A miniature mid(?)life crisis.

As I was laying in bed last night listening to the ocean…

HAHAHA. Wouldn’t that be great?

No, but really. It was the “ocean.” According to my alarm clock’s “sleep aid” function.

Anyway…

As I was listening to the “ocean,” I realized I was 31. Age has never bothered me. I was pumped to turn thirty. Thirty-one wasn’t nearly as exciting, but whatever. I still feel 9, so, it is what it is. But earlier, in a completely unrelated conversation with mom, she mentioned that having kids at 32 is “what people do.” It’s normal. To which I agree. It’s not abnormal to have multiple children at 32 years old. One of my best friends just turned 31 and has three. 

Then she referred to 32 as middle-aged. That’s just one year older than me.

AND THAT’S WHEN I DIED. Died, dead. I’m not kidding, my heart dropped into my stomach. I hung up the phone, and no lie, I had a miniature panic attack. It had to be because I could feel it. It felt like there were bubbles in my chest. In my heart. Everything was uncomfortably fluttery, and I sort of wanted to throw up. MIDDLE-AGED.

There I lie, in bed with a stuffed unicorn, alone, cats at my feet, nothing to show for myself, AND I AM MIDDLE-FUCKING-AGED. I almost cried, I really did. Am I in the middle of my life? I am, aren’t I? I mean, in another 31 years I’ll be 62. What do I have then? Maybe another 10? 15 years? (Oh gross, that’s a horrible thought, stop it). I am HALFWAY through life and am probably the largest disappointment there is. Other than, you know, I have a career and I love it and I’m happy and whatever. But also: I’m divorced. I failed at marriage once when I was too young and stupid to know what I was doing. I fail at relationships because I’m (no longer too young and) too stupid to know what I’m doing. I’m “supposed” to have, like, two children attached to my boob and pissing me off and making me “whole.” Instead I have cats, unattached to my boob. Thank god.

The thing is, these things never bother me. They’ve never really bothered me. Thirty-one doesn’t feel “old” to me. I don’t feel old. But, I guess, realistically, I am. And it sort of pisses me off that I have to panic about these things. Can’t I just get there when I get there? Without society on my back making me feel useless? Yeah. I get it. By the time I have children I’ll be a member of AARP by the time they’re in third grade. But so what? LET ME. I KNOW. GO AWAY.

I seriously want to stomp and scream and pull out my hair like a child. But I’m not a child, remember? DON’T FORGET THAT, IT’S VERY IMPORTANT INFORMATION. But if I feel youthful and happy and alive, can’t I just be it? What is it they say? You’re only as old as you feel?

Then shove it. I’m 9 years old. Talk to me about this shit in about 15.

I said it: March 29th, 2013 under krittabug - 2 Comments.

Remembering why I do this.

In the spring of 2011 I began training for a 50-mile race. And for the two years that followed I did not stop. Race after race after race followed. The high-mileage training never stopped. Even to this actual day I am still training for an ultra marathon I’m running on Saturday.

Weekends are sidelined for back-to-back long runs. Every weekend. Pressure builds during the week if I miss a scheduled run. I stress. I battle injuries. I feel inadequate when I struggle. And boy, do I struggle. Nearly every step of every mile run so far this winter has been a struggle. Mile after mile after mile after mile after mile. A month ago, if you’d asked, there’d have been no end in sight, as I had more ultras and another 50-mile race on my mind for the fall.

Even though my body and heart said “no, absolutely not, you asshole, you cannot keep this up,” my mind wouldn’t let it go. My mind had become so absolutely wrapped around the idea that I was a long-distance runner. That every 50K and marathon defined me. WHO AM I IF I’M NOT TRAINING FOR ALL OF THIS? I’ll be a failure. A quitter. Inadequate. Weak. What I didn’t realize was that I’ve started to hate running. I’ve become angry. Unhappy. Unsatisfied. Frustrated. Injured. Guilty. Jealous.

Suddenly, I realized those things.

Now there is an end in sight.

I’ll find you again, happy runner.

I turned off the part of my brain that is convinced I’ll be unworthy, and I realized exactly who I’ll be if I’m not running long, painful miles — I WILL BE ME.

Running is a part of who I am, as it’s been for the last 20 years. It will continue to be a part of my life. But I will enjoy it again. I’ve mentally torn to pieces the schedule of races I had my eyes on this year, the “Year of the 50K,” as it was once fondly called. I think of that now and panic. That sounds like an awful year. So after next month, there will be no more ultra marathons in 2013. There will be no marathons in 2013. There will be running. Running because I can, not because I have to. I’ve had two years of having to run. I stopped enjoying having to run about six months ago.

There will be races I can reasonably finish in under two hours, not four or six or twelve. I can head out for a weekend run without having to pack four hours’ worth of nutrition and water. Without worrying that my IT band will behave, or stressing over the pain in my shins. I can sleep in rather than run on a weekday, and not spend the day feeling guilty or feel like I’m disappointing my coach, who takes the time every week to create a specific training plan for me and my goals.

I’m readjusting those goals to get back to loving to run. I lost that. I tied myself so tightly to the idea of running and everything that comes with it, that I let go the best part of it — loving it.

I’ll still hit the miles, I’ll still wake up to run, I’ll still head out for my (former) favorite 13-mile lake loop, but there will be a difference. I’ll do it because I want to. And once I turn that corner, once I remember how to want to run and how to love to run, I’ll toe the line of ultra marathons again. But not one minute, not one mile, not one month, not one race before then.

I said it: March 20th, 2013 under krittabug - 10 Comments. Tags: love, races, running

When 2013 ninja-kicked us in the face.

In the million-ty years since we’ve last spoken, internet, I feel like a million-ty things have happened. Most of them bad. Some good! But bad. Still all the bad happened.

On New Year’s Eve, while I was incredibly busy on the couch watching non-stop episodes of Breaking Bad (I’m not kidding. The entire first season in one night), my grandpa died. He just died, like that. I was eating pizza rolls and Sour Patch Kids, snooping on the neighbors, who were causing a ruckus outside, and my grandpa died. I didn’t find this out until the next morning when I awoke to a call from mom, incredibly reminiscent of when my other grandpa died while I was in college: a phone call from mom to break the bad news. Why is it when you wake up to a phone call it’s usually bad news?

My parents chose to wait until morning to tell my sister and I, as to not affect the joy of New Year’s Eve. In hindsight, I appreciate that. I do. Not that I was doing anything particularly exciting on New Year’s Eve (though Breaking Bad is ridiculously good, you guys), I now feel like I got that one quiet night to myself to enjoy the simple things. Like pizza rolls and Aaron Paul. Because once I woke up to the bad news, the rest of the month would continue to be bad news.

When mom said, “Grandpa died last night,” I remember saying, “okay,” then taking a moment to take a breath. We knew he’d been having heart troubles; it wasn’t entirely unexpected. But those are still words that hit you in the gut. As soon as I thought of my dad, who, with those words, had officially lost his father, I cried like a baby. Dads aren’t supposed to be sad. Dads are dads. Dads are the backbones of the family unit. When I thought of my dad, now having to handle the loss of a parent, I felt sick to my stomach. We all did — my mom, sister and I. Dad spent the following days in his hometown making arrangements with his siblings, while we counted the days until the funeral.

The worst part about grandpa’s death is that, for the life of me, I cannot remember the last time I saw him. The last photo I have with him is from my wedding in 2007. Could it really have been nearly six years (and a divorce) since I saw my grandpa? Did he even remember me? Did it matter? I felt terrible. And sad. That set of grandparents has always lived hours (if not states) away, so visits were few and far between as I got older. I regret that now. We got to see and hug and reconnect with my dad’s relatives at the memorial service, and that’s the one blessing to come from the entire situation. I’ve since written my grandma a handwritten note simply to keep in touch, and I’m not going to let that act of kindness dissipate.

The day, while it included many tears, ended in smiles and relief and thankfulness that all the horrible was behind us. Thank god. I went home that night, watched the Packers with one of my best friends, and went to sleep peacefully.

And then I woke up to another phone call from my mom.

My grandma, this time on my mom’s side, had taken a turn for the worst, and I needed to head home to say goodbye.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

This time I was big and brave and drove the hour home, preparing myself for something that was, again, not entirely unexpected, but still entirely devastating. I hadn’t even cried. I got all the way home with my brave face, perhaps still in denial that yesterday I was at my grandpa’s funeral, and now today I have to say goodbye to the grandma with whom I spent nearly my entire childhood. Dad greeted me when I walked in the door, and the first thing I asked was whether mom was home. She wasn’t, of course, as she was already at the nursing home with her mom.

So then I melted. I remember crying something about the unfairness of it all and probably said “dammit” a time or two, all while my dad, who was still busy mourning his own dad, gave me a hug.

I said goodbye to my grandma that day, who’d had a major stroke the afternoon before my grandpa’s funeral. Again, my mom didn’t want to break that news to my sister and I while we were at a funeral already. Grandma couldn’t talk by then, but I could see recognition in her eyes when I kissed her on the top of her head and told her I loved her. And that will be the memory I have forever of the last time I saw my grandma. Though she miraculously improved for a few days after that Sunday, she died 10 days later. I learned the news, once again, in a phone call. This time from dad.

I cried hard that night. Although I’d had 10 days to process what was happening, the grief that hit me once it actually happened knocked me on my ass. In two weeks’ time I’d lost half of my grandparents, and I’m now down to one.

For my grandma’s 84th birthday nearly five years ago, I wrote this blog post, which I was asked to read during the memorial. Don’t worry, I sobbed the entire time. Like, snot dripping off my face onto my dress kind of sobs. Now I have plants in my (new) office from her memorial. My grandma died, and I got plants and an orphaned mother.

And now here we are. It’s been a month since anyone’s died in my family (and that trend may continue, please), but its effects still linger. My mom’s sad. My dad’s probably sad, but it’s hard to tell because, like I said, dads aren’t sad. They’re sad in secret. I now have dried roses and photos and obituaries strewn throughout my apartment. Everywhere I look there is a sad thing to see. Grandma left me her necklace that she wore every day of nearly forever. A necklace I wore on my wedding day, and a necklace I remember hanging from her neck even when I was a child. I’ve taken it off exactly two times since my mom clasped it around my neck. I don’t want to take it off. Not ever. It’s small and delicate, and I have about 19 panic attacks a day when I feel for it on my neck and it takes just a second too long to find it. But it’s mine now, and that’s the most special thing ever in the entire world.

So that’s what’s been happening since the New Year. The year 2013 decided to greet us with a swift kick to the face, twice. I’ve been meaning to share all of these things in the last several weeks, but it never felt right. Like maybe I just wasn’t ready to. I’d rather not have had reason to write them all, but such is life.

I promised you good things have happened, too. So here they are, in no particular order: I got to move into my own pretty office, I turned 31 and had a splendid birthday, and I was given a raise at work. I’ve yet to receive a unicorn in this lifetime, but time will tell.

I said it: February 18th, 2013 under krittabug - 9 Comments.

Once upon a time I gave a presentation and I didn’t die.

I wrote another post on MadGirl PR last week about my very first professional presentation. It went a little something like this:

There are exactly two things I’m terrified of. Well, three, actually: butterflies, dead deer and public speaking. Don’t ask about the first two, but public speaking, oh boy. I’m seriously sweating just thinking about it.

I took a public speaking course in college where we had to videotape each of our presentations, then critique ourselves. I liken this to some form of journalistic torture. It’s bad enough to stand up there in front of your peers (like the good-looking guy from down the hall), but then to watch yourself do it? Why? Why is this happening? But I digress.

I’m not alone in my fear, I know this. Raise your hand if you’ve lost sleep over an upcoming presentation. [peeks around the internet] Yes, hi. I see you. Welcome.

This was me a few months ago. My boss, bless his heart, volunteered my soul for a public speaking gig. It was a luncheon in Illinois for an advertising group. Because it’s how I do, I spent about two months panicking and avoiding preparation like the plague. It was exactly three days before the presentation that I sat down to consider what I’d say.

The topic was easy — how to use social media to benefit your business. SOMETHING I KNOW! It’s my job to make social media benefit businesses. So that’s my first tip:

1. Know your subject. 

Being familiar with your topic is a must. Particularly if you’re so terrified to speak in front of a group of people that you’ll likely forget everything you know anyway. My fear is irrational. I’ve said before that I’d be nervous to stand in front of a group of my own friends to talk about cats (my first true love, if we’re being honest). So at least find comfort in knowing your subject. You’re the authority. You know everything. Or at least act like you do.

Thankfully, this is a success story, evidenced by the fact that I am, in fact, still alive and writing this blog post. I showed up early to the venue to get my bearings, chit chat with the group as they started filing in, and locate each and every escape route, which brings me to Tip No. 2:

2. Mingle

I can’t properly express how helpful this was. I may be outspoken and quirky, mayhaps a bit mouthy, on the internet, but in real life I’m a total recluse. Shy. I steer clear of awkward small talk with strangers. Apparently I took “stranger, danger” to heart as a child, and at 30-years-old I’m still hanging on like a lunatic. But mingling with this group of 25 to 30 strangers before presenting to them helped me open up. I let down the smallest bit of my Wall of Terror.

Rather than the ferocious monsters I assumed they’d be, ready to attack me at my most vulnerable, they were really rather delightful. I dare say I felt comfortable. But in order to feel fully comfortable, I offer this advice:

3. Be yourself. 

Now, let me offer a caveat here. Know your audience before being fully yourself, particularly if yourself is, shall we say, horrifying. I like to think I’m less-than-horrifying, so I felt comfortable being me. I didn’t present with a stiff demeanor, wearing my “professional face.” Sure, I can naturally be professional, but I can also do so in a way that’s relaxed and fun.

Let your guard down. Your audience will likely appreciate it. Laugh, offer up a bit of self-deprecating humor (believe it or not). You’re human. You know it, they know it. I actually opened up with an anecdote about how terrified I was to be there. People laughed, the atmosphere loosened. I talked to them as though I was talking to a roomful of friends, even though I wasn’t talking about cats. Unfortunately. Which leads me to my final survival tip:

4. Have a conversation.

No one wants to be talked at. It’s bad enough to sit through a luncheon presentation when there are likely 9 different places you’d rather be. Especially if it’s boring as hell. So engage your audience. Ask questions, answer theirs. Make them laugh. Not funny? Try harder. Or talk about cats. You guys think I’m kidding with this cat business, don’t you?

I’m not.

Your entire presentation doesn’t have to be full of facts and stats and matter-of-fact drivel. In fact, please don’t. For the sake of mankind. You’re a young (hip) professional, and a bad ass one at that. Act like it.

And remember this: YOU WILL NOT DIE. You won’t. It’s science. If you do, take it up with me later. When it’s over, people will smile and clap and tell you how absolutely wonderful you were, and next thing you know, you’re hosting American Idol. Or so I heard. Probably.

Bring your smarts, bring yourself, and if you can, bring your cat. Take a deep breath and go.

I said it: January 4th, 2013 under krittabug - No Comments. Tags: cats, fears, MadGirl PR, presentation, presenting, public speaking

Oh, 2012. I have some words to say about you.

Once upon a time a couple friends and I would regularly remark how 2012 would be the end of the world. 2012! It’s coming! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES. That was 2010. Well, tomorrow is 2013 and we’re all still here. Weird how that happens.

Normally I do a top ten recap of my year, looking back on blog posts and events past. Turns out, I didn’t blog much this year. I don’t know what caused the shift, but I just let this old, trusty friend sit by the wayside. I’m kind of pissed about that. One of my favorite aspects of having a blog is to be able to look back and reflect. It could also be that not much happened this year, which is sort of true. I became boring.

With that said, the biggest and best news of the year was getting a new job. Nearly a year old now! I never expected to be sitting here, nearly a year into a brand new job, and still loving it as much as I did on Day 1. More, even. My responsibilities continue to increase, and I continue to feel like a valued piece of the puzzle. If I ever dread going to work, it’s only because I don’t want to wake up early, not because of the job. That is rare, and I’ve never been more thankful to have found it. Find yours,  people. It’s worth it.

It was a great running year, too, except for the DNF heard ’round Krittabug’s world. I ran my fastest marathon this year — 3 hours, 57 minutes, and 4 seconds. An amazing day I never blogged about. In the 1,441 miles I ran in 2012, I learned, I struggled, I PR’d, I hated, I loved, I sweat, I froze, and I spent an amazing amount of time with some of my favorite people on earth. On roads, on trails, in snow, in heat, with laughter, with yelling, with tears, with love. For that, and for those race adventures, I’ll forever be grateful for running.

I also had a relationship this year that allowed me to grow, love, and learn. The relationship may be no more, which was a tough lesson to learn and accept, but that doesn’t mean he and the relationship weren’t an integral part of the happiness I found this year. Unfortunately, I’m positive anyone who’s counting on me to get married and live happily ever after has given up on me. As a single 30-year-old woman, I’m fucked. Apparently. However, I haven’t given up on me, if that counts. I’ll get there when I get there, I’m just waiting for him. And his name is Ryan Gosling, in case you needed to write that down.

Personally, it was a year spent growing (and not growing) emotionally. I turned 30 this year. THIRTY! Look at me go! More often than not I continue to feel 11, which I don’t think will ever go away, if we’re being honest. Being 11 was a good time. But the year 2012 will always be the year I got a therapist. It’s still a fairly new adventure, but , again, if we’re being honest, it’s something I need, if for nothing else than to unleash my neurotic thoughts onto a person who won’t judge me.

Neurotic thoughts such as this: relationships continue to be a struggle. But not romantic relationships; friendships. I have a lot of friends, which you wouldn’t expect to be a problem. But the problem with maintaining lots of friendships is just that — maintaining. And losing. It’s hard.

It’s always made me oddly sad to not have one best friend. I have her, and she has me. Yes, my best friend would be a girl, because boys are not meant for best friends. Duh. (Except Marty, HI MARTY!) I’ve written about it before, two years ago, and apparently it’s still a struggle I can’t get past. Thankfully I have several of the best of friends I could ever ask for. But I still find myself feeling lonely, like all of their lives are moving forward and filling up, while mine stays where it is, surrounded by cats. WHO I LOVE, let’s just be clear about that. But I’m afraid my friends are going to move on with life without me, forgetting about me, making better friends. I know it’s completely irrational, but this is what feelings are, and why they make therapists for them. Some friendships come naturally, some take work, and some, I’m finding, aren’t worth the work. It’s like math. I’m horrible at math.

All of this said, I’m happy. My life continues to be my own, little choose-your-own-adventure book. Sometimes I choose the wrong chapter and end up in the woods with monsters, but most of the time I make wise choices that are way better to read. I liked 2012. I really did. And I’m looking forward to 2013. Mostly so we can look back at those crazy Mayans and be like YEAH, LOOK WHAT WE DID. WE LIVED TO 2013.

Happy New Year, my friends. I’ll catch you on the other side, where I promise to be exciting.

I said it: December 31st, 2012 under krittabug - No Comments. Tags: 2012, friendships, New Year, running