Feeding Time

We interrupt this previously lifeless blog to share with you this picture:

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It totally cracks me up.

We went to the zoo today and witnessed two very hungry hippos being fed apples for lunch.  They stood still, with their heads above water, their mouths open wide, ready to accept the apples, which were being dropped from somewhere up above.  Despite the HUGE openings, the apple throwers missed a few times.  I’m a horribly inaccurate thrower, but I’m pretty sure even I wouldn’t miss those gaping holes.


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Even though we saw many pretty things,


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the hippos were still my favorite.

I know I’ve been absent lately….and for the past several months, really….but this move has really kicked my tail.  Emotionally, not physically, that is. We’ve been unpacked for weeks ( I have lightning quick unpacking super powers) but I have a few finishing touches to add, decoration wise, which will happen soon.  Unfortunately, my crafting options are limited without access to Michael’s.  Of all the things Hawaii doesn’t have, not being able to shop at Michael’s for discount craft supplies is the one which burdens me the most.  Is that what one might call a first world problem?  Ahem.

Oh well, what Hawaii lacks in Michael’s craft stores, it more than makes up for in self-serve frozen yogurt franchises.

Anyway, once our Christmas decorations are back in storage and our house returns to its ‘normal’ state, I’ll take some pictures to share with you.

Until then, I wish you all a very Merry Christmas.

For in the words of Gladys Herdman, “Hey, unto you a child is born!”

Coffee Talk

I’ve become one of those people who is incapable of thinking and or saying nice things before that first cup of coffee. There is a reason why I wake up extra early; it’s so I can have a cup of liquid cheer before I have to talk to another human. It’s a system that works, however, due to the fact that we are in a hotel room and the coffee is in the lobby and I do not want to go to the lobby before showering,  the system has been altered.

This is not good.

Also not good? The hotel coffee.

But, it gets the job done. I cant be too picky when my mood is at stake.

In other news,  we are doing a major shopping trip for all those fun household goodies like trash cans and shower curtains. I’m not crazy about shopping on one of the busiest shopping weekends of the year. Which, by the way, don’t toy think it’s dumb
that this weekend is referred to as ‘Black Friday WEEKEND?’ Friday is only one day, not a weekend, which implies more than one day.  Sorry, I must need extra coffee to prevent arguments over semantics in the morning. Anyway, I love to shop, but I hate people, so shopping on busy days makes me all tense. Alas, we need garbage cans and a TV.

Yesterday we joined Costco and found a really nice TV to buy. Food is pretty expensive around here and Costco will help cut costs on some items,  but most of our shopping will have to be done at the commissary. Besides, we will never save money at Costco if we are  easily lured by low priced electronics. That’s how they find the suckers.

Right now it feels like we are on vacation and not about to settle down and stay put for three years. It will sink in eventually, but part of me is hoping this really is just a vacation. I know in my head that we will feel at home here very soon. I know this. It’s just kind of hard  to believe it right now.

Okay, time to get back to the room so we can get to shopping. I’ve been sitting in the gorgeous lobby, drinking sub par coffee, typing this on my Kindle for far too long.

PS—Any egregious spelling errors can be blamed on the small Kindle key board and my sausage fingers.



We’re here.

For a girl who HATES, no seriously, HATES, flying, our 9 hour and 14 minute flight was quite enjoyable.  Well, except for the part where I had to sit still for 9 hours and 14 minutes.  Oh, and the massive cankles I had from sitting for 9 hours and 14 minutes.  But other than that, it was great.  No major freak outs, no white-knuckle gripping of the arm rests, no crying ‘help me, Jesus’ as we made the looooong trek over deep dark water.

Nevertheless, it’s good to be on the ground.

My travel companion was well behaved, which doesn’t surprise me.  She’s an excellent traveler.    We watched movies and ate cheese (smoked gouda tastes like bacon cheese) and crackers and biscoff cookies and drank lots of complimentary soda.  And, that’s about it.  The guy next to me slept nearly the entire time, which I find quite admirable.  I tried to nap, but was quickly snapped back to the alertness when Caroline needed a snack.

So, we’re here.

Hawaii is as pretty as I remember it.

That’s the good stuff.  We’re here, we’re safe, our skin is more supple than it was back in cold Virginia.

Our Thanksgiving was pretty unremarkable, which concluded with a rather unremarkable $100 dinner.  We toured our new house, but first toured the brand new Safeway in our area with the brand new Starbucks inside.

Our house is in a pretty, tree lined subdivision.  It has a red door.

It is small.

Very small.


We will have to get rid of some a lot of things.

I kind of like the idea of decluttering and streamlining.  I just wish I had known this back in Virginia, so I could have decluttered and streamlined on that end.  Perhaps then I wouldn’t have been awake since 2:15 this morning, pondering furniture placement.  I shouldn’t be surprised; it always works this way.  Ask any military wife and they’ll agree with me.  You declutter before the move and then unpack at your new house, completely befuddled as to why you thought it wise to ship half the junk you shipped.

Our house is small, but that’s okay.  The only thing I’m really baffled by is that there is not a wide drawer in the kitchen suitable for holding a silverware tray.  We have short, deep drawers.  No wide, shallow drawers.  Who designed this kitchen?

Obviously someone who does not deem utensil storage a priority.

I am totally and completely torn up about this.

Do any of you have a suggestion for utensil storage other than Craig’s oh-so-helpful suggestion of using plastic silverware?

Time to get ready for the day.  We’re off to do all the inprocessing junk required with each duty station change.  Instead of elbowing people to reach for the doorbuster deals at Target, we’ll be filling out paperwork.  But first…..more coffee!

Did I mention I’ve been up since 2:15 am?

On Being Alison

Oh hey.

So yesterday I sat down to collect my thoughts and compose a blog post; recently,  I’ve sat down and started and then deleted at least ten different posts. But yesterday, fueled by a delicious Japanese hibachi lunch I shared with my beloved gym friends, I typed and emoted and typed some more. As you have come to expect, it was a brilliant piece of writing. 😉

And then it disappeared.


Here one minute; gone the next.

I’d attempt to rewrite it, but I already forgot what I wrote. And, it’s never good the second time around, anyway.

Instead, I’ll fill you in on my life via bullet points.

  • We have a place to live in Hawaii. I cannot pronounce the street name, which, during the house finding process, was one of my biggest concerns.  The name of our street is also the name of Caroline’s new school.  Until I get a  handle on the Hawaiian language, I will refer to them both as K street and K elementary school.    It’s the right thing to do.
  • Our new place allows pets.  Caroline can get a cat!  It makes me feel good (and less guilty) knowing that amid the shakeup of a mid-year move to a place so far away from our friends and family, she can have something she’s wanted for so long.
  • My sister is visiting again this weekend.  We’re going to do the touristy thing.  And eat cupcakes….because….
  • Saturday is my birthday.  Even though I had a firm discussion with November 17th six years ago, when I said, ‘hey, you’re great and all and I’ve happily welcomed this day 30 times, but please don’t come around again, EVER,’ it didn’t listen.  It appears that November 17th is as stubborn as me.
  • As part of my birthday festivities, I’m running a local 5k Saturday morning.  I’m excited because 5ks are quick and don’t require much preparation.  Also,  I haven’t run one for time since my first race 4.5 years ago.  I’ve run many 5ks since then, but always with little people in tow.  It’ll be fun.  My speedy friend is coming, too.  She’ll be done, cooled down and eating her post race snack before I cross the finish line.
  • I am currently obsessed with finding a green tote/purse/handbag.  Apple green.  Not mint green or forest green. Apple.   It’s proving to be harder than I had hoped; mostly because, evidently, I have very expensive taste.  My (non) midwestern sensibilities and pragmatism overrides my desire to tote around a stylish, yet functional, designer apple green bag, so for the time being, I remain without.  It’s really quite tragic.  As you could imagine.
  • We leave for Hawaii next week.  In fact, we will eat our Thanksgiving dinner with the crashing waves in the back ground.  I’m excited for the new opportunity, but at the same time, I’m scared to think about the adjustment phase.

So, instead of thinking about how sad I am to say hello to 36 and say good bye to my friends, I will focus my attentions on finding the perfect apple green handbag.

Avoidance, it’s how I cope.

Oh, Sandy

Hurricane Sandy is doing her thing right now.  It’s wet and windy, but for the time being, our power is ON.

Yee. Haw.

I’d show a picture of said wind and rain, but I seem to have packed the camera cord, so any pictures I take will stay on my camera until we are once again reunited with our household goods.  In our new house.  Which we currently do not have.

Expect picture-less posts for quite some time.

School is closed; the gym is closed; we’re homebound and thankfully fully electrified.  I spent the entire morning drinking coffee and standing at our kitchen island (no chairs!), furiously searching for a place to live and sending Craig email after email.  He’s probably tired of me.  We thought we had things narrowed down, but I fear we may need to branch out to other areas of the island if our current area of focus comes up dry.

I’m so thankful that our power remains on, however, the winds are predicted to pick up, which means the power may indeed go out.  I’m minimally prepared; we have one flashlight with two extra batteries, four scented candles, three jars of peanut butter and a few different varieties of bread products.  I like peanut butter a whole lot, but I’m not sure I’d like to eat peanut butter in the dark for days and days and days.

Power, please stay on.

The wind is howling and I’m getting nervous.  Perhaps it’s time to eat the ice cream.  You know, because it would be a terrible tragedy if the power goes out and it melts and goes to waste.

Ice cream for dinner, it is!



I’m not technically a minimalist.  I own a lot of junk.

And clothes.

And Mason jars.

Even though I own a lot of stuff, I’m not a pack rat by any means.  I mean, I like to have lots of things, but I like for them to all be neatly organized, arranged and/or hidden from view.  I also declutter like it’s my job.  So you can imagine that living this minimalist lifestyle while our household goods make the long trek to Hawaii is a wee bit difficult for someone who places great value in having multiple wardrobe choices and more than one measuring spoon.

I’ve been doing a lot of laundry lately.

Dishes, too.

Also?  I miss my bed.   But that’s neither here nor there.

I thought that having an empty house would mean it would be easier to keep it clean, but I’ve since realized that my house is messier now more than ever.  It probably has something to do with not having places to put things.  My kitchen stuff is neatly stored in cupboards and drawers, but our clothes and papers are strewn about.  I think that might have more to do with a new found lazy streak than with my lack of storage solutions.

I’m having trouble staying motivated to keep it all together.

I think I’ve mentally checked out.  I find myself wanting to hang on to every last minute here, but wanting to get the show on the road, at the same time.  Being in minimalist limbo isn’t exactly my cup ‘o tea.

In other news, Craig is diligently trying to find a place for us to rent in Hawaii.  It’s starting to get confusing with all the options and all these places are now running together.  It’s his job to get a feel for the neighborhood and hopefully find a house with a street name I can easily pronounce.  The Hawaiian language is vowel heavy.  I’m very fearful that I’ll live on a street I cannot easily pronounce without getting laughed at by the local folks.

In more other news, my sister is visiting this weekend.  So far we’ve gone to a school Octoberfest fundraiser event  and ate spaghetti at the Moose Lodge, went to a soccer game and to our neighborhood’s movie night.  For a twenty nine year old who is scared of kids, that was more than enough kid activity to last her the rest of her life.  She’s a real trooper.  We did also go to Old Town to walk around, shop and eat.  Laura is much more of a walk around, shop and eat kind of girl, which I can appreciate.  Thankfully, Caroline is good at those things too.  Mostly the eating part.

We ate dinner at a place called Bread and Chocolate last night.  That kid of mine nearly died from enjoyment over her french onion soup and grilled cheese.  She’s definitely mine.

Today is Laura’s last day here so we’re going to drive into Maryland to visit the mall Craig and I used to take little Caroline to way back in the day. She’s flying out of Baltimore and the mall is on our way.  It’s only fitting that we spend her last few hours here shopping and eating.

We’re expecting some nasty weather thanks to Hurricane Sandy (aka the Frankenstorm); I’m not particularly happy about the idea of dealing with wild wind and potential power outages, but I’m a whiny brat like that.  I bought some bottled water and we have enough bread and peanut butter to last for days.  I’m hoping we’ll remain safe and fully powered.  Likewise, I hope Craig will remain safe and above water since a tsunami warning has been issued for Hawaii.

Tsunamis, earthquakes and hurricanes!?!

I hope it’s not the end of the world.  I was hoping to  run a four hour marathon and learn to attractively apply eye shadow before the world ends.

See, it’s good to have goals.

Not Cool

Dear people who work in the housing office:

If your website says that you can put yourself on the waiting list as soon as you have orders and then when you submit all of your paper work, it’s not cool to say that you cannot actually put your name on the list until you arrive at your next duty station.

It’s also not cool to tell some one over the phone that the wait time for a house is 50-90 days and then when they arrive at the housing office in person say it’s actually a one year wait.  I’m certainly not very good with the numbers, but I have never in my life confused 50-90 days with 365.

Didn’t your mamas tell you that lying isn’t nice?

I’m sure you’re all lovely people, but right now, I’m mad at you.


The Neurotic and (after November 20th) Homeless Housewife.


So, it looks like we’re living off post again, which makes me very unhappy.  I truly enjoyed living off post here in Virginia because we managed to find a great neighborhood and school for Caroline; I hope we can find the same in Hawaii.  It’s just really hard to search for a place to live when you’re 5,000 miles away.

Based on a search on Great Schools, we’ve narrowed down an area where the schools are decent and the commute won’t be terrible for Craig, which is half the battle.  The next part is finding a place to rent in a nice neighborhood with kids for Caroline to play with.  99% of the time I’m completely at peace with the fact that we have an only child, but that 1% of uncertainty rears its ugly head any time I have to worry about finding playmates for Caroline.  Granted, if we had more than one kid, they could fight all the time and it wouldn’t matter, so perhaps I’m worrying for nothing.

I don’t now.

But what I do know is that right now I’m mad, sad and overwhelmed.

In my heart of hearts I know that we’ll find the perfect place for us to live, but what’s really bugging me is that we’ve been promising Caroline for a long time that when we get to Hawaii we can get a cat.  Our current landlord doesn’t permit animals, but having them on base housing is usually no big deal.  Except, we’re not going to live on base and all of the rental houses I’ve looked at do not allow animals.  This totally breaks my heart; I hate disappointing Caroline.  She REALLY wanted to get a cat.  Of all the things to be upset about, this is the one that is really getting to me.

Not cool.

Not cool at all.

Endorphins and Such

I’m addicted to the gym.

I blame the endorphins.

Up until recently, I never really bought into the endorphin-induced surge of post-workout happiness. It just sounded like the trite ‘tips’ every single women’s magazine regurgitates, trying to convince their readers to partake in regular exercise.   But now?  Well, call me a  believer.  On most days I wake up in a panic. I drink some coffee (caffeine is great for panic and anxiety, right?), eat some breakfast, get Caroline off to school and drive to the gym.  All in a panic.  Hands at ten and two, firmly gripping the steering wheel; white knuckles and all.  I think about how life is changing.  I think about my puffy eyes and crows feet and how  my concealer doesn’t do what its name explicitly states.  I think about switching utilities to my landlord’s name and having our old washer and dryer hauled away.  I think about how I ate one too many bowls of cereal the night before and probably some ice cream, too.  I think and I worry.  I worry and I panic.

It’s a long five mile drive.

Getting my workout started isn’t always easy.  Often the idea of hiding under a blanket all day and eating cookies sounds much more appealing, but once I take those first few heavy steps or lift that weight a few times, I’m hooked.  It’s kind of odd, don’t you think?  You know, to want to make yourself hurt physically.  There’s something so gratifying about pushing your body beyond its comfort level.  Seeing results makes it even more gratifying,…but on a daily basis, checking my baggage at the gym door and not claiming it after my workout,  is what keeps me functioning.  It’s probably wrong to place such importance on something so self-centered.  However, I suppose it’s better than finding peace in alcohol or Jimmy Choos or Coach purses.

I’m sure some may consider it misguided to find comfort in a gym, a sweaty, stinky gym, when comfort should be found at home or from up above.  But hey, I’m not perfect.  In fact, I feel incredibly, horribly selfish that I allow my mood to be dictated by the amount of sweat I’ve shed.  I certainly don’t worship at the altar of Gold’s Gym, but I do hold in high regard the physical and mental benefits of a good workout.  I’ve never had a chemical addiction.  I don’t drink; I don’t smoke; I couldn’t even tell you what pot smells like.  Yet, I think I know what it’s like to be an addict.  When I tell Craig I’m going to the gym on a Saturday or Sunday morning, when I should probably let my body rest, I feel a fair amount of shame. I sort of say it in a small voice, hoping my words aren’t met with an eye roll or deep sigh.  It seems absolutely insane to be ashamed that I want to go to Body Attack at 8 am on a Saturday, but I can’t help it.  It doesn’t keep me from going…..but the feeling does exist…which adds a whole different level to my panicked drive to the gym.

It’s not about looking a certain way or weighing a certain amount (although, that part is pretty rad); it’s about mental clarity and stress release.  I always leave the gym feeling much more optimistic than when I first walked in the door.  And for a pessimist like me, any ounce of optimism I can muster is greatly appreciated.

I realize that on paper my life is ranked in the “unicorns and rainbows” category. We’re healthy.  We’re not broke.  We have too much food and all of our teeth.  Our cars are paid for.  Our kid isn’t a brat. We’re moving from one great place to another.  It’s all good.  Really.  It’s all good.  For which I am truly grateful.  But, even when all the dots connect and everything looks good on paper, people in the “unicorns and rainbows” category can still feel quite messy on the inside.

Messy.  That’s what I am.

Messy and hopelessly addicted to being drenched in sweat.

A Neurotic Housewife First

You all are NOT going to believe this: I did not wash my hair yesterday.

Yes, this is very big news; so big, in fact, that it’s worthy of its own blog post.  Especially since the last time I did not wash my hair was when I overslept and was late to my 5 am  shift at McDonald’s back in my college days.  Like, in 1996.

I’m one of those crazies who must wash her hair every day.   When I’m sick, I wash my hair.  When I’m staying home all day and won’t see any humans other than my family, I wash my hair.  I washed my hair the day I gave birth; I washed my hair the day after I gave birth, just before we came home from the hospital, and every day since, without exception.

Granted, I may not always style my hair every day, but you can bet that it’s clean.

The main reason why I wash my hair every day has to do with the fact that I sweat like a dude at the gym.  Since I have to wash my body; I may as well wash my hair, too.   Some may call it vain; I call it my gift to humanity. I envy women who don’t sweat like pigs, but  who also have low maintenance hair.  My big stupid forehead and all of its embedded wrinkles requires that I have bangs.  Bangs are not low maintenance; neither are layers.  If I could put all of my hair into a pony tail after a workout, I might wash my hair less.


But probably not.  Because I’m a neurotic freak.

Since I’ve washed my hair every day since some time in 1996, you’d have to think that the reason why I did not wash my hair yesterday was due to some sort of tragic occurrence.  I assure you, nothing tragic happened yesterday.  In fact the reason why I did not wash my hair yesterday is because I was lazy. I signed up to volunteer at this year’s Army Ten Miler race and I had to get up before the crack of dawn to get there for my shift; I had to leave the house at 5 am and I did not want go through the whole getting ready thing at 4 am.  In my opinion, having time to drink coffee was way more important than the state of my hair.  Don’t worry, I still showered.  And then slapped on some make up (because going mascara-less is NEVER an option) and put on a baseball cap.

I kind of liked it.

Except for the horrible hat hair I had for the rest of the day.

So, like I mentioned, I volunteered at the Army Ten Miler yesterday.  I would have preferred to run the race, but sign ups are in May and in May I wasn’t 100% sure where we would be living at this time.  Obviously, we’re still in Virginia, and I could have run the race, but the race sold out in minutes, so I volunteered instead.

My official volunteer position was ‘finish line corral’ but when I arrived to my post with another woman and man, we couldn’t find any direction as to what we were supposed to do.  We walked around and asked a ton of people, but they didn’t know either.  So, we took it upon ourselves and found a job handing out water to the runners just after they crossed the finish line.

It was neat seeing ALL of the runners cross the line, from the winner who finished around 47 minutes to the two women in tu tus and pom poms who crossed near the three hour mark.  The fast guys were business as usual, but as the time clock ticked along, I noticed how happy and grateful some of the slower runners were to just finish the race.  For many, it was their first big race. One woman crossed the line with tears in her eyes; as I handed her a water bottle I just had to pat her on the back because she said it was her first time doing a ten mile race and she was so happy and proud of herself.  Moments like that brought tears to my own eyes and warmed the recesses of my cold black heart, which, if you asked Craig, is hard to do.  Ha!

I adore the running community.

I do not, however, adore snot rockets.  There were more snot rockets shot in the finish chute than I have ever seen out on the race course.  Men are gross.  That is all.

Speaking of men, my manny is gone!  Craig is on his way to Hawaii and now I have to take AND pick up Caroline from school every day.  Usually I take her in the morning on my way to the gym and he picks her up.  Now, I have to do both!

You never know how good you have it until its gone.

So long easy living!


Running Update

Well look at me blogging twice in one month; that’s a new record, for sure.   Someone please give this girl a cookie.

No, seriously.  Do you have a cookie?

I could really use a cookie right now.

Just to recap:  my house empty.

On one hand, there’s something very nice about having a near empty house.  Probably because it’s easier to clean an empty house.  But, on the other hand, there’s something quite unsettling about living in an empty house.  Empty houses echo.  They’re colder, too.  And sitting on the floor, while okay for a little while, kind of makes your butt hurt.  Yesterday, after I sat on the floor for hours and read through the entire internet,  I found a sunny spot on the carpet and took a nap.

Like a cat.

It was kind of awesome.

But anyway, I didn’t start this to complain about my current housing/moving situation, I started this to brag a little.  You know me, I’m not much of a braggart. No really, I’m not.  I’m certainly nothing special and I don’t even pretend for a moment that I am. However,  I accomplished something two weeks ago that I had long hoped to do:  I ran a sub 1:50 half marathon.

Back in September, Craig and I ran the Navy-Air Force (Air Force-Navy?) Half Marathon in Washington, DC.  My goal for that race was to run a personal best, which I did, by crossing the finish line in 1:51:07.  After that race, I sheepishly declared on this very blog that I hoped to run a sub 1:50 half marathon on October 7th at the Wilson Bridge Half Marathon.

Of course, I issued the standard caveats:  if the weather is right, if I feel good, if the stars align, if the moon is a waxing (and NOT waning) gibbous, no pressure, blah, blah, blah.

Well, the weather was NOT right (it rained!), but I felt great.  Fueled by candy corn and a deep desire to not be a weenie (especially after I had voiced my intentions here), I ditched my Garmin GPS watch (no pressure if you don’t know your pace) and ran.  The race provided a time clock at the five mile and ten mile marks, which quelled my curiosity a smidge, but I really had no idea when I would cross that finish line.  Now here’s the thing:  in my opinion, the half marathon race really begins at the 10 mile mark.  Those last 3.1 miles are where it hurts the most.  And on this particular course, this was most definitely the case.

After I scaled the great hills and braved the unsteady, gravelly terrain of National Harbor (so epic!) and wound my way around the finish line that seemed to go on forever, I spotted the time clock, which had the numbers 1.4.7 on its digital read.  As I heard a spectator yell  ‘go turquoise shirt!’ (I was wearing a turquoise shirt) I let out a little happy cheer/cry of ‘when is this going to #$@%#^^#%@ end?” and ran toward the finish.  At that point, the finish line was in sight, but felt like it was a mile way; I felt like I was going to hurl, so I slowed my pace a bit, which in hindsight totally bums me out, but still, I finished that race in 1:47:26.  Nearly (sort of?) four minutes faster than the race I ran a few weeks before.

I was elated.

And tired.

And wet.  And cold.

And hungry.  So hungry.  From previous experience, I knew to expect a good, chewy, real bakery bagel at the end; not a grocery store imposter.  I’m not going to lie; the promise of a good bagel at the end provided me with ample desire to keep going and get to the finish line as fast as possible.

Thankfully, once you cross the finish line, the race volunteers handed out little towels along with the finisher’s medals.  I grabbed my medal and the towel, hobbled toward the bags of delicious bagels and promptly buried my face in the towel and cried.  I cried because I was so happy for beating my goal time.  But mostly I cried because that was my last race in the Virginia/DC area.

I was going to say that I became a runner here, but that’s trite and expected and kind of hokey.  Instead, I’ll say that I found something special here.

Granted, I’m not special.  I’m just one of the several thousand who, on any given weekend morning, pins a bib on her shirt and runs from point A to point B with the promise of a medal and a banana (and a good/bad bagel depending on the race) at the finish line.  There isn’t anything particularly remarkable about running a race; the world is not a better place because I pay $95 to run 13.1 miles.

But my world?  Well, my world is better.  And stronger.

I went from hating running and thinking anyone who paid money to run was an idiot to someone who signed up for every race possible.  I went from running my first race at a near 10 minute/mile pace to running 13.1 miles at an 8:13/mile pace.  Obviously, I’m not the greatest runner who has ever run and I never will be.  I’m just a dopey housewife who loves to exercise.

In exercise (and running) I’ve found an outlet for the overflowing amount of anxiety I harbor.  I found a toughness and competitive fire that I never knew existed.  I also found some new muscles.  Yay, muscles!

Running here in Virginia has been such a personal experience for me and in an odd, misguided way, I don’t feel like running in Hawaii will be as fulfilling.  I know that’s a dumb and melodramatic thing to say….but sometimes I’m dumb and melodramatic.  As you can probably surmise, I don’t do well with change. It takes a long time for me to process new information and situations.

One day I’ll be happy that we live in Hawaii.  I know this.  I mean, really?  How could you not be happy living in Hawaii?  One day I will pin on a bib on a warm morning, thank the heavens that my fingers and toes aren’t frozen into icicles and run near the crashing waves of the beautiful Pacific Ocean.  One day I’ll run the rolling hills near Diamond Head and receive a flower lei in lieu of a medal.  One day I’ll find comfort in the salty sea air.

One day.

But until that day arrives, be prepared to read some first class whining.  I may not be special, but I am a remarkable complainer.