say a little prayer...

I'm not really all that religious. I wasn't raised in a religious household. We didn't attend church, although, I have been baptized, and confirmed, we aren't very "organized religion" religious. I was raised with "faith". Faith that things will work out the way it should, faith in yourself, in your abilities and that you are innately a good person. Growing up I was taught about religious freedom and that it was okay to adopt theories, faiths, feelings from many religious sects. I have faith in a variety of theories. (It helped my religious beliefs tremendously that I was a religion major in college).

I've done some super questionable stuff in my life, questionable to the point where I am ashamed and embarrassed and have to live with the sick feeling in the bellows of my belly. With all that though, I have faith, faith that there's a lesson to have been learned (I only wish I learned the lesson sooner, or the first time I fuck shit up). I only hope the people I hurt forgive me, and learn from my mistakes. I have faith that they will, over time of course.

Some lessons I have learned through my "faith" is to trust my first instinct, rather than giving people the benefit of the doubt in hopes that they won't turn into what my belly is instinctively telling me. I've learned that you can't always get what you want, but sometime, you"ll find you get exactly what you need without ever even knowing it (thank you Mick Jagger for that ever reverberating lesson), just have that faith. I've learned that I'm fortunate. One of my favorite quotes of all time is from Lemony Snicket: "It is a miracle if you can find true friends, and it is a miracle if you have enough food to eat, and it is a miracle if you get to spend your days and evenings doing whatever it is you like to do, and the holiday season- like all other seasons- is a good time not only to tell stories of miracles, but to think about the miracles in your own life, and to be grateful for them."

I've been focusing on my faith and my own miracles, and as much as I complain, and say ridiculous things about RB, and as unhappy I have every been with him, I'd be terribly unhappy, miserable, and completely dysfunctional without him, it's a miracle that he still loves me. It's a miracle that I have parents that love, treasure and take care of me more than they ever should despite my nasty attitude, or questionable behavior. It's a miracle that my family deals with me, feeds me, loves me, and helps to take care of me. It's a miracle I have a job where I have trusted colleagues. My very existence is a miracle.

With all that being said, pray for me, and for those I love and know, and in return will pray for all of you, that you too, can find faith, and miracles in your everyday lives.

Cheers to Health, Wealth, Faith, Miracles and Happiness in This New Year and Every Year Thereafter! 

13.1?

So, for the last few years I have been trying to learn how to run. I'm not quite there yet, small steps though. I often go out and tell myself, "one foot in front of the other". It makes total sense to me why people have always liked running. It's cathartic, soothing, and relaxing. The pounding on my body is anything but; it's painful, tight, and sometimes nauseating.

I decided that since I have a prep every day right after lunch, I would go for a "run" at lunch. sure, it's awkward for my colleagues to see me every day in running tights, and be sweaty till I get to go home, but it certainly helps me deal with the "stress" of the kids. plus my route is a pretty one.

I started over two months ago, and on average I do a 5k each time I head out. I have been adding time on two of the runs during the week and I get somewhat impressed with myself when my average mile pace drops. I usually hope to negative split the miles, and I come close, if not succeed every time.

My average pace for the last two (plus) months has been 12:17 per mile, which I am fully aware as to how slow it is, BUT, I'm running outside, hills, and even in the rain. that's the fastest I have ever "ran" out doors. Treadmill, is a different story. I'm much faster on the controlled area of the treadmill. I just don't like the treadmill nearly as much as being outside, time goes so slow inside, but the ability to stretch and shower immediately wonderful perks that running at work are lacking.

I work with a guy, nice guy, who is athletic, and does races, and he doesn't "mock" me per say, but he certainly doesn't give me any accolades for getting my chubby ass out there as much as I do. It doesn't bother me, what DOES bother me, is when he suggests he'll come out with me and never does BUT goes out for a run with some other person at work. I shouldn't say it bothers me, because it doesn't in fact "bother me". It does however, hurt my feelings. I know it's ridiculous, and maybe I'm being overly sensitive, it still stings. It stings mostly because he knows I am trying to get faster, and he knows that if he did go out with me, I'd end up chasing him,  making me inevitably become faster in the long run.

Want to know what else stings? Gaining 7 pounds! or Pulling my hamstring! It's like the more I try to "train" to get "in shape" the less likely it is to happen for me. WTF?! It's simply annoying.

I realize none of this actually matters, and it shouldn't bother me, and in actuality it doesn't. I know it doesn't, for one wonderful reason, running. My time alone. Running, as soon as I ran today all my aggravation dissipated. gone. I feel tired, but good tired, the kind of tired you earned. I still feel chubby, but that's just me, but with each run I feel stronger. I hope that I can reintroduce lifting, and swimming once the new year arrives, (after all the new ink additions have healed and can be submerged in water).


Dad approached me about 2 weeks ago asking if I wanted to do a race up in Lake Placid come May. I said sure. I always say "sure" when it comes to my dad, anything to spend extra time with him, and make him proud of course. I was saying "sure" to a half marathon. He assures me I can complete it. He assures me I can "train" for it. My dad never lies to me, so I'm going to have to believe him on this one. Maybe this is the small 13.1 mile step I need to take, to get me to finally train for the mother of all races...