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I cooked for myself last night. This is pretty good news, considering how blue I have been the last few days… Black dog came home, and cooking is the self-love I need but often t…

Source: Self-Love Stew (VEGAN)

 

I needed to see this.

A reminder for Self-Love.

Today.

Tomorrow.

This week.

This last week.

I know that Jack posted it back at the beginning of August but for me, right here and now, it is what I needed.

Body and Soul and Soup.

Depression is a black hole that eats away at me and sometimes I can resist the pull, I find the light and other times…

Other times I fail.

I fail.

Its taken me years to be able to say that.

I, who feel deeply that I have NEVER “failed” at anything in life, feel like I have failed myself.  And it brings me to tears as I type.

I want so much for myself; know that I am so capable of making the best of myself and that my best isn’t this lump of a person sitting here with welling eyes.

Today is especially painful because it symbolizes a waste.  A waste of my time, of my energy and least important of all, of money.

Over the last year I have done very little physical and both physically and mentally I have suffered for it.  Yes, I begun playing hockey and I love it but I could be so much better with a little more effort.  My trousers no longer fit the way they should and I honestly have a box of clothing that live in the spare room; banished for my own folly.  I have running clothes I feel horrible about wearing because they don’t fit but they don’t fit because I won’t put them on…a vicious cycle if ever there was.  I made plans, public statements that I intended to “streak” this holiday season; a 1 mile run every day from Thanksgiving to New Years; and I failed right out of the gate because I failed to do anything. I just…couldn’t.  Early this morning there were two people standing in the Seattle Half Marathon starting line because I encouraged them to join me there and I couldn’t show.  The part of me that wanted someones else to join me in the training journey, to go thru the ups and downs of milage building and physical challenge was just not enough to actually get myself moving.  I have plans, small, manageable plans, to have helped me reach that goal but I just… couldn’t.

And thats the worst part of depression.  The feeling that I just…can’t and not having the words to explain it.  So I put on the happy face and do my best to function without outwardly failing.  I bury myself in trying to be busy around people so I don’t have to rest and be still and just ‘be’ in my own skin.  I need to leave family gatherings early because I cannot deal with the stress, my internal stress, of being around people being happy when I feel so very lost.  I try not to let my friends down and deal with the fallout when they think that somehow my actions are a reflection of their shortcomings instead of a true reflection of my own.  I cry in the shower, both for the fatigue I feel of carrying my mask and for the love I have when my partner sees that I am bearing too much inside and makes my excuses or makes one of himself.

Oddly appropriately to the season that my inspiration today will come from a holiday movie.  “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” was not part of my childhood movie rotation but it was for M and when it was on TV the other evening, he hinted that he would rather watch that over the Grinch.  As we own both movies and I know it irks him when I recite, I obliged and Mickey Rooney’s voice filled our home. M said that he really remembered a specific song, One Foot In Front Of The Other and as I think I’ve only seen the movie once, I had to wait to see and hear what he meant.  It too was something I needed to hear.

I made soup already this morning, one close to Jacks recipe without even seeing her post, so out the door I go.

One foot in front of the other,

my vote for a chance to be reborn.

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In the pre-dawn glow we prepare for a run…

Yesterday was the start of the new year and, not entirely coincidentally, the start of my new 101 in 1001 list.  I spent the last few days and hours of 2014 honing my list and a good chink of the first day of  2015 clarifying, editing and finally writing it to number. I was surprised when the tally came up and I had more than 101 but then I realized that I had spread some things out because I feared being short.  Apparently not!

One of the biggest things on my list was influenced by my Mum and Brother, K.  Both of them thanked me for my Christmas cards but chastised me for not sending pictures of myself and/or, as Mum put it, ‘your adventures’.  I realized that this has been a big failing over these past 2 years and I have missed blogging and ‘adventuring’ so I am getting myself back out there; with pictures to prove it.  My Flickr feed will have more updates and so will the blog, especially since I am going to attempt the 365 Challenge: A photo a day for an entire year.

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The dawn of 2015, Port Townsend and I. Ready for the new year with all the sisu in the world. The real Sisu too…she’s further down the trail!

Which leads me to my Goal for 2015.  My Goal, earning itself the proper “G”, is “Challenge”  In the spirit of this, I am challenging myself to many things and hopefully setting myself up for great success.  I have two year long challenges right now: Project 365 and the 52 Week Savings Challenge.

Project 365 is going to be both simple and difficult because its not just about taking a photo but taking a good one that is also meaningful.  My plan to tackle that is to not only take my phone with me but also plan on bringing my DSLR too when out and about.  There are many, many lists out there for all the ways to “do” this challenge and lots of ways to spark an idea of what to shoot too so I don’t think that I will be lost for inspiration!  Check out Pinterest for a plethora of ideas and challenges for every month…I know that I will!

The 52 Week Saving Challenge is just what it sounds like: saving money every week in proportion to the number week that it is.  Now, you can go about this challenge only one of two ways:  $1 on week 1, $2 on week 2, $3 on week 3 and so on for 52 weeks OR $52 on week 1, $51 on week 2, $50 on week 3 and so on and the latter is the method that I have chosen to do.  Why that way?  Well, even in this spend, spend, spend culture, you can still find some places with better interest rates than others and they are worth searching out.  I like Ally Bank and am quite happy with them.  And think about it: after three weeks, I have $153+ change in my account this way.  The other way I would have $6.  I’ll take the one that looks better, faster please.  Plus, I started this challenge back on the 20th of November because I realized that it would be lovely to have at least $1378 to go into the holiday season with…or travel with!  Here is the site that I got the graphic for my countdown/up that I have hanging to help me keep track of the dates and how its going without the temptation of dipping into the account.

I have other challenges too.  Right off the batt: I am challenging myself to stick with my Smart Coach plan every day for the 24 weeks up to my next marathon, challenging myself to plank for 30 days with each day building time and challenging myself to another round of the Whole 30: 30 days of only fresh fruit and veggies and meats – No dairy, grains, legumes, sugar or alcohol.

Pray for me friends.  January is going to be tough.  And pray for yourselves too…I may be tough to live with as I attempt this!

Once upon a time, a poor college student went shopping with her friends and found beautiful glass piggy bank. He was very sweet and just the type of piggy bank that she was looking for: Solid Glass. Well, not really “solid” because, of course, he was hollow, but the kind of “solid” where he didn’t have a plug in the place of his nose or in his undercarriage where you could pull it out and shake the coins out. Once they were in, they were IN. Period. No cheating possible.

The poor college student phoned her Mum, who laughed at her and told her that it was a silly thing because how could she possibly get the money out in the end but what this student wanted to do was just to save it until it was totally full. She remembered reading a story where someone saved and saved and packed a bank until it was totally full and then bought the thing of their dreams…or gave it all away to charity…it has been a long time since she remembers that story. Either way, she was enamored with that new glass piggy and she used it for all her silver coins for years and years. There were days when she considered tapping into her silver stash but, since the piggy still had space for “one more coin”, it wasn’t his time yet.

And then she moved away from her piggy and it sat, unfed, for quite some time. He was nearly full of quarters, nickels and dimes, the odd penny (though she tried to avoid ‘tainting’ him with the coppers) and a few half dollars. The student had also put in quite a few dollar bills over the years and even a random fiver too. But he was too heavy to pack along with her on her travels so he remained with her Mum and kept her silver safe.

For the past year, the Mums has attempted to reunite the girl with her sweet piggy and has been thwarted multiple times. Until now…sort of. The piggy was lovingly wrapped and packed and shipped and made its journey across the miles. If you never thought that a pig had wings, think again. This one flew for only 3 days to get from Wisconsin to Washington, an especially dramatic feat considering that this is Christmas time! The box containing the piggy made it into the loving hands of the girl who accepted him with joy and love and unwrapped his layers with care until she discovered the horrible truth. The journey had been too much for her fair piggy and he was solid no more. The silver was only a by-product at that moment of discovery and some swinal reconstruction surgery was attempted but, sadly, best efforts were thwarted by the fragility of glass and the dynamics of hollow glass piggy with no interior support avenues construction. It was a sad afternoon.

Since the idea of sitting shiva for a pig was a bit too ironic and I have no intention whatsoever to give up bacon in his honour, I decided to do the next best thing: Put his life savings to good work.  I have been saving that silver since my freshman year in college for a rainy day and one can’t get too much more rainy than a day in a Pacific Northwest winter!  I took the baggy of change with me to the local coin counter machine and let the counting begin.  Actually, the counting had begun at home…There was $30 in bills saved, including one of the old style $5!  It looks really…old…next to the new ones but really, I still like the old style better.  Less Monopoly-like.  Back to the counting:  I let the machine do its work and laughed to myself the whole time I saw those numbers clocking away.  I couldn’t believe the numbers I was seeing.  3- half dollars, 204-quarters, 156-dimes, 129-nickels and 140-pennies (not nearly as few as I though).  For those not counting: $75.95 in change.  For some reason, there was a dime that wouldn’t be taken and, because I was in MI and close to Canada: 0.75 in Canadian change too.  Grand total: 105.95- and I’m amazed.

My piggy money was split, mainly because the change machine wouldn’t take dollars, and put onto an a Amazon card to avoid charges with the $30 in bills going into my bank.  I’m doing the 52 week challenge for savings and while I have a few more weeks to go before I reach the week where I put away just $30, it will help me be ready for that day. I have no plans on what his sacrifice will wrought but I will be very please to make his gift worthwhile.

Maybe I’ll find another piggy and start him off with that odd dime and the old fiver, for old times sake.

Yes, you read that right.

Hooker.

Not Prostitute.

See?

Image

Keep reading, I promise that this isn’t really about yarn or crafting at all.

But this does involve a different kind of intercourse…

I have leftovers from the first socks, and the second pair, both boot socks, that I knit for myself and my then boyfriend while out trolling for salmon our first summer together.  I still can smell the sea and the exhaust and know in my very soul the intense feeling of moving down those steps into the dark foc’sle and smelling the drip stove and the interminable damp, seeing nothing but feeling…him…just standing there near me, the closeness of the moment, the feeling of all of my skin just waiting, almost reaching out, for the pressure of touch.

There are many socks of those two and a half years: The pair for my mother that I designed myself, the pair made while fishing next to a glacier in between times of running gear, the pair for my sister that became the first knitting I cut into so I could lengthen them, the pairs that I worked on in the library of the school with the knitting group, the pair I gave to my best friend that he had goaded and guilted me into making for him, the brilliant lime green and purple that I was working on when I said “Yes” in the little cabin on the island off the bridge.  All these remains…all with sweet feeling and smiles are seen.

I have the remains of the blue and grey yarn that became the only pair of socks that I gave away to a non-loved one, not a stranger but not a near and dear friend, because I couldn’t bear to keep the socks that I threw myself into when that same boyfriend ended our relationship.  Now I contemplate wether or not to use it in something that I want to cherish…but I know that I will. The yarn is beautiful in its comforting blues and greys, no longer sad but a reminder.  I have no regrets, only memories of a wonderful time that shaped me.

There are the orange and purple leftovers from a sock club that I was in, colors that never spoke to me calmly but begged to me for creation into wearability, the perfect socks to reclaim myself as I reclaimed my self and looked to the future.  There are many bright yarns from that time, as I built myself back into ‘me’.

The intense of pink and lime green gives me pause to think of the daughter of a companion.  She is strong and beautiful and the yarn suited her perfectly.  Though I originally intended them for myself, when knit in her company while waiting for dinner to cook and listening to hockey, I knew they had to be hers.  I have mixed feelings of that time…the intense blue of my companions eyes from a disquieting setting, made all the more attractive for the soul searing-ness of it all, matched with the closed, never revealing of souls we shared…the bare need matched with the lack of need, an oxymoron of a relationship if ever there was.  In the end of it all, she was the treasure and I’ll use the yarn with joy for her future…and remember those intense eyes.  The dark yarn with the shots of pink and lime green is my own tangible reminder of our connection

The small bits of leftover from my first nephews socks, made from leftovers themselves, will not even make a single row in my work but will be brilliant and an amazing reminder of the hours I spent on the phone and the constant checking of the message machine just in case I missed the telling of his arrival and the miles of blanket knitting I put in.

Discovering the yarn that reminds me of the sea I watched for weeks while waiting for a letter, a note, a phone call…anything…from Him…and then getting them all at once, in the way you do when mail planes are delayed.  The hopes of feelings returned and questioning acronyms all rushing back in tides of learning love and building habits and life together.  I know that I’ll use this yarn followed by the remains of the first socks I knit for Him and remember the joy, admiration and pride in his voice when he showed off my spinning and handmade socks to a friend. And the second, third, fourth and fifth of his sock remains as well…and the yards of the yarn that I was knitting the day we met, now nearly threadbare because it had to be pulled back so many times despite the years of knitting ribbed socks because I couldn’t get his voice out of my head long enough to count to 2; not just because Sisu loves him, not just because he continues to show off his handknit socks with pride every time he wears them, not just because he does the driving so I can do the knitting in the car…but because of all of these things.  Because of the love.

I sway from this project to another pair of socks that I am knitting for an entirely strong girl friend because I know I need her yarn on this project as well.  I have torn the yarn stash about looking for the leftovers I KNOW must be there to find the yarn from a shawl I gave to my inspirational girl friend.  The yarn from two local best friends must be included and I even feel the pull to start another pair of socks for my third rock of a girl friend because it wouldn’t be an accurate chapter if she wasn’t represented.

This is a intensely personal project.  

My love in and of the last 7 years, shown in yarn. 

There will be no rhyme or reason to what yarn lies next to, before or after the next, only that it is a memory of love.

Rough in patches, strong throughout.

I couldn’t ask for more.

It has happened.  

Again.

That feeling of deja vu.

“I know you, don’t I?”

And that, ‘Watch out for the crazy person’ look that you get in return.

Except that I wasn’t crazy.

I don’t think…

So familiar but am totally unable to place him.  

And then the questions start:

“Last name?”

Nope, not familiar.

“Live here long?”

Just moved here.

“Do I look familiar to you too?”

Sorta but not sure…

And then the long looks as we both go about our day and still try to place the other because, by this point, we know we KNOW each other vaguely.

And then it hits him and he asks the right questions:

“Did you live in Alaska?”

Ok, this is a vague one but at least I have a geographical range and its totally right.  Yes.

“And you were with Jamison?”

Wow.  

Just…

Wow

And thats it totally. 

It has been a while.  Quite a while, actually.  Like, nearly 7 years.  And we only met each other in passing a few times.  He was friends with my boyfriend at the time younger brothers and had come over a few times to play Halo with them, a huge 8 person event that happened about once a month or less during fishing season…which was the only time, that one season, maybe two, that I met him. And it must have been just in passing too, because I rarely stuck around for Halo night because I didn’t play.  But then, nearly 7 years later, I walk into the kitchen at work and see him and it is so strange.

Of all the places in all the world, I am now co-workers with someone who I met once or twice in Pelican, AK nearly 7 years ago.

Very weird.

 

And, of course, its happening again today.  I got a notification on Facebook that someone had “Friend”ed me.

And he looks familiar and we have a few of the same friends…

but I looked thru my old yearbooks that my Mum had sent me a little while ago and couldn’t find him.

I know him somehow.

I know I do…

Don’t I?

You ever have those days where you truly crave a food that you know is “wrong” but there is just something telling you that its right?

 

Yesterday, I wanted a doughnut.  And not just any kind of doughnut but a lemon or raspberry filled doughnut with powdered sugar on top.  Warm and fresh and perfect…but that wasn’t going to happen.  There are no doughnut shops in Port Townsend and, considering that it was already 1pm when the craving hit, I felt it better to hold out, have some real food for lunch and then revisit the craving afterwards.  The craving never came back but I thought about doughnuts for the rest of the day, specifically ‘Why on earth am I thinking about doughnuts?’.  A brief sojourn onto Facebook brought it all to light.  Yesterday was over-priced doughnuts day, or Paczki Day as I know it from Michigan, better known to the rest of the world as Shrove (from shrive, meaning to confess; a time when Christians would self-reflect on what they needed help with over the next 40 days and confess sins to they would go into Lent ‘clean’) or Fat (because of the traditional practice of using up all the lard which would be forbidden during Lent) Tuesday and marking the last day of indulgence before the day Lent begins.

Which would be today.

40 days, nearly 6 weeks, of sacrifice.  There is a LOT of discussion over what is acceptable to give up during this time and equally as much history behind what was given up in the past.  If you were to meld all the ideas together, I’m pretty sure you would end up with just drinking water after sunset as practices abound of not eating any animal products, no fruit or wheat and, my favorite just for the wording, “[only] a small meal without vegetable or alcohol”.  I’m pretty sure water is all that is left.  However, in a society that is leaning far from self-abnigation, discussions of Lenten sacrifices are most often met with the question of “Why?” and, as I have found, too many of the ‘faithful’ are unable to answer the question aside from “Because thats what we do before Easter.”

But WHY is this important?  WHY is it something that is done?  WHY are YOU doing it?  WHY is your discipline something that will bring God closer, or rather, you closer to God?

Lent is NOT a time of self denial for our own means to an end but to turn thoughts towards God when we feel that hurt, want or longing for whatever we have given up.  One of my favorite authors, Lauren Winner, writes in ‘Girl meets God‘ about the Lent she gave up reading, everything except her Book of Common Prayer and her Bible, a huge sacrifice for her.  She turned to prayer during those hours she normally would have spent with her books and wrote that she felt that, without her escape into books to turn her thoughts away from anything upsetting and wrong in her life, she had to turn to God.  That her pastor didn’t suggest that she give up reading as someone might give up a much loved dress “…but because it might move me closer to Jesus.  It might move me to my knees.”

This year, because of my feeling of crass negativity in many areas of my life, my discipline is going to be foregoing negativity and mindfully combatting it should I fail. 

I’ve already failed more times than I can count and its not even 11am.

I was angry with myself for having a body that has pain and doesn’t allow me to run right now.  I was irritated and snappish behind someones back after a silly phone call.  I was mentally berating an acquaintance on Facebook for “X is giving up junk food for Lent.  Lets see those extra pounds go away!” I was irritated at myself for failing right off the bat and needing to ask for forgiveness and help being positive within the first hour.

And then I remembered that its only day 1 and I prayed for myself and for others.  That my thoughts and actions and words be uplifting for others.  That not only myself would be affected by my Lenten discipline but that others would be released from negativity, mine as well as theirs.  I am working on this today and for the next 40 days, as always, with Gods help.  And hopefully with yours too. 

I’m at a loss this morning.  Over the last 23 days I have established a new routine that has been ceremoniously ended.  Considering there was a huge ceremony at the start and and the end, there was nothing UN-ceremonious about this process however there is now a gap in my day that needs to be filled else-ways.  I am, of course, speaking of the recently ended Winter Olympics 2014.

I have tried “Olympic” knitting in the past but generally set myself either goals that were too lofty or was not living anywhere where I could even watch the Olympics so it was difficult to get into the spirit of the process.  In 2012 there was a rather large kerfuffle with the USOC and the use of the term “Ravelympics”, namely they were put out that a legion of knitters would ‘make fun of the effort that olympians put forth’ and would, in general, bring shame to the idea of and word of “Olympics”.  There was a huge change on Ravelry to put the legal overkillers at rest and there was launched the renamed the “Ravelympics” as the “Ravellenic Games” and there are a barrage of teams and prizes and rules and basically a massive headache to those of us who, like me, tend to keep to the Yarn Harlots vision of The Knitting Olympics, since it was her invention.  I “boycotted” those games because I was just too angry at both our litigious society and the monster that had been created in people but this year I reclaimed the Knitting Olympics as my own.

My goal was to turn this beautiful yarn:

Seahawk Yarn

from Fancy Image Yarns in the perfect Seahawks colourway into socks for Mike who had been cheering the ‘Hawks all season and was still charged because of the SuperBowl win.

 

1.5 skeins to go around his wide feel later and we have a met goal!Seahawk Socks

I cast on during the opening ceremonies and cast off the second sock on the Friday before the Games ended.  These socks feature the “Fish Lips Kiss Heel” which was a first for my sock knitting but certainly won’t be the last, in fact I’ve already cast on another pair to use this heel with.  It fits so very well and looks beautiful on the foot, mine and Mikes!  Here is a cool interview with the Sox Therapist, creator of the FLKH.  If you are on Ravelry and knit socks, I HIGHLY suggest you buy this heel pattern.  Best $1 I’ve EVER spent on my knitting.

Because being a monogamous knitter is so NOT in my genes, I had to get into another project too and while its not strictly “Olympic Knitting” because it was started before, it was my goal to get it done before closing ceremonies.

This was the inspiration:  ITW Oct 2012

This was the roving:  Bodhi-5050-MerinoSilk

This was the pattern: Song of the Sea

This is the unblocked long cowl that I made from my handspun!

Song of the Sea

It is soaking in its bath of Soak right now and will be laid out to dry as soon as I finish this post here.  The true joy of this project is that it was sheep fluff and worm spit when I got my hands on it and now it is a beautiful, wearable and perfectly wearable object in so many ways.  I need to do more with my handspun because I always feel so accomplished when I have a finished project.

*sigh*

Now its over and instead of spending the morning with Mike on the couch watching CBC and the Olympics live, because the US coverage SUCKED, I have had to find some other way to begin my morning.  Good thing I’ve started running again, beginning again today, because that was the perfect way to put forth my own Olympic effort.  Getting up and going running in the rain and cold?  Yes, it was an Olympic effort and while I’ll not be anywhere close to the 26.2mile maintained 6 minute mile that I would need to qualify myself for a Summer Games in this lifetime, I’ll keep running all the same.

Where the heck did January go?  As I am trying to get back into the blogging saddle, I keep wanting to talk about…everything that has gone on since I last posted and, as it has been just this side of seemingly forever, it is a monumental task that overwhelms me and I don’t post anything.  So here I am, telling you about my day today and my right now:

Craft Lit, one of my long-standing favourite podcasts is going to be starting the reading and analysis of “North and South” by Elizabeth Gaskell.  In the excitement building, Heather is having give-aways, in the form of raffles, every day from the site and in posting about it here, I get another entry into the drawing!

 

I am drinking my butter coffee again and I swear that it gives me more energy in the single cup than multiple ones of my traditional coffee (with 2T of Coffeemate) does.  I feel more awake and nearly jittery and while I DON’T like the ‘jittery’, I do love the energy and the ‘must move now’ feeling that goes with it.

 

I frogged a shawl that I was designing and using my hand-spun yarn for because I found a pattern that I love very much and think that it will be perfect for this particular colourway.  First the yarn:  It was was the October 2012 colourway from Into The Whirled club and was inspired by this photo:

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Called “Bodhi”  On fibre, mine was a 50/50 Merino/Silk blend that was, as all Cris’ fibres are, a dream to spin. Image

The softness of the merino and the shine of the silk made this lovely to work with.  I kept the braid intact and spun end to end  and then N-plyed it to keep the colour progression intact and LOVE the way it feels and came out.  I have had this finished yarn for ages and have been wondering what I was to make with it.  And then I found this perfect pattern.  The pattern is called “Song of the Sea“(Rav link) by Louise Zass-Bangham who blogs over at Inspiration Knits and who wrote about this pattern in this blog post.  I plan on starting this very soon, maybe even today!

 

I have multiple spinning projects and, like always, multiple socks on the go and I’ll update you with those projects one at a time over the next few days. 

Its good to be back.

Someone recently said to me, “If you think that time flies now, just wait until you have children!”.  Well as there are no children, save for those borrowed from my friends and family in my future plans, I’ll just have to settle for time passing at my own appalling rate.

 

I have been…busy…since I last blogged in so many, many ways.

 

My joy of fibre continues. My spinning had been amazing and I’m working on this Into the WhirledDSC_6335, in Mandarin (an old club offering on BFL) and this Enchanted Knoll DSC_6345, in Johnny Jump-Up on Superwash Merino.  More on the spinning soon because , OH BOY, do I have something to show you!!

I have been knitting, but not so much in the last week due to an unfortunate injury:

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Pepper was rather put out that we left her at home when we went on our recent camping trip to Salt Creek Recreation Area 20130720_143925 and didn’t let her seen the pod of Orcas 20130720_161505 or chase chipmunks and get tangled up like Sisu did 20130721_142151 so she took out her vengeance on my leg, claws and teeth, after purring and rubbing into me 5 seconds before.  I swatted at her, missed, hit the wall and heating vent and damaged my fingers badly enough for x-rays, good painkillers and at least 2 weeks in splints to protect me.  Yes, they still hurt 1 week in but I finally have some mobility back though I cannot make a fist or touch those fingers to my palm without pain and actually, they won’t bend that far at all, pain or no.  I am not impressed with myself.

 

Mike and I 20130721_082240 have been exploring our area more than just camping too.  We went up to Hurricane Ridge and admired the view  DSC_6470

and I loved the wildflowers too DSC_6440  Lupines always remind me of my Mum and that view is to be admired! DSC_6406

The biggest part of what I’ve been doing?  Running.20130519_124750_2  Finishing the Rhody Run with my friends was the start of my real training for the Seattle 10k and my mileage has only grown from there.  So much so that I have these to proudly display:  DSC_6473  Bruised toenails #1 and #2.  They are my external display of my long runs and I couldn’t be happier or more proud of myself.  11 weeks ago I was dreading the idea of 8 miles whereas now, my last long run was 13 miles in 2.5hours.

 

Oh yeah.  And I’ve been cooking and kitchen experimenting daily, bought a sewing machine and have made pj bottoms, skirts and an amazing infinity dress that I LOVE, have a successful herb garden in my strawberry pot, been reading and listening with voracity and spent far less time with my camera than I intend to do in the future.  And intend to keep this blog going as I know I have missed sharing and need to write again.

 

 

 

One of my clearest memories is flipping thru a photo album and seeing photos of my father running.  Not just running but RUNNING.  Short shorts, no shirt or only a vest, sweat beading…Running.  His sport was track and field in high school and then earned a scholarship to college for his excellence.

1969_p345_track_team

Third from the right, front row is my father with the rest of the 1969 University of North Texas Team (photo from the digital archives of the Yucca, the UNT yearbook)

I know that his running continued through his time in the US Marine Corps too…though that may be an understatement considering how much running those corpsmen/women do…far too much for the dead!  Anyway, I know that there is at least one photo I remember of him racing in a USMC singlet, most likely a battalion ‘team’.

I also know that there was more than once when I was growing up that I wanted to go run with him and he never let me.  I was always hurt by this leaving of me behind but I justified his doing so because I was a)not long legged like him, b) not in shape to run with him, c)any other reason I could convince myself of.  I don’t know that he ever knew how much I really wanted to run with him.

In 7th grade, I ‘joined’ the middle school track team and signed up for the 3200m (2 miles).  Because, you know, my father ran long distances so I can show him how much I am his daughter and make him proud of me and he can come to my meets and be proud of me…yeah.  After a week or so of ‘practice’, we had our first meet and I ran…for about 200yds with the pack and then had to walk because I gave myself such a horrible side stitch and was THAT ill-prepared for the race.  I also broke one of the rules of running by staying in the inner lane as I was lapped and lapped and lapped again.  I was so embarrassed and only saved by two things #1: My family wasn’t there to see my abject failure.  More specifically, I mean my father; and #2: One of the guys, G, an 8th grader who had already ran the race, who I barely knew from passing in the hall and at the door to band class, re-entered the track with me and encouraged and wheedled me to jog along with him for the last 2 laps.  He stayed with me the entire way and pushed me to keep going.  I don’t think that I ever could have thanked him enough.  I would still send him a card today if I knew where he was.

After that fiasco, my knees were hurting so much for the next week that I didn’t return to practice again and didn’t actually attempt to run until just a few years ago when wholeheartedly embarking on my weight-loss/health building journey.

I found my passion.

After years of saying that I hated to run and that it wasn’t for me, turns out that it was all along.  Which is pretty funny considering my sister has always hated running.  Weird because she LOVED soccer when in High School but she always said that she hated the running part.  She said that about hating that part in Volleyball too, even though it was just the warm-ups.  My brother, K, just professed to me yesterday that HE too dislikes running.  While talking to him the other day he declared ME to be the runner of my fathers children and promised to cheer very loud and be very proud of me.

Why would he cheer and be proud of me?

Because in 204 days and some odd hours from today, I’m going to start running in a big race.

SisuGirl is now Registered
for Honolulu Marathon.

I have a training plan, I have races along the way to keep me going and I have a goal.  That and some good shoes.

Here we go.

PS: To my HS friends: I was serious about sending G a card.  If you know where I can find him, please let me know!