"I Feel Sorry For Their Mother"

Like the rest of the country, I'm sure, the topic over coffee every morning at work as we've started our day these last 4 days has been about the heartless bombing at The Boston Marathon.  The televisions in the breakroom and the patient waiting area have been tuned in to CNN and the remotes have not moved from their respective locations since Sunday afternoon.

This morning the staff was all aflutter over the news that one of the two most wanted had been killed and the second was being hunted.  There were no real mixed emotions among us; all were thrilled that progress was being made and, quite honestly, that one had met with death and the other would more than likely follow suit.  The consensus was "YES!", "shoot 'em in the street!", "rip their limbs from their bodies!".

I made my way back to my work station when Eric passed by.  He said to me, "Have you heard all the news, the updates?"  I said, " I have and I'm glad they're closing in on this."  Eric said, "I feel sorry for their mother."

I looked him dead in the eye and said, "What did you say?"  He said, "Can you imagine how their mom must feel?  I'm sure she didn't raise them to be killers, terrorists.  And now she's left to deal with the aftermath of what they've done.  And she has to face her family and friends.  I feel bad for her."

I don't know Eric very well but this is what I know for sure:

1)  Every morning, he comes over and pauses long enough to give me a genuine "good morning";
2)  Every monring, he says "let's have a good day";
3)  Every Monday morning, he approaches me, places his freezing cold hand on my shoulder and says "happy Monday";
4)  Every Friday morning, he says "happy Friday";
5)  Eric eats pizza for lunch at least once every week; always 3 slices, 3 very large slices;
6)  I am jealous of the fact that Eric can eat pizza every week and it doesn't go to his hips...or his waist...or his tricep area...
7)  Eric does not own a car but, instead, uses Metro or walks to where ever he wants to go;
8)  Eric loves my baking.  He is disappointed when he comes in on a Monday and there are no treats.  He tells me so;
9)  Eric will be sad when my assignment here is over and I'm no longer baking for my new friends;
10)  I will miss Eric when it it's time for me to leave.

I don't know Eric's Mama, either.  But if I ever have the opportunity to chat with her, I'm going to tell her what a sweet son she has.   

Heat

It's toasty outside now.

I'm finally warm.

I'm happy it's hot and I'm warm.

I don't like being cold.

Being cold doesn't make me happy.

I don't like being unhappy.

I'm one of the some who like it hot.

Dr. Seuss' got nothing on me!

The End.

Mondays After The Beach Are Hard

It's Monday, April 1. 

I love it when a new month starts on a Monday.  It makes it easier for me to count.  It does.  Think about it. 

I think we'd all agree that Mondays, in general, are difficult for those of us who do the Monday thru Friday thing.  It means setting and hearing that dreadful alarm clock after sweet silence for two days.  It means feet to floor when you aren't REALLY ready yet.  It means routine, going through the motions.

But a Monday after being at the beach...well, that's just wrong.  It's sad, really.  It's AWFUL!!

I had a fabulous weekend.  I always do when I spend it at the beach.  It's true what they say, " a rainy day at the beach is better than a sunny day anywhere else"! 

I was down there to run The Spartyka 5K for the Wounded Warriors program.  We had a ball!!  I smoked it and no one got to know that because they didn't have age group awards.  I was deflated.  I am CERTAIN that I would've placed because I'm sure I was one of the older ones running!  Most of the group were the young military families ranging between 20 and 35 years old.  My Little One, however, high fived me and told me I rocked and that made me happy!

I also had the opportunity to meet face-to-face with the realtor who is working hard to help me make a small purchase there at the beach.  I will live in a cardboard box, as long as it has water, heating and air, if it gets me to the beach!  Mr. Scott was a pleasure to meet.  We've been talking and emailing for months and it was finally nice to put a face with the name and voice!  I am trusting him explicitly to make my dream come true!  And I trust he has my back.  Needless to say, I'm working on a shoestring to make this happen which is limiting my choices greatly - which equates to potential shaddy neighborhoods.  He told me flat out Saturday that he will not entertain a property for me that he wouldn't have his wife or sisters live in.  He knows I'll be by myself and he's looking out for my safety.  He's told me I simply need to be patient and we'll find somthing that meets all of my requirements and needs.  I've let him borrow my cape, even though it's for rockin' women and it may be a little small for him.  He appreciates the gesture.

My Wee One and I spent the afternoon and early evening walking her in-laws' dog on the beach.  BK Mineer was NOT happy.  That's a story for another post.  As I strolled, I was vascilating between complete contentment and utter sadness.  I was exactly where I wanted to be yet knew that in a few short hours, I'd be leaving - again...

My desire to be at the beach, to be closer to "the kids" is not new.  I've had a longing, a yearning for years.  I even cautiously mentioned it to my soon-to-be ex-husband years ago who responded immediately with "no".  So to know that, more than likely before Christmas, I will be living at the beach, is beyond mind blowing and utterly satisfying!  The Kids have lived there for about 8 years now.  During that time, I've grown to love the area, the lifestyle it offers, the people, the food, the laid-back attitude, the fit friendly mind set, the ocean...  I want to make this chapter of my life there.

But in the mean time, I have to settle for weekend trips every now and then.

Which makes Monday mornings especially difficult.

 

         

This And That

Have you ever had so many conversations, thoughts, things-to-do-lists in your head that you didn't know what to address first?  That's where I'm at today.  Usually, if I put pen to paper - or, more accurately, fingers to keyboard - I can work through them and get myself on some sort of track.

I've proclaimed before that I am a fortunate woman.  But a friend recently refered to my "situation" as sad, or it made her sad.  I haven't been able to get that out of my head.  Am I coming across as a sad person?  I don't think I FEEL sad...and I KNOW what sad feels like.  Recently, I've been hurt to the core of my soul.  I've been severely let down by the person I was supposed to - and did - trust more than anyone.  I watched my grandmother die a slow, mean death and then helped bury her.  I watched my mother's heart shatter, never to be the same again.  I've moved three times in the last 9 months...blah, blah, blah... Wow!  I guess that picture does seam pretty grim.  But I'll tell you this for free, people.  I'm not sad.

With the undeniable love and help from my family and dear friends, I have picked myself up by my boot straps, dusted myself off and am moving foward.  And I actually have much to look forward to.  Frequent change seems to be a big part of my little life.  I'm okay with that because I don't want to be stagnant.  I'm just glad I have a dog that doesn't get car sick!  So please, don't cry for me.  I am A-O-K!

And if you follow me on Facebook, you may have learned that I got into the Marine Corps Marathon.  I think only another avid runner can truly understand my excitement level over this one!  I know I won't be able to master this sport for years and years so I've put a select few events on my bucket list to conquer before I box up my running shoes for good.  This was at the top of that list.  I am thrilled!  I don't have a finish time in mind.  This one, I am truly going to try and just enjoy.  I hope to pay close attention to the spectators, the cheerleaders.  I hope to appreciate the service men and women with whom I'll be running.  I hope to value the time I'll spend with our veterans.  I hope to commit to memory as much of the "ride" as possible and soak in the sights of our Nation's Capital.  Now, I just wait for October.

There's another move (if plans go accordingly) in my very near future.  I'd like to say this is "it" but I've come to learn that's a foolish expectation to have!  And that's okay.  I really don't mind uprooting and trying something different.  It gives me another opportunity to meet new people, experience new surroundings, make a new friend, re-invent myself, possibly change my way of thinking.  And this is going to be one sweet location folks.  I get excited thinking about what the next twelve months have in store for me.  I know there will be bumps and heartache and tears; that's part of living and growing.  But I also know there will be thrills and laughs and hugs and memories made that will otherwise not happen if what's happened in this LAST year didn't happen!  Still with me?

And I became a Great Aunt a few weeks ago!  I can't begin to explain to you what this precious little girl means to me.  She represents a breath of fresh air in the lives of my family.  You know the death cloud has been hanging over us for 2 years+.  To see the pinkness in this baby's cheeks, to smell her sweet little body, to feel her warmth when I hug her is to fill my heart with unconditional love.  I will tell you that it took my family and me a LONG time to get to the point of acceptance with this angel -  shame on us.  But we arrived and she is loved and is secure.  I plan on making her my protege.  I plan on helping her make her mother nuts.  I've accepted the responsibility and I'm up for the challenge.  I will be certain that I am her favorite.  I call her Baby Carl.  It's our "thing".  Her name is Raelyn (Rae is the middle name of her grandmother, Lynn is my middle name.  Cool, huh?).  You have no idea what it means to me that I have meant THAT much to my neice that she would honor me in such a way.  Fortunate me, huh?

I'm heading out again tomorrow afternoon for a weekend at the beach with my Wee One.  I'm stoked!  I wish it were tomorrow afternoon!  I have a lot to do this afternoon/tonight.  There's not enough time.

Sunday is Easter.  The only thing Easter means to me is a basket full of chocolate and a few hard boiled eggs - and a present!  We look for any reason to exchange presents!  I'm hoping for a 'bucks gift card!  Whatever Easter means to you, I hope it's a fabulous day.

I'm looking forward to the weather warming up.  I'm tired of being cold and pissy and wearing bulky coats, regardless of how cute they look!  I want to put on something sleeveless!!  And I want to ride my bike!  You know, the bike I obscessed over for months and finally bought - in DECEMBER!  Not the smartest decision I've ever made.  Considering my Tri is in 3 months, I might want to put a few more miles on the thing other than the 16 I've already riden....yeaaaaahhhhhhhhh.

Chatter.  This has been nothing but chatter.  But it's been helpful to me. 

Thanks for being there.  And hey, don't be sad for me.

It's all good....

  
    

I'm Going To Write A Letter

In a matter of a few, short days, it will be one year since I left North Carolina.  One year since, let's be honest, I was asked to leave.  Ok, he didn't come right out and ask me to leave but he knew financially I could not stay there on my own.  In our home.  Surrounded by everything I'd worked for and loved.  In the home that my father virtually rebuilt.  Surrounded by my pets and my new, dear friends.

A lot has happened in the last year.  And a lot has not. 

During the last twelve months, I have not heard from ONE member of the Mineer family.  Not my soon-to-be ex-husband, not my father-in-law or his wife, not my sister-in-law or her husband.  No one.  No.  One.

How is one a member of a family for 13 years and then one day...POOF!  I simply cannot wrap my brain around the fact that ALL of these people have just flipped a switch in their hearts and completely written me off, as if they'd never known me?  This is the part of this separation and pending divorce that I cannot accept.  I get that things end.  I get that relationships stop.  What I don't get is how these people can simply no longer acknowledge me.  They never reached out when this all started to say "I'm sorry", "is there anything we can do", "it's been nice knowing you".  Nothing. 

Because of this, I can't find closure.  I go about my day-to-day routine and really don't think about my situation much.  I have a lot to look forward to and that's where my attention is focused.  But every now and then, it creeps in.  And I get angry and frustrated and sad and pissed and, and, and.

So, I've decided to share these feelings with these people instead of keeping them to myself.  I mean, I think they have a right to know what I'm experiencing and how they've made me feel.  I think it should be brought to their attention just what shit heads they are.  Maybe no one's told them before?

So, I'm gonna' write a letter.  And seal it with a kiss.    

I Wish I Had The Nads...

My brother and I weren't raised in a home that practiced or promoted religion.  No real reason that I can come up with.  The only thing my mom ever told me was that she simply got tired of fighting with us and my father every Sunday morning while trying to get us up and going and ready for church.  She decided, I guess, "Screw it!  Let them decide and figure it out when they're adults."  As I entered into young adulthood, I got a little pissy over that decision.  Mainly because I had a lot of unanswered questions.

My (soon-to-be-ex) husband, on the other hand, was raised in a very religious home.  His grandfather was a preacher, his father a deacon, his brother in-law a preacher.  He had god in his soul (yeah, that's debateable).  After we married and moved to North Carolina, he was determined that we were going to find a "home" church and that it was going to be an intregal part of our marriage.  I succumbed.  We did and it was...for awhile.

The short version of the paragraph above is this; he backed out and I got sucked in.  I was in deep for a number of years.  But, looking back, there was always a question in my mind, always a hint of doubt.  And as my life started to crumble and death was surrounding my family and me on a regular basis and I got NO feedback, support, outreach from my church "family", I threw my hands up and said, "fuck this!".  I haven't been back since.  As a matter of fact, I now consider myself Agnostic.

If I had a set of balls, I'd reply to every Facebook post that said "thank god", "what a blessing", "my prayers have been answered", "please pray for my....", " I am so blessed".  Because no...all of what's going on in your life, FB friends, is of your own doing, circumstance, pure luck or your blatant hard work!!

I'm not "bitter" because of the twists and turns my own life has taken.  I'm not bitter.  I just don't understand how people can believe in and elevate a being or beings to such a high regard.  I've heard over and over that "god doesn't make mistakes".  REALLY?  R-E-A-L-L-Y??????  Has god been to a hospital recently?  I had a patient last week that is a 15 year old with down syndrome and has now been diagnosed with LEUKEMIA!!!  And today, I learned that an 8 year old that I knew was coming in for a procedure to assist with his CHEMO treatments because he has a BRAIN TUMOR, is ALSO BLIND.   If these aren't mistakes, I don't know what is.  And if he's supposed to be a loving and caring "father", he sucks at it. 

I think, simply, shit happens.  And we're left forced to deal with it.  I think we're where we're supposed to be when we're supposed to be there.  I think we suffer the consequences-good and bad-of the decisions we make.  I'm not convinced there's a heaven where the streets are paved with gold.  I believe in ghosts and spirits and I'm not UNconvinced in reincarnation (can we say "deja vu  - - wow, I feel like I've been here before??!!").

I'm going to continue to look long and hard for a set of balls.  And I'm sure I'll find them because, one day, someone's going to post "I am so blessed" and I'm just going to go postal on social media!

When that happens, pray for me?      

        

Who Am I To Judge?

Hello, followers...all, well, I don't know how many of you I have anymore!  It's okay.  This blog is more a therapy couch for me than anything else.  It's a public diary.  A "public diary".  Is that a type of oxymoron maybe?

A popular blog that I follow recently had a chat session on "how you perceive yourself".  The basis of the topic was, do we perceive ourselves as others do.  Do we see our traits or downfalls the same way as our loved-ones do, as strangers do? 

A young woman weighed in and, while giving her opinion, mentioned she was in the throws of a divorce.  She said she thought that her husband felt like she wasn't worth fighting for or staying with.   She knew that wasn't true but part of her felt he may be right. 

An angel immediately responded and said, "...it hurts my heart to hear you say that you were not worth fighting for".  But here, HERE is the BEST part of her response... "I think divorce is like separating ingredients, sometimes things that are awesome are not well paired.  Like Altoids and orange juice."

I am simply waiting for the required year to be up before my divorce will be processed and finalized.  I didn't ask for it.  I never planned for it.  I never expected it or saw it coming.  But the overwhelming feelings of "What did I do?"  "What could I have done differently?"  "Why wasn't I good enough?"  "What does SHE have that I don't?" often take over my brain. 

There are two of me - AT LEAST.  Me #1 berates me and replays these questions over and over in my head.  But Me #2 knows better.  Me #2 knows that he is the quitter, not me.  I would've seen it through - my marriage, I mean.  I would've settled.  I don't know if that would've been wise or healthy, but I would've done that because I'm not a quitter.  Me #2 struggles every day to believe I am where I'm supposed to be at this moment in time. 

But now I have this mantra to tell myself when I'm in the pits.  This crazy analogy that makes total sense.  We were ingredients that, separately are awesome, but simply cannot be paired. 

Me #2, "It wasn't your fault, Joyce."     

I Made A New Friend

Working out takes up the majority of my time, my life.  I prefer it that way.  I like the way breathing hard makes me feel.  I like waking up the morning after a long run with sore legs and hips.  I like the way the sweat drips from my chin.  I like the results.  And I like the like-minded people.

Recently, I attended a special edition spin class at my gym.  A 90 minute session hosted by my favorite Spin Warrior Princess, Alyssa.  If Alyssa's there, count me in!  I inadvertently arrived 40 minutes early.  No problem, I was certain to stake claim to a bike that way!  Coincidently, 2 others got the times mixed up as well so the three of us hunkered down to wait till kick off. 

While we were waiting, the three of us were chatting and passing the time.  During the chit-chat, the other lady made reference to herself - "Joyce".  I asked, "did you say your name is Joyce?"  "Yes, it is."  "I'm Joyce, too!"  "You are kidding me?  I never find a YOUNG Joyce!  I rarely meet another Joyce, let alone a young one!"  We laughed and from then on, we were Joyce Squared.  And gym friends for as long as we both attend.

In the short visit we had together, I learned this about my new friend with the same name as me.  She is almost 20 years my senior.  She's been married more than 30 years.  She referred to that marriage as a "30 year long date".  Can you imagine feeling that way about your spouse/mate after all those years?  She feels she's earned the right to say to you "I just don't care what you think.  This is me.  Take me or leave me."  She is satisfied.  She treasures that she has the ability to come to the gym, that her body is healthy enough to take on a good work out.  She loves good, CURRENT music.  She likes to wear doo-rags. 

I'm so glad I met Joyce #2.  I don't know that she will ever know that she is a great inspiration to me.  I'll have to make it a point to tell her. 

I just hope I'm hanging in a 90 minute spin class when I'm "well into my sixties".

Bitch, you're fabulous!

Do You Ever

Of late, the days are hard for me.  Some days require A LOT of effort on my part to even get my feet to touch the floor.  I am not in a happy place.  I am not where I expected to be at this time in my life; I am not where I want to be on many levels.  When I look at myself, I see someone who was/is not good enough.

Do you ever wish you were...different?  Even someone else entirely?  There have been times when I wished my nose was smaller, that my eyes were any color but brown, that my hips were narrow or non-existant, that my legs were longer and my arms shorter.  There have been times recently that I simply wished I were any one else but me.

I play this game with myself.  I pull myself down to the level of the dirt on my shoe and then I berate myself for the pitty party I just threw!  Back and forth in my head I go like a professional ping pong ball tournament.  "You are a such a loser, Joyce."  "Really, Joyce?  You're going to go there when you are surrounded by loving friends and family that have been there for you ALWAYS, to say nothing of the last 6 months?"  You get the idea.  I suppose I should be grateful for this internal fight because if I weren't fighting, I'd be losing...and I absolutely wouldn't put my feet on the floor in the mornings.

I'm planning on participating in my first Tri next summer.  In preparation, I have been shopping for a road bike.  Over the last 3 months, I have learned more than I ever thought possible about bicycles.  Tonight, I strolled into yet another specialty shop to check out their pricing.  As usual, I met an awesome athelete more than willing to share his love of the sport with me.  He told me to consider my bike on other days other than training days.  He said I need to be sure that I love it just as much for a pleasure ride as I do during a competition.  He said, you know, you want a bike ride to be an option when you get up of a morning and think "hmm, do I want to ride, run or swim today."  He said a pleasure ride shouldn't be a chore on my road bike.

Without even thinking about it, I said to this stranger, "You know what?  I am at a point in my life and my physical fitness level and my health that I actually have the good fortune to CHOOSE what type of exercise I want to do that day.  Do you know how lucky that makes me?  Not everyone has this same good fortune, either because of failing health or an ailment or pure laziness.  I'm awfully glad to be where I'm at right now." 

I walked out of that store starting yet another game of ping pong in my head.  "Did you just hear yourself in there, Joyce?  Did you pay any attention to the words you just said to that guy?  Do you believe in the platform you just shared with him?"  I needed a drink!  Thankfully, a coffee shop was within walking distance.  I approached the door at the same time as a guy in a wheelchair... 

That Karma.  She's a real bitch.

I've resolved myself to the fact that I am where I'm supposed to be - right now.  I don't like it.  I'm not happy about it.  I cry over it almost daily.  But I do believe it.  There is something I'm supposed to do, witness, share, learn, experience and when that happens, I'll move on to where I'm supposed to be AT THAT TIME. 

But in the meantime, I know I will be sad and frustrated and seem ungrateful and curse those who have hurt me and love just a little more those who have reached out to me and feel sorry for myself and feel like a complete failure and put on a happy face becasue that's what I do best...and wait.

The guy in the wheelchair will never know that he slapped me in the face.  He'll never know that, because of our very brief encounter, I will get up tomorrow morning and welcome my nose, and my hips and my frizzy hair and my unusally long arms and the situation I am in...and my two legs that work beautifully.

Do you ever?

It's What I Get

To my 7 loyal followers...  Are you there?  I love you.

This is really just a test post.  A post to see if I still know how to operate this thing!  I'm not convinced that I do.  Blogger has obviously been busy while I've been experience life as I don't even recognize my own online diary!  Now is not the time for me to be poking around here; there's work to be done.  But now that I know I can still access my private little book, I'll be back!  I'll be back with bells on.  With stories that will make you laugh and cry and take pity upon me!  No, really!

So, stay tuned followers.  I have a big weekend planned!  There will be pictures.

Oh, and just a little reminder.  A week from tomorrow, November 2, is my birthday.  I like everything!

Hang in there with me, okay?  I will not disappoint!

Love, hugs, Namaste -
J

It's Just A Number

...And no, I'm not talking about the number on the scale.

I take care of myself. If I am nothing else, I am determined to be as healthy and physically fit as I can be. I have a varied, weekly workout regime. I take group fitness classes, group weight training classes, I take spin classes, I take yoga and Pilate's classes and I run.

On most any given Tuesday or Thursday night you can find me in a weight sculpting class. And usually, there are two particular ladies in the group with me. I recently learned that these awesome women are in their sixties. Over 60. Not 46. Not 23. Not 34. Over 60.

As I was tossing and turning through another bout of insomnia this morning at 4:00, I started thinking about these ladies and their respective ages. I was thinking, is our age really just a number? I think it is because I think if we lined up 5 60+ year olds and asked them each how they felt physically, we'd get 5 different answers. I was wondering, certainly the way we treat and respect our bodies has something to do with how we feel at our particular age? And if we treat and respect our bodies adequately, can we feel younger and healthier than our said ages? I know that our genes and DNA play a very big role in this analogy. And for those of you with poor genes and a crooked DNA line, I am so very sorry. You have an up hill battle from the start.

I am fortunate to come from good, strong stock. For my entire life, I have heard my mom say she doesn't feel her age. I know for a fact that she can't wrap her mind around the idea that she is 67. And often times, as she and my father are moving furniture, I have to remind her that she's not 40 anymore!

I don't know what I'll feel like in 20 years. But I do know that, despite my level of ability, I will be in a weight sculpting class. I will be participating in spin and yoga classes. And I will be running. I will be the woman some 45 year old is blogging about.

And I might even be rearranging the furniture in my living room.

You Can Go Anywhere You Want, One Footstep At A Time

I like to read. I like to run. I like to read about running. I can't read and run at the same time, however. I would fall. And I avoid injury at all cost.

The more I read about running, the more I realize just how much the "sport" has in common with life in general. Think about it...

1) Don't go out too fast. It's easy to get overly excited about an event in our life, get all caught up in the hype only to miss the journey and be let down at the end when it's over. Same with running. If you go out like a hare and don't police your pace, you will face miles and miles of grim death-marching.

2) Enjoy the fellowship of other runners. In doing short, local races, many of us show up, stretch, do the race, cool down, grab a snack and some water and leave. Why not slow down a bit and enjoy the comrades who relish the sport as much as you do? Similarly, in life, why not slow down JUST A BIT? Instead of getting your latte to go, why not pull up a chair and do some people watching and really enjoy that cuppa joe? Or, how about TWO times around the block with Fido every now and then?

3) Mental toughness is a tremendous asset. I think this is stating the obvious. Many people have said to me "I could never run a marathon". I've made that same statement. But I decided it was something I wanted to attempt and learned quickly that, while it clearly takes training and time and effort, the majority of this sport is really - REALLY - mental. Likewise, think about the mental toughness we must ensue on a day-to-day basis. We have to mentally prepare ourselves for bad news. Many of us have to prepare ourselves mentally for our everyday commute into work because the traffic is so horrible. We have to talk to ourselves and prepare ourselves, mentally, before having a serious conversation with our spouse or children. Mental toughness is a tremendous asset - in running and in life.

4) Youth isn't everything. As we age, our speed fades more quickly than our endurance. Personally, I'm okay with that. I would rather run farther than faster. Many times I have wanted to turn around at mile 22 to the 28 year old now behind me and say "nanny nanny boo boo". And in life, "let's not forget that experience and shrewdness can help offset the ravages of time".

5) Dropping out can be habit-forming, but can also be smart. That wall. Those WALLS! Those points in the race where you are absolutely certain you cannot take another step. The temptation to drop out is overwhelming. The decision to call it quits shouldn't be taken lightly because once you drop out that first time, it gets easier and easier to throw in the towel. However, there are times when you must trust your body and the signals it's sending you. There's something to be said for saving yourself for another day. The key is to knowing what your goals are and why they're important to you. If you can keep that mindset during your darkest moments of racing - and life - your decision to continue will probably be the right one.

When I run, I think. I ponder. I "what if". I plan. I sing. I cry. I smile. I "zone out". I clear my mind. I inhale deeply. I listen. I contemplate. And I've come to the conclusion that these are exactly the things I do in life.

I am healthy, strong and tough. And I will go anywhere I want, one footstep at a time.

Un

It's a prefix meaning "not", freely used as an English formative, giving negative or opposite force in adjectives.

I'm not looking for comments in this post. I just wanted to use this as an outlet for my crappy feelings of late. They say, if you write things down, it's easier to let go of them...whatever they are. I'll let you know how it works out.

I have never felt so un-appreciated, un-attractive, un-loved, un-acceptable, un-cared about or un-cared for in my life...

And what is really making me nuts is, as Eleanor Roosevelt so adequately put it, "no one can make you feel inferior without your consent."

Which translates to...I'm allowing this to happen.

Get a grip, Joyce!

BMI - Body Mass Index

Also known as "Bite My Idler"...

I woke up in a bad mood today. It's unexplainable given the great evening I had with my bookclub gal-pals last night! Those chicks rock!

As soon as my fill-in co-worker spoke the words yesterday, I knew I'd be posting about it. And now, as I sit here and share the story with you, because of said foul mood, it pisses me off even more!

I am all about taking care of ourselves. I think it's our responsibility, to ourselves and to those who love and care about us. I mean, afterall, they will be the ones who have to carry the burden of our healthcare when and if our bodies shut down. So while we can and while we have some control over our lives, let's be smart; eat right and MOVE!

But there's a balance. A happy medium. A meeting of the mind and body.

Yesterday, my fill-in co-worker and I were chatting about workouts we liked; biking, swimming, hiking, etc. and how important it is to find something that's fun to do or you won't stick with it. We also talked about how our thinking and our bodies change as we get older. But I fell off my stool when she told me how, during a recent physical, the doctor said, "Overall, everything is fine. However, your BMI is "x" percent, which is too high." She responded with, "Compared to what? An Ethiopian?!"

Really world? Really fashion magazines? Really mean girls? Really media? Really Hollywood?

Balance. Let's just find our balance. Our Upekkhā...shall we?

Namaste

A Tisket A Casket

Last Spring, I took you with me on one of my long runs here and shared with you some of the things I see along the way. We can all agree that road-side findings are not always pleasant.

This afternoon, I had the opportunity to chat with my mom while she and my dad were driving from their house on the shore to my daughter's in Virginia Beach to spend the weekend. She says to me, "Oh, Joyce! I have to tell you what we saw on the way to the dump yesterday! You won't believe it." She was right. It was a road-side finding that I could not compete with. Mom's road-shoulder findings have officially trumped mine.

As my dad drove along the two-lane road, mom was simply enjoying the ride - you know, glancing to the right, turning to admire my dad's profile, looking ahead again. But then she thinks she sees something odd just up ahead on the shoulder to the left. They whiz by it. "Huh," she says to herself. The thought is so unbelievable, that after a few seconds she simply has to ask my father, "Papa? Did you see that?" In perfect Papa fashion, he responds, "See what?". Mom hesitates a moment before elaborating for fear my father would feel the need to make an immediate U-turn and head to Salisbury to the hospital entrance marked "Psychiatry".

"Um, I'm pretty sure there was a coffin sitting along the side of the road."

My dad says, "A coffin?" My dad is a man of very few words.

"Yes, Speed, a coffin." My dad has been known as "Speed" his entire life. That's another story for later.

"Mema, we'll look again on our way back, ok?"...

Once they've unloaded the truck at the recycle center, my folks head back to The Big House...with eyes wide open and going well below the speed limit. And sure enough...

"See! A Coffin! Speed, what's a coffin doing sitting out there along the side of the road with no one there?!"

"Oh, someone's there. They're in the coffin."

You don't want to get into a conversation with my dad. You will consider driving YOURSELF to the nearest hospital entrance marked "Psychiatry".

This experience just confirms my growing interest in cremation because the last thing I want is my dead ass left waiting on the side of the road for the grave digger...or for my mom to have to run to the ATM to "get some cash to pay the man"!

Rest In Peace.

I Ran The Rest Of The Way With My Mouth Open

I was in the middle of my tempo run on the treadmill last night at the Y, ear buds in place listening to something catchy, minding my own workout business... While you get that vision in your head, I'll give you some background info that will help set the stage for this post.

I only utilize the treadmill for 3 events/reasons during my training programs: 1) for tempo runs, 2) for speed work and 3) during the winter months when it gets dark at 5:30 in the evening. Otherwise, I'll be outside if you need me.

The evenings I am at my local YMCA, there is van-load of high school-aged girls that come in around 6:00 and leave by 6:45. I don't know where they come from, if they're from a group home or just some after school program they participate in. And for the most part, they're pretty well behaved.

Last night, one of them used the treadmill next to me. When she finished her run, she hopped off, grabbed the cleaning towels and, abiding by the gym rules, came back and wiped down her machine. But then, in a flash, she reached over and thoughtfully (?) mopped up MY puddle of sweat! I thought, huh...did that just happen? Did she just do what I think she just did?

I mean, she may as well have reached over and blown my nose.

Maybe she could be the next Marvel super hero.

"Mop Girl...avenger of sweat puddles".

God people are weird.

One Is Just Like The Other

Look at this...

Now look at this...

Yeah, my thoughts exactly!

Sam I Am

Over the holidays, I found myself watching/listening to The Hallmark channel while decorating, cooking, wrapping - you know, doing holiday stuff. I like Hallmark; Hallmark Cards, Hallmark Christmas Tree ornaments (although I don't "use" them), Hallmark stores (they sell Vera Bradley...I DO use Vera Bradley). But this isn't a post about Hallmark. It's just that the subject of this post was seen multiple times on the Hallmark channel. This is a post about being googly. All googly. Am I too old to be googly?

I don't ever remember being googly over any movie star or rock star or anyone of any Hollywood status as a kid. And I'll have to check with my mom but I don't even remember having my walls covered in posters...hmmm, that may explain a lot about me.

But as I turn the pages on my calendar and the years go flitting by, I find myself sighing dreamily at two star-studs - Tom Selleck (have you SEEN Bluebloods????) and this guy...

Sam - then

Now, clearly, Sam Elliott was a good looking young man. And maybe, certainly my opinion of a good looking man has/is changing as I, too, age gracefully. But, regardless of the number of candles on my birthday cake or yours, it's hard to argue that today's version of Sam Elliott is not a fine specimen in deed. But I'm partial to graying hair. And I love wrinkles. They, along with our visible scars, tell our story.

Sam - now

So, if this is what I have to look forward to in the coming years with my husband, I am one lucky girl.

I'll have to ask him how he feels about my aging process.

On second thought, I'm smarter than that.

Keep up the good work, Sam.

This Shit Cracks Me Up!

Like many of you, I'm sure, I am a faithful and loyal follower of The Pioneer Woman.

Everyday, sometimes a few times a day, I take a trip to Oklahoma and check in on my friend Ree and her life on the frontier. Today was no different.

I work for a general surgeon. He handles your standard hot gallbladders. The sometimes volatile, thumb-shaped appendix. Those pesky hernias that can pop up in numerous places. Cysts and boils and lipomas, oh my! And...the colon. You know, your poop shoot.

I've never been one to shy away from an uncomfortable conversation, unless it involved money. I don't like to discuss funds. Aside from that, I'll chat with you about anything. Including poop. I mean, everyone poops. There's even a book out there called "Everyone Poops", check it out at the library, I'm sure there's an available copy.

Since I've been working with this physician, I have learned a WEALTH of information on feces and the process our body goes through to expel it. I bet you have no idea the stories your poop can tell about the overall health of your plumbing system! Interested? Let's set a coffee date. I'll even bring a picture book!

So, imagine my excitement when The Pioneer Woman posted about this:

Get it? Poo Pourri!!! Bahahahahahahahaha!!!

And the tag line for the Crap Shooter is "Spray The Bowl First, Guns-A-Blazing, The Smell Is Contained, This Stuff Is Amazing!"

If we're all being honest, we've been in an embarrassing situation where we've left a little evidence behind after leaving the guest bathroom. I mean, despite pooping being a natural act of life, we get silly about it.

So, if you're that self-conscious, visit the crapshooter spray site, pick up a purse-sized bottle and let nature takes its course.

I'm glad I was here to educate you.