tough Suzanne back in my life.

I know.

The heroes remind me.  

Moving, Forward

You would not imagine the amount of "keepsakes" I have accumulated and stored over the years of my life.  Only when I am preparing to move do I realize just how MUCH I have...  boxed up and stacked, staring at me.  Some boxes have gone from Euclid to Medina to Medina location #2 without even being opened; and most of those boxes are still stored, thankfully, in Bob's basement. 

Living in the Friendship House has been tight living.  Apparently back in 1899 folks did not own many clothes or sundries  -- because Savanna and I have a total of two-and-a-half small closets in our entire house.  There is no broom closet, or pantry, no linen closet or coatroom.  Just a few precious bedroom closets... and a wet basement for a few plastic bins of seasonal clothing, chancing mold.  Decorated plastic bins labeled "jeans" and "undies" line my bedroom walls.  Aside from the garage, there is literally nowhere to store more of anything, much less keepsake baby shoes and china teacups.

But come on now, even I realize that Bob has housed my random belongings for too long.  I do make what I call "shopping trips" back to his house once in a while to pack up a car load of my things we need to use, but didn't need enough to move in to the house initially.  Frankly, there were at least five times I went over there with great intentions to get massive amounts of work done, move stuff out of there... but it didn't take long before the mass of items felt overwhelming to deal with, to sort, to move emotionally through and either "give away," "keep," or "toss." 

Yet life moves forward no matter who can deal with it or not, and Bob decided to work on brightening up his place.  It was (way past) time to clear out the remnants of my walk-in closet.  Well, I didn't move quickly enough, and Bob packed up my things from (just) the closet.   The stuff moved out to the garage for holding, and finally arrived at my house by the generous man who packed them for me.  I swear to you, there were at least 15 boxes.  From just the closet.  Packed, stacked, and mocking me... "ha ha, you have no closet to hide us anymore!" 

This blog, however, is not about explaining the amount of crap I have accumulated.  It's about change and transformation.  I know this because I have been able to sort through those 15 boxes. I have been able to emotionally handle the memories they revive!  Do you see?  I am moving on with my life.  Finally.  

Henry David Thoreau advised to "Go confidently in the direction of your dreams!  Live the life you've imagined." I have the magnet on my fridge to motivate me!  Sounds great...  most days... if I feel gutsy and, well, CONFIDENT, and willing to accept whatever I get as a consequence.  It is kind of hard to let go of stability.  It has frozen many folks, I am sure, from jumping into a dream. 

The Friendship House was supposed to be a temporary home, a soft place to land for a little while.  I was pretty much convinced that within a year I would be moving on to a bigger house, re-married and happy.  (So much for expectations!)  Don't get me wrong,  this place is adorable, comfortable, cute.  I have wonderful flower beds and a garden.  The true value has been the trial run of independence, a stepping stone to something larger.  And no, the "larger" vision of my future is not nearly developed -- I just know that I am READY to move forward... even if I am alone.  

Anyone who pages back through my 65 blog posts knows that for a (long) while just getting out of bed and going to work and running were victories.  My heart ached for the many poor decisions I had made.  And then, the flowers and the garden saved me.  I learned enjoyment of "me" time from a dear, most perfect role model (who then moved on to be alone).  My own life was shaping up around me.  Once I met Jeff I knew the transformation was all but arrived. 

Proof positive of personal change to me has been two-fold: a side-business idea, and more importantly, buying another house.  I admit that for a while I was ambivalent, wanting a change but waiting for something "else" to happen so that I didn't have to make a decision "by myself."  Waiting might then go on forever.

It seems that life is healthiest lived independently of another.  Even in a relationship, independence and sense of self are necessities to being a strong partner.  Strong self, strong partner; love yourself, love others.  Accept the results you, yourself, pay for, or earn.

Clearing off a bookshelf today I found poetry books written by my most favorite, dearest, professors ever -- Paula Rankin.  Paula was an English teacher at Baldwin-Wallace, mostly creative writing.  My minor in undergrad was Writing and Literature, so I was blessed to be taught many (life) lessons from Paula. 

Shortly after graduation, Paula became ill and moved back to her family, and to teaching at Hampton University.  I remember feeling heartbroken that she had been/was ill, and even more heartbroken to know that she was no longer here, for readings or long talks.  Paula really listened.  She found a deep love and appreciation for her students, for each of us, and to this day I love to re-read her letters from Virginia. 

Oddly enough, on this day, I read, "... as you've already discovered, dear Suzanne, there's a price for every choice we make.  And the choice between dependence and independence is, I think (at least for me), the most difficult.  Security is so seductive - yet full of hidden costs."

What truth in that statement!  Frightening, too, to "go confidently" in the direction of my dreams, when I will pay a price for that choice!  However, not advancing (i.e., holding on to the secure), waiting for "a man" to "make a move" does bear hidden costs -- maybe lost time, lost opportunities, lost places to redecorate and personalize.  No new gardens to plant or flowers to grow.   What thrives, waiting?

I am jumping, net or no net.  My life to live.  

I didn't ever imagine needing to pack up my things from my comfortable walk-in closet.  I had hoped the nightmare would end, and I would return to security.  I didn't imagine living in the Friendship House for a third Spring, a third Summer.  Living the life I had imagined became a life I didn't expect to ever know.  It took some time to trust that a different image, while not expected, can still be good and fulfilling -- full of unknowns, and surprises, and with luck, love.  

And so truly, as I have unpacked boxes to sort, I will re-box the most important things, to take with me as I move, forward.

Sense

"If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?"  

Have you ever pondered that question, relative to any given object, sense, or feeling? 

Philosopher George Berkeley proposed once that objects of sense exist only when they are perceived.  

Visual and auditory hallucinations exist to one.  Another who sees or hears them is able to validate them.  Does that alone make the hallucinations real?

If a secret is kept quiet after whispering it with but one, is that secret not contained to those two? 

I light a candle with you in a room with no windows.  We leave the room and tell no one.  Who is to know it keeps burning?

I have held his hand secretly in that room with the candle.

He loves me quietly and acknowledges that love to no one else but me.    Does a relationship exist?

Just how strong is YOUR faith?  

Direction

This post first began 45 minutes ago as a Facebook status update.  Unfortunately it became too philosophical and complex -- in my own mind -- to be posted there for "everyone" to see.  I feel safer somehow making this a blog note, kind of public, not as public, if that makes sense.

Anyhow...

I realized last night as I was trying to fall asleep, that most all the folks I consider my ultrarunning mentors -- old school ultrarunners, amazing athletes, my dearest friends -- are race directors.  Either there are a lot of local ultra distance races, or I am associated with the best of the best.  More likely, I am just hooked up with the best.

I consider these people the "best" because they are not only doing the sport they love to do, they do it with consistency, year after year, and have targeted a purpose greater than themselves.  Quite a lot of these races are fundraisers for charities, or awareness campaigns, or tributes to beloved colleagues, or even just chances to get non-running folks into running and becoming healthier.  These race directors get up every day to normal lives like my own, taking care of work duties and household tasks, and family affairs, AND they find a way to stay fit AND make a difference to others.  Their efforts really make me want to do something worthwhile, too.  

As a side note, quite honestly, I have not been running.  I have been so disconnected from the people I love that I fear I won't find my way back.  I used to tell Bob that I was always one run away from quitting.  If I am honest with myself, right now, I have all but quit.  

What happened to me.  What happened to the motivated, energetic Suzanne who would preface a run with "it's only" ... 16 miles, 26 miles, 50 miles.  How do I find the road back to that place, to that person?

Ah, but all this is tied to a greater issue within me.  The not running and the barely showing up are indicative of a greater challenge.  It may be depression, or loss, or sadness, or illness, or age, or an odd mixture of circumstance over the last 3 1/2 years.  I haven't been able to pinpoint it, cannot be objective, don't have a clear thought to save myself.  I go about my day pretty well, but usually right before bed, when I am trying to fall asleep and the thoughts won't stop rushing through my head, I desperately consider huge issues:  like how I must have a purpose on this earth.


I surely didn't just get assigned the role of mom as the only thing to do of importance.  My girls are raised, Alicia is an adult ready to graduate from college and have her own family and business, and Savanna is such a mini-adult she goes to school full time and works a job all so well she is graduating in the top third of her high school class.  I know this was the most important purpose of all -- being a parent -- and I am thankful to God that I was given the chance, twice, to do this job.  My purpose as Mom won't really ever end, thankfully, because I will always love my daughters more than life itself.  But I have set them off to fly.  So in a way, the largest part of my job is done.

Now, there must be another direction.

While the connection between race directing and running and parenting and finding purpose might not all connect for you, my reader, it makes sense to me in this way:  others are doing something with enthusiasm, consistency, importance.  Others who are my friends, my role models, are doing all I have to do in my world AND more... and are doing it with grace and ability and *consistency.*  Why would I ever have the right to sit here and say, I cannot do all this, when they do. 

My excuses are only excuses.

Even as I sit here on my couch, Saturday morning, 10 a.m., I realize today must be the day I make progress on something grand -- something more grand than just showing up and checking the box.   Like anyone, I won't be perfect.  I will make mistakes, I have my shortcomings, and will have failures.  But I have to TRY first.  I have to break through this endless cycle of crying over the mess, and find goodness in all of it.


Perhaps that will be my resolution for 2013:  to find direction  greater than just getting through the day.  I want to lead an effort that gets me jumping out of bed in the morning, while making the lives of others better.  I feel good only when I do for others.  I know this at least:  it is in my being, giving to others is a gift to myself. 

The tie to my role model friends is simple.  Friends like Tanya, Roy, Rob, Lloyd, Joe, Mark, Bill, Steve, and so many others I respect in our sport, just keep on making that difference -- they do for others. 

So, during this season of resolution, and setting goals, I feel moved and motivated to take steps toward being greater.  Life cannot be just about doing enough to get by, or just enduring yet another season.  This cannot be only a resolution for the new year, it needs to be an overarching personal goal. 

It is time to get off this computer, stop theorizing about the meaning of life, and go do my passion.   Stop waiting for someone else to motivate me, stop making excuses for why I cannot do something, and just go and DO it.  Clean up the daily, hourly mess, fix the broken-everythings, and move on to MORE. 

Somehow, in doing the things I love to do, the answers will follow.    

Morning Regret

In our darkest time, our most lonely, it is easy to say, “it wasn’t THAT bad.”  Clear decisions cloud with emotions.

Good memories shine through a frosted windowpane and feel like a paradise from which I deserted.  

How do I convince you that you made a sound decision, saying you deserved better, when now you APPEAR to have less?

This morning, Regret has overcome Sound Judgement of last evening. 

Your heart feels laden and you start to negotiate with God, or with the fates, or with higher powers, to take this quiet away.  “I could be satisfied with what I had, if you would please return it to me.” 

Fifth-best, or third choice, or cast aside for other options is not where you had once dreamed of being.  All your life you have given your best; do not take less. 

We teach people how to treat us.  Do not accept behavior that to them means “good enough.” 

Cry today.  See your strength of yesterday.  Make way for truer love tomorrow.