Soo...I’ve been cleaning house today...almost threw out this story I wrote for a web-site called “The Friend Who Got Away”. They posted it, it was probably my first piece of “published” writing...thought I’d share:
The Friend Who Got Away
She was my hero, saving me from the school bully who’s self-appointed job was to intimidate the new kid at school. We were in second grade. Jenny was beautiful, with crystal blue eyes and high cheekbones and blond wavy hair (the kind of fresh beauty you’d expect to find in Southern California, not in our little Oregon ‘burb). But there she was, yelling at the girl who had just pushed me down, “If you ever touch her again, I’ll kill you!” WOW! At age 8 you just didn’t say those things.
Turns out she had heard a lot of those kinds of things in her short life. Her daddy drank, her mother drank and took loads of Valium. She had three very-much older stepbrothers (one of them was still living at home) at one stepsister who was already married and living far away when I met her. The brother at home was either very kind to her (when her mom was lucid) or very very cruel to her (when her mother was incapacitated by drugs and alcohol). She told me once that when two of her brothers got together, they put her in the drainage pipe in the road and stood on the grate so she couldn’t get out! That wasn’t the worst of it. Years later, (when the brother who had lived at home when she was very young) was arrested and convicted of molesting his stepchildren, she told me she remembered him molesting her too.
What I remembered was that most of the time she wanted to go to my house after school. And never hers. I didn’t know why. But as we got older, and braver I suppose, we would go to her house sometimes. It was always dark inside and if her mom and dad were home, they were inevitably fighting. Her mom, in her drunken stupor would yell things like “If you ever touch her again, I’ll kill you!” and then she would pass out. I had no idea who “her” was. I assumed he had a girlfriend. It was years later when Jenny and I tried to sneak a smoke from her father’s pack of Camels that I understood. When he caught us, he took his belt to Jenny’s behind until she bled. I cried all the way home. Jenny didn’t come to school for the rest of the week, and when I saw her the following Monday I knew better than to bring up the awful thing I had witnessed; she adored her father. He died that same year, and I remember being relieved, almost happy. Of course, to Jenny, I showed only sadness and compassion.
About that same time, Jenny found Vivarin. And she shared! And it was fun! We’d tickle each other’s scalps during class and zip to our locker during lunch to re-dose ourselves. On the weekends we’d combine speed and alcohol and we’d spend our time chasing boys and sneaking out of our houses and going to forbidden parties, each telling our parents that we were spending the night at the other’s house.
One night Jenny decided she was going to have sex with a boy she didn’t even really like. I was dumbfounded. Until that time we had been inseparable, but I began to be a bit jealous of this boy and was a bit freaked out that she was having s-e-x. We stopped talking for a year. The next year I had a boyfriend and I realized; Jenny had always been just a bit more “advanced” than I was, and we made up.
After graduation we moved into a crummy little apartment together. My mom swore to disown me if I moved out before I was 18, but when we moved in I was a month away from my 18th birthday; Jenny became my only family. A month later, we found a “care package” of cleaning supplies, food, and basic staples on our doorstep. My mother had forgiven us. Jenny and I both worked downtown but had different schedules. Mine was nine to five. Hers varied. We were, of course, broke. I still had the same boyfriend from high scool. Jenny’s bedroom seemed to have a revolving door and the boys she brought home always seemed like jerks to me.
One particular afternoon I arrived home to hear arguing, then muffled tears, then voices rising from Jenny’s bedroom, which turned in to the sounds of someone being hit. I was mortified! Her latest boyfriend was beating her up! I couldn’t stand it and my gut took over; I should have called the cops, but instead I burst in to Jenny’s room and screamed as loud as I could “If you ever touch her again, I’ll kill you!, get out of my house and don’t come back!”
A week later, she invited him back into her life. He said he was sorry, he said he loved her. I was astonished. But she seemed happy and what I wanted more than anything was for her to be happy, so I didn’t protest, but he was not allowed to come back to our apartment. I felt good about setting the boundaries, but she was irritated. Shortly after that she moved in with him, and I had nowhere else to go, so I moved home. When that jerk dumped her she begged me to move back in with her and I did, but I also made sure I had other roommates so I wouldn’t get stranded again.
Fast forward through a pregnancy (hers), a coerced marriage (yeah, hers), a big white wedding (mine), a mother’s funeral (hers), two divorces (ours), two remarriages (ours). Ironically we both remarried and both husbands names were Dave. But our Daves were very different men. Hers was a mormon and when she married him I was not allowed to come. Mine was a party-boy and when I married him, she called crying and apologizing that she had not come, something had come up and she was moving (suddenly) from Washington to Alabama. She told me that she felt trapped and controlled by Dave and that he made all the decisions and would not allow her to come to California for her best friend’s wedding.
Fortunately, because I traveled alot for business, I was able to arrange a side trip to Alabama a year later. Good lord, she was a mess. Her second pregnancy had been incredibly difficult, her stepdaughter had a life threatening health condition and she desperately missed her first child, who she had left in Washington with his pot-head father . She herself had been diagnosed with Crone’s disease, and was going through testing to see if she had Lupus (her stepsister went blind with the disease). Her husband was seemingly oblivious to the challenges she was facing as a stay-at-home mother; he just went to work for ten to twelve hours a day, and expected to come home to a hot meal. Jenny was trying to be a good Mormon wife, and had learned to grind wheat into flour and churn milk into butter. She showed me their stockpile of supplies, and their shelter, should the apocalypse occur. It was pitiful to me. She lived in fear. Real, imagined, or otherwise.
I had tried so hard, over the years, to show her what “normal” was. I had given her my heart. I had given her my family. I would have given her my life, if that were possible. She was so beautiful, inside and out, and she deserved, like we all do, to be happy. I felt like I had failed her. I had no idea how useless all my efforts really were.
Over the years, Jenny and Dave moved about the country, supposedly because of his ladder-climbing, egocentric, selfishness. Finally after 15 years, Jenny and Dave moved to Southern California, and she and I would get to actually spend time together. We were about to turn 40, and to be together to celebrate that milestone was a gift and a also a little bit dangerous. She came to visit in May and we got drunk, got high, and went to a concert. So harmless. We were acting like we were kids again, and it was a blast! We stayed up all night talking and looking at old yearbooks, scrapbooks, and pictures. Then in August I went to visit her and we repeated the activities of May. It was like old times, and she seemed to be so healthy and happy. A year later, all that changed.
Our close friend, one of our roomies from so long ago, was also turning 40. We decided to head to L.A. once again, to re-create days gone by. Only this time something went horribly wrong. When I arrived in L.A. Jenny was clearly agitated, driving eratically, she looked like hell and she was bitchy. I actually called our other friend to warn her. When Jenny saw me on the phone, she questioned me. ‘Who was I talking to? What did I tell her? Why did I need to cal her when “we” were supposed to spending this time together?’ She was completely unreasonable. We went to a concert that night, the three of us, and it got worse. Jenny spent most of the evening in the bathroom, distraught and consumed by paranoia that we were conspiring against her. We barely made it through the evening without a major crisis.
In the morning, as planned, we headed for San Diego. Only Jenny needed to go back to Orange County to get a prescription filled she supposedly just couldn’t live without. We obliged. She took her meds in the car, and we headed down the Pacific Coast Highway in our rented convertible, determined to put the previous night behind us and enjoy the rest of our holiday.
About an hour into the trip, I realized Jenny was no longer talking to us. I turned around to find her passed out. At one point, we stopped to eat, and I had to shake her and yell at her to get her to wake. By the time we arrived at the hotel in San Diego, we realized she was completely overdosed. We were about to call the ambulance, but she managed to pull herself together enough to get checked in to the hotel. That night, we were supposed to go out but Jenny was asleep again by 9 and my friend andI didn’t think we should leave her for too long. We went to get some dinner, and talk over the day’s events. When we arrived back in the room, Jenny was gone and so was most of our alcohol. We were worried sick, and pissed.
A few hours later Jenny showed up all teary eyed. Apparently her husband had called and said that he was divorcing her - just like that; while she was on vacation, with her friends, in San Diego. She said she wanted to go home to talk to him. We refused. None of us were in any condition to drive. I felt terrible about how my friend’s birthday celebration was turning in to such a bummer. The next day, we took her home. Her son was waiting for her, and while they waited for Dave to show up, they got high together. I was appalled. My other friend and I went to the airport to wait for our flights out of that nightmare!
The next day I get a phone call from Jenny saying she’s been thrown out of her house, and she's driving to Oregon and can she crash at my place (about half-way) on the way? Absolutely!
You see, in the interim, Dave and I had had a very long, revealing conversation about my best friend Jenny. Turns out that all these years she has been playing us against each other. Apparently the”party-girl” I once knew and loved had turned in to a junkie. And junkies will do anything, ANYTHING, to get their fix, cover their lies, and stay high. Jenny had been addicted to alcohol since high school, crack since Alabama, and OxyContin since it first appeared on the market in 1995. She told Dave that I am the one that gets her drugs when we get together, and she told me that Dave is the one responsible for her misery and all those radical cross-country moves.
In fact, the reason for the moves was because Dave has been rescuing her from crack houses, near arrests, prostitution, and financial ruin for the past 17 years. Every time they moved, and he switched jobs, it was because of her. And when she and I did get loaded together, she supplied the drugs. (I always wondered how she knew where to find the stuff. That is one of the awful things that goes through my mind when I think “I should have known. I should have seen it”.)
Her aches and pains are real, but exaggerated, and she has found multiple doctors to prescribe her the meds she needs to manage her pain and get her really, really wasted. She has stolen prescription drugs from church members, and tried to get a job as a housekeeper to gain access to homeowner’s medicine cabinets. Her Crone’s Disease may actually be her internal organs shutting down - a side-effect of addiction. Her teeth are falling out and her beautiful blond hair is kept very short to hide the fact that it too, is falling out.
So on the day that she called me crying that Dave threw her out of the house and she has nowhere to go, except back to Oregon, I have already spoken with an interventionist, a drug treatment program in Laguna Beach, an M.D., and Dave. We all agree that if we are to help her, we must intervene. When she comes to my house, my job will be to convince her that she’s dehydrated and get her to an emergency room. Once there, I will tell the hospital staff that she has threatened to kill herself. We will be able to get her committed and then, hopefully, into rehab.
So, while I wait for her to arrive at my house, I rehearse the scene over and over... But - Where is she? She should have been her by now! I call her cell phone, no answer. I try to get some sleep...where could she be? Has she already killed herself? Did she crash her car and she’s lying in a ditch somewhere?
In the morning, the phone rings; she ‘decided’ to just drive straight on through. I think, ‘she must have heard something in my voice! She must have known I was going to try to help her.' And she doesn’t want help. Not yet anyway. So much drama follows; the frantic phone calls, the pleas for money, the name-calling, the apologizing. But, the unchangeable end to this story is that she just doesn’t want help. She wants to be miserable. She believes that’s what she deserves because that’s all anybody (other than myself and my family) ever told her.
I have had, over the years, a lot of conflicting emotions about this friend. Mostly grief. I miss her so. And then I stop and think...How can I miss someone who wasn’t even the person they pretended to be? For 17 years, she has not been a friend to me. She has lied to me. She lied about me. So I grieve for 17 years of lost time, lost reality, little girls who grew up together, but never were the same.
I’ve tried to locate Jenny over the years through MySpace and Facebook, (her beautiful stepdaughter and I have been able to reconnect). At one point she was living in Louisiana, but the fact is, as of today, I don’t know where she is, or even, if she’s alive... My friend really did get away. And it breaks my heart.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Maybe She's Born With it!
When I first picked up a book on Buddhism, (and I can't remember for the life of me which one it was since I was loaned a handful of them by a friend), I opened the book with a great curiosity and a little trepidation. After all, many people still think of Buddhism as monks in orange robes chanting Hare Krishna. So how could I, a middle-class, white girl from the suburbs be so drawn to this mystical, ethnic, eccentric, way of viewing the world? AND, even if I could grasp it, how was I going to explain it to my friends, family, co-workers, etcetera. You know - all the people picturing the Guru on the mountain top?
So, it was a huge relief, as well as a huge, "What now?" wave that passed over me when I read the first words somewhere in the middle of the book, where I just happened to turn to, that just happened to get at the very depths of what I was going through at that very moment in time. "Coincidence." I thought. So I tore myself away from the pages, and coincidentally, slept peacefully for the first time in months. The next afternoon, not conciously thinking of the night before, I flipped open the pages again...and it happened again! Words that spoke directly to me, elevating my concious out of the day to day drudgery to a level of awareness I had never experienced before.
Unlike other subjects I've studied, I didn't just think "This is interesting and I'm going to learn more about Buddhism". My gut response was, "WHOA! Hold the phone, I've KNOWN this loving-kindness and compassion stuff all along and here it is in black and white!" Those words weren't just ink on the page, they were me, my world, my values, my innate spirituality that I had never seen or heard articulated so fully in a religious context before. It was SO comforting, and yet a bit scary, because still - I was going to have a lot of explaining to do!
And still, a little over a year later, I continue to stumble awkwardly down the Buddhist path. I don't think I can ever give up eating meat. I live in a Western culture that thrives on constant motion, so finding time and more importantly, justification, to sit and meditate, especially when my children are near (which is almost always) is challenging. I pause before I swing the fly swatter, but still, I swing. I fall into emotional traps that keep me from appreciating the moment. I swear and talk shit about people sometimes...BUT, I keep reading everything I can - opening a book about Buddhism is like being an infant held tight in my mother's arms. And just like I KNOW I am my mother's daughter, I also KNOW I am a Buddhist.
So ponder this...What if, like blue eyes, or sexual preference, or artistic talent, spirituality is just something you're born with? I for one don't believe you can train a person to be spiritual but you can "train" them to be religious. Missionaries do it all the time. We've all heard the stories of people rebelling against their religions, converting from one extreme to the other, searching their whole lives to find where they fit in. What if it's just "in" us? Isn't trying to deny or change something your born with is turning away from yourself. How do we find that before we get "trained" or become disillusioned or before we turn away from our inner spirit all together?
It took me 45 years to recognize my inner spirit, and I'm so glad I have an open-minded (for the most part) family, and friends, who believe that it shouldn't matter who's table your eating at, as long as your spirit is being nourished there.
So, it was a huge relief, as well as a huge, "What now?" wave that passed over me when I read the first words somewhere in the middle of the book, where I just happened to turn to, that just happened to get at the very depths of what I was going through at that very moment in time. "Coincidence." I thought. So I tore myself away from the pages, and coincidentally, slept peacefully for the first time in months. The next afternoon, not conciously thinking of the night before, I flipped open the pages again...and it happened again! Words that spoke directly to me, elevating my concious out of the day to day drudgery to a level of awareness I had never experienced before.
Unlike other subjects I've studied, I didn't just think "This is interesting and I'm going to learn more about Buddhism". My gut response was, "WHOA! Hold the phone, I've KNOWN this loving-kindness and compassion stuff all along and here it is in black and white!" Those words weren't just ink on the page, they were me, my world, my values, my innate spirituality that I had never seen or heard articulated so fully in a religious context before. It was SO comforting, and yet a bit scary, because still - I was going to have a lot of explaining to do!
And still, a little over a year later, I continue to stumble awkwardly down the Buddhist path. I don't think I can ever give up eating meat. I live in a Western culture that thrives on constant motion, so finding time and more importantly, justification, to sit and meditate, especially when my children are near (which is almost always) is challenging. I pause before I swing the fly swatter, but still, I swing. I fall into emotional traps that keep me from appreciating the moment. I swear and talk shit about people sometimes...BUT, I keep reading everything I can - opening a book about Buddhism is like being an infant held tight in my mother's arms. And just like I KNOW I am my mother's daughter, I also KNOW I am a Buddhist.
So ponder this...What if, like blue eyes, or sexual preference, or artistic talent, spirituality is just something you're born with? I for one don't believe you can train a person to be spiritual but you can "train" them to be religious. Missionaries do it all the time. We've all heard the stories of people rebelling against their religions, converting from one extreme to the other, searching their whole lives to find where they fit in. What if it's just "in" us? Isn't trying to deny or change something your born with is turning away from yourself. How do we find that before we get "trained" or become disillusioned or before we turn away from our inner spirit all together?
It took me 45 years to recognize my inner spirit, and I'm so glad I have an open-minded (for the most part) family, and friends, who believe that it shouldn't matter who's table your eating at, as long as your spirit is being nourished there.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Cougar Schmougar!
Cougar: 40+ woman dating a much younger man, because she can!
Barbie: 20+ girl...well, this is self-explanatory, right?
Hyena: 20+ man waiting for closing time at the bar to pick-up "desperate" 40+ woman because shallow Barbie ditched him on the dance floor for older, richer man.
Ageist: 40+ man looking for something he'll never find in Barbie, but takes her home anyway, because he can.
"Everything Happens for a Reason". Don't you just get sick of hearing that? But, it's true. And sometimes we can see clearly what that reason is, either with hindsight or when the blur from one too many cosmos, clears. Other times, we might as well be blindfolded.
It took a long time for my blindfold to come off, but I now see that being single at this stage of my life really is the best thing for me. Even though it feels it's being forced upon me and I was NOT happy about that at first, I'm finally starting to embrace the possibilities that one-ness offers.
Why this makes sense to me now is that I've observed that, right now at this point in time, societally speaking, most men my age don't want a girl my age. (See chart above). Aside from the fact that that makes them shallow pigs, let's face it, I really don't see too many 40+ year olds out and about that I would want to be with either. I don't want more kids or to alter my family unit right now, I don't want to have to tote my baggage AND his (and you know that's what would end up happening), and the "consummate bachelor" who finally just realizes he's getting older -- yeah, I already trained one guy, not going through that again! And I really have no respect for the "ageists" among them. So screw 'em.
The Hyena's are another disrespectful lot, waiting around til last call to scour the bar in search of the easy prey. HOW on earth did women get labeled Cougars as if they're the ones doing the hunting?! Please! I find the double-standard reprehensible. I am not now, nor have I ever, searched the crowd intentionally looking for a younger man to pounce upon and have my way with. I resent the stereotype, because it makes it difficult to enjoy myself at a bar now. And I used to LOVE going out. (Truth be told I was never one for dance-clubs or meat-markets: Live music and the people who play and listen to live music, are what draw me out into the night. That I continue even in my 40's to enjoy this, comes with it's own set of stereotypical responses from others who do not, but that's another topic for another day).
SO, whether being single is within or without of my control, the next phase of my life could be the most fun & rewarding time I will ever have with my clothes on! I'm planning to fully enjoy the next 10 - 15 years; I'm going to love my kids through the most difficult phase of their lives (puberty), take care of me, examine life's mysteries, and laugh, laugh, laugh! If by chance a desirable man does come around, great. If not, that's really okay too. (Unless, I get really really, really, really horny, but then I'll be the one who decides which beast to bring down; the aging ageist or the young hyena! LOL!!)
Years from now, when these men tire of being alone, and all the Barbies have married and popped out 2.5 kids and are holed-up in suburbia playing bunco, I might be ready for another go at a relationship. Besides, I'll bet that in their quest for perfection or instant gratification they will have learned where true happiness and fulfillment can really be found, when they finally take off the blindfold and see what they were missing all along.
Besides, I have a beautiful vision of my future that includes a companion to travel with, and hold hands at the mall with, and buy goodies for grandkids with, and laugh knowingly at the new batch of hyena's and barbies with. Gonna have to put up with someone!!
Barbie: 20+ girl...well, this is self-explanatory, right?
Hyena: 20+ man waiting for closing time at the bar to pick-up "desperate" 40+ woman because shallow Barbie ditched him on the dance floor for older, richer man.
Ageist: 40+ man looking for something he'll never find in Barbie, but takes her home anyway, because he can.
"Everything Happens for a Reason". Don't you just get sick of hearing that? But, it's true. And sometimes we can see clearly what that reason is, either with hindsight or when the blur from one too many cosmos, clears. Other times, we might as well be blindfolded.
It took a long time for my blindfold to come off, but I now see that being single at this stage of my life really is the best thing for me. Even though it feels it's being forced upon me and I was NOT happy about that at first, I'm finally starting to embrace the possibilities that one-ness offers.
Why this makes sense to me now is that I've observed that, right now at this point in time, societally speaking, most men my age don't want a girl my age. (See chart above). Aside from the fact that that makes them shallow pigs, let's face it, I really don't see too many 40+ year olds out and about that I would want to be with either. I don't want more kids or to alter my family unit right now, I don't want to have to tote my baggage AND his (and you know that's what would end up happening), and the "consummate bachelor" who finally just realizes he's getting older -- yeah, I already trained one guy, not going through that again! And I really have no respect for the "ageists" among them. So screw 'em.
The Hyena's are another disrespectful lot, waiting around til last call to scour the bar in search of the easy prey. HOW on earth did women get labeled Cougars as if they're the ones doing the hunting?! Please! I find the double-standard reprehensible. I am not now, nor have I ever, searched the crowd intentionally looking for a younger man to pounce upon and have my way with. I resent the stereotype, because it makes it difficult to enjoy myself at a bar now. And I used to LOVE going out. (Truth be told I was never one for dance-clubs or meat-markets: Live music and the people who play and listen to live music, are what draw me out into the night. That I continue even in my 40's to enjoy this, comes with it's own set of stereotypical responses from others who do not, but that's another topic for another day).
SO, whether being single is within or without of my control, the next phase of my life could be the most fun & rewarding time I will ever have with my clothes on! I'm planning to fully enjoy the next 10 - 15 years; I'm going to love my kids through the most difficult phase of their lives (puberty), take care of me, examine life's mysteries, and laugh, laugh, laugh! If by chance a desirable man does come around, great. If not, that's really okay too. (Unless, I get really really, really, really horny, but then I'll be the one who decides which beast to bring down; the aging ageist or the young hyena! LOL!!)
Years from now, when these men tire of being alone, and all the Barbies have married and popped out 2.5 kids and are holed-up in suburbia playing bunco, I might be ready for another go at a relationship. Besides, I'll bet that in their quest for perfection or instant gratification they will have learned where true happiness and fulfillment can really be found, when they finally take off the blindfold and see what they were missing all along.
Besides, I have a beautiful vision of my future that includes a companion to travel with, and hold hands at the mall with, and buy goodies for grandkids with, and laugh knowingly at the new batch of hyena's and barbies with. Gonna have to put up with someone!!
Monday, March 16, 2009
What was I thinking? I'll tell ya!
Just a day past completing my first ever 1/2 marathon, not to mention my first ever ANYTHING remotely considered a "competition", it still seems sort of surreal.
But just to make sure, I checked the results page...yep, there I am. Hah...and not even in last place...what a trip.
Lisa Walters
Bib # 4162
AGE 45
Sex F
Age Group 45-49
Time: 3:11:31.2
Average: 14:37/M
Gotta tell you, I'm pretty damn proud of myself. For multiple reasons;
#1 At the outset I was excited about doing this run, however between coordinating my employer's 4mile fun-run fundraiser, starting school, and being sick, my lack of training was SIGNIFCANT.
#2 The weather was not horrible, but not exactly ideal either. I was so ready to just stay in bed and listen to the rain, rather than go out in it...let alone go out in it to do something as crazy as walk 13.1 miles..to nowhere, for no reason - C'MON! Not even if my car were up on jacks, and Nordstrom were having an "85% Off Sale" would I venture to WALK 13 miles. (But that was before...now I could not only walk there - I'd get there in just a little over 3 hours, which means I'd have to leave my house about 6am to arrive in time for the doors to open - TOTALLY DOABLE!)
And the #3 reason I am still a bit surprised/stunned/pleased is that: I am not usually a person who holds myself to my word, and anybody else that I might have told about this could go screw themselves if they gave me shit about NOT doing it...I really don't care and I really do think that "Hey. I'm a big girl, if I decide NOT to do something that's my business not theirs." That said, my attitude has changed quite a bit since Sunday.
The Shamrockn' half marathon is actually quite a fun event. It starts at Raley Field in West Sacramento, traverses the Tower Bridge and winds around downtown Sacramento, historic Old Sacramento, and the River Park neighborhood of West Sacramento, which is quite lovely - if you happen to be driving by on a sunny day with the convertible top down and Jackson Browne on the radio. The only thing I could hear were rain drops landing directly on my ear drum as they were blown sideways through the air. As I passed by these pretty homes, with their manicured lawns, and most certainly cozy, warm rooms (probably with fireplaces) all I could think was "What was I thinking?!"
I asked myself this question many times over the course of the day...mile 4, mile 8, mile 9, mile 10...and at various other times in between; when I'd get passed by grey haired ladies or 12 year old kids, when I was sweating from my hair follicles, when my hip bone started to grind against my god-knows-what-bone, when I was fumbling with my water bottle/hammer gels/clif shots/bib number/timing tag, etcetera - all accoutrements that go along with an event of this sort and which I had no idea even existed, until my mentor informed me that I would need all this crap! So, on the Friday before the event, she and I spent a couple of hours at Fleet Feet, picking up our bibs, t-shirts, safety pins, amphipod (that's the water bottle holder thingy ma-jiggy), body glide (another NECESSARY item), and mostly asking a LOT of questions such as "What do I need THAT for?" At which point Mary was probably thinking, 'What WAS she thinking!?'
Sunday morning as I was using reason #3 above, to try to get out of this predicament, Mary was doing her best and working her magic trying to talk me BACK into it. Which she did. And I thank her. And I curse her.
But, back to the race; Fortunately the rain didn't last too long. However, the wind never ceased. By the time I reached the 11 mile mark, a nice man standing on the side of the road, asked "How you doin, son?" as I passed by...yes, I looked just that pretty! My hair was sticking out sideways from my black baseball cap, my face was a lovely shade of wind-chapped crimson, and my sports bra effectively turned my normal B-cups into barely A's - no wonder he was confused.
However I looked, by this time I was feeling pretty damn good - spirtually anyway - I KNEW I was going to make it! While physically the lower half of my body was wracked with pain, the upper half felt fine...too bad I couldn't have walked on my hands for the last 2 miles. Seriously though, I don't know how anybody actually RUNS this distance. It just hurts. I tried to run a short distance for each mile, but it just never felt right. Other people would jog past me, seemingly gliding by, quietly and effortlessly. Me? I'd pick up the pace to a jog and think, "Can't anybody else hear every bone from my femurs on down cracking as my feet slap, slap along like duck flippers on pavement?".
Being used to walking on dirt trails, or crushed aggregate like the American River trail, the concrete and asphalt route of this run was hard on my feet...I think they went numb some time shortly after mile 8 - which can be dangerous when you're trying to avoid a pothole, or, just remain upright.
Other adversities were minor but abundant; it seemed that no matter which direction we were going (we being me, and the other 300 or so SANE people taking our time at the back of the pack) there was a constant head-wind. Seriously we'd be headed one way, do a u-turn and head back the other way and STILL have the wind blowing directly at us...this was especially true between miles 9 and 10, where I also started to sprout a large blister on my big toe. However, at this point, there is no stopping - if I stop now, even to ask for a band-aid from these very nice ladies who are bandaging their own wounds, I will NEVER EVER start again...And although I warmed up from the inside out, the temperature of the day never rose above 55 degrees, and since I'm almost always cold anyway, my perspiration just rose to the surface and well, I'd say "froze" cuz that would be funny, but more accurately I'd have to say "chilled". I think I finally got warm around 9pm when I slipped into a very hot bubble bath, accompanied by a nice glass of wine.
Overall the experience was, simply, gratifying. I have to say that hearing "Lisa Walters' crosses the finish line, Welcome Back Lisa", as I came into Raley Field really made me forget all the excuses, all the discomfort (for a few moments anyway), and gave me a sense of pride of accomplishment I haven't felt in a VERY long time...probably not since childbirth...mutually unbelievable feats of physical endurance that I, the least athletic/graceful/coordinated person on the planet was able to achieve. I am not a competitive person and not generally one to "push through" the negative self-talk or less-than-perfect conditions. I can talk myself OUT of just about anything. Funny; yesterday, I learned how to talk myself IN to something! It won't ever be as easy to use lame excuses or bold defenses to justify my lack of follow-through again...What WAS I thinking?
But just to make sure, I checked the results page...yep, there I am. Hah...and not even in last place...what a trip.
Lisa Walters
Bib # 4162
AGE 45
Sex F
Age Group 45-49
Time: 3:11:31.2
Average: 14:37/M
Gotta tell you, I'm pretty damn proud of myself. For multiple reasons;
#1 At the outset I was excited about doing this run, however between coordinating my employer's 4mile fun-run fundraiser, starting school, and being sick, my lack of training was SIGNIFCANT.
#2 The weather was not horrible, but not exactly ideal either. I was so ready to just stay in bed and listen to the rain, rather than go out in it...let alone go out in it to do something as crazy as walk 13.1 miles..to nowhere, for no reason - C'MON! Not even if my car were up on jacks, and Nordstrom were having an "85% Off Sale" would I venture to WALK 13 miles. (But that was before...now I could not only walk there - I'd get there in just a little over 3 hours, which means I'd have to leave my house about 6am to arrive in time for the doors to open - TOTALLY DOABLE!)
And the #3 reason I am still a bit surprised/stunned/pleased is that: I am not usually a person who holds myself to my word, and anybody else that I might have told about this could go screw themselves if they gave me shit about NOT doing it...I really don't care and I really do think that "Hey. I'm a big girl, if I decide NOT to do something that's my business not theirs." That said, my attitude has changed quite a bit since Sunday.
The Shamrockn' half marathon is actually quite a fun event. It starts at Raley Field in West Sacramento, traverses the Tower Bridge and winds around downtown Sacramento, historic Old Sacramento, and the River Park neighborhood of West Sacramento, which is quite lovely - if you happen to be driving by on a sunny day with the convertible top down and Jackson Browne on the radio. The only thing I could hear were rain drops landing directly on my ear drum as they were blown sideways through the air. As I passed by these pretty homes, with their manicured lawns, and most certainly cozy, warm rooms (probably with fireplaces) all I could think was "What was I thinking?!"
I asked myself this question many times over the course of the day...mile 4, mile 8, mile 9, mile 10...and at various other times in between; when I'd get passed by grey haired ladies or 12 year old kids, when I was sweating from my hair follicles, when my hip bone started to grind against my god-knows-what-bone, when I was fumbling with my water bottle/hammer gels/clif shots/bib number/timing tag, etcetera - all accoutrements that go along with an event of this sort and which I had no idea even existed, until my mentor informed me that I would need all this crap! So, on the Friday before the event, she and I spent a couple of hours at Fleet Feet, picking up our bibs, t-shirts, safety pins, amphipod (that's the water bottle holder thingy ma-jiggy), body glide (another NECESSARY item), and mostly asking a LOT of questions such as "What do I need THAT for?" At which point Mary was probably thinking, 'What WAS she thinking!?'
Sunday morning as I was using reason #3 above, to try to get out of this predicament, Mary was doing her best and working her magic trying to talk me BACK into it. Which she did. And I thank her. And I curse her.
But, back to the race; Fortunately the rain didn't last too long. However, the wind never ceased. By the time I reached the 11 mile mark, a nice man standing on the side of the road, asked "How you doin, son?" as I passed by...yes, I looked just that pretty! My hair was sticking out sideways from my black baseball cap, my face was a lovely shade of wind-chapped crimson, and my sports bra effectively turned my normal B-cups into barely A's - no wonder he was confused.
However I looked, by this time I was feeling pretty damn good - spirtually anyway - I KNEW I was going to make it! While physically the lower half of my body was wracked with pain, the upper half felt fine...too bad I couldn't have walked on my hands for the last 2 miles. Seriously though, I don't know how anybody actually RUNS this distance. It just hurts. I tried to run a short distance for each mile, but it just never felt right. Other people would jog past me, seemingly gliding by, quietly and effortlessly. Me? I'd pick up the pace to a jog and think, "Can't anybody else hear every bone from my femurs on down cracking as my feet slap, slap along like duck flippers on pavement?".
Being used to walking on dirt trails, or crushed aggregate like the American River trail, the concrete and asphalt route of this run was hard on my feet...I think they went numb some time shortly after mile 8 - which can be dangerous when you're trying to avoid a pothole, or, just remain upright.
Other adversities were minor but abundant; it seemed that no matter which direction we were going (we being me, and the other 300 or so SANE people taking our time at the back of the pack) there was a constant head-wind. Seriously we'd be headed one way, do a u-turn and head back the other way and STILL have the wind blowing directly at us...this was especially true between miles 9 and 10, where I also started to sprout a large blister on my big toe. However, at this point, there is no stopping - if I stop now, even to ask for a band-aid from these very nice ladies who are bandaging their own wounds, I will NEVER EVER start again...And although I warmed up from the inside out, the temperature of the day never rose above 55 degrees, and since I'm almost always cold anyway, my perspiration just rose to the surface and well, I'd say "froze" cuz that would be funny, but more accurately I'd have to say "chilled". I think I finally got warm around 9pm when I slipped into a very hot bubble bath, accompanied by a nice glass of wine.
Overall the experience was, simply, gratifying. I have to say that hearing "Lisa Walters' crosses the finish line, Welcome Back Lisa", as I came into Raley Field really made me forget all the excuses, all the discomfort (for a few moments anyway), and gave me a sense of pride of accomplishment I haven't felt in a VERY long time...probably not since childbirth...mutually unbelievable feats of physical endurance that I, the least athletic/graceful/coordinated person on the planet was able to achieve. I am not a competitive person and not generally one to "push through" the negative self-talk or less-than-perfect conditions. I can talk myself OUT of just about anything. Funny; yesterday, I learned how to talk myself IN to something! It won't ever be as easy to use lame excuses or bold defenses to justify my lack of follow-through again...What WAS I thinking?
Thursday, March 12, 2009
A Fractured Fairy-Tale
*I promise it won't always be this serious....but if you don't know where I'm coming from you might not understand where I am now!"
So, believe it or not, life does just happen even if you're not looking. For most of my adult life, I wasn't looking. It's like I woke up one day and heard that Kinks song over and over again in my head..."And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful Wife, And you may ask yourself-well...how did I get here? ...yeah! How DID I get here?
Well it goes a little something like this...
As a young woman, Little Girl (LG) is torn between playing it safe and being independent...at about the age of 22, suddenly doing the independent thing becomes a not-so-pretty-OR-financially-stable lifestyle.. SO luckily SAFE GUY (SG) is still available..."Order pink napkins" Little Girl tells Mom! HURRAY! They all shout; She's come to her senses! LG senses, I dunno - doom, and throws up in the gutter immediately after trying on wedding gowns; attributes it to bad tuna...Moves South, weds SG, and lo and behold, unweds SG shortly therafter. BOOOOO! They all shout. Now LG is really ALONE in a foreign country called California and back to the not-so-pretty-OR-stable-but-helluvalotofun-single-girl-in-a-rock-and-roll-world situation. Okay - we all know how long THAT remains interesting. LG already has backup plan...the Cute Guy (CG) on the ladder. Lunch? Sure..Drinks? Sure...Move in? Great! Now what? 3 years pass, CG is "confirmed" bachelor UNTIL his best friend gets married AND he finds out his mom is terminally ill...at which point he pops the question and Little Girl, (who has been waiting for exactly this) says, "Of course, Yes!". LG and CG wed. YAY! They shout (not quite as loudly as the first time.) And as agreed, Right Away, so that dying mother can be "Grandmother", CG & LG start trying to have babies...this goes on for years..yes, years. There's a lot of tears, and peeing in cups, and getting nun urine shot into LG's fanny. Sadly, before the nuns are successful, CG's mom; LG's mom-in-law/friend, passes away. CG & LG of course, keep trying to have babies because that's pretty much all they have in common now and LG is convinced a baby will make everything o.k. Lo and behold, a baby is born! Then another! CONGRATULATIONS!! They all shout. One boy, one girl, a house in the suburbs...all is right with the world. Babies puke, pee, and poo their way to school-age. LG is NOT sad when baby boy's first day of school happens to fall on her birthday...(WHAT is wrong with me, she wonders?! all the other mother's are a wreck today! hmmmm...this can't be right...) Soon enough, baby girl starts pre-school...LG REALLY starts to fidget and finally has time to THINK. CG keeps his regular drinking dates with the buddies and keeps taking his alcohol induced frustration/grief/stress out on LG..."you're never happy, I'm not good enough, you're never satisfied". No, she says, it's fine, it's fine! (God forbid he should leave her now with two young children). But LG KNOWS, it's time to find something to do during the day...Volunteers in classroom (SO virtuous!), Organizes fundraisers (SO generous!), and dreams of owning her own business, "SO unrealistic! CG always tells LG, You'll never be able to pull that off. What are you thinking? You aren't capable." LG presses on, a job here, a job there, a class here or there...years pass by...CG's binge drinking escalates, stuff is hit, stuff is thrown, stuff is said; LG keeps it to herself, keeps forgiving and keeps on pretending that life in suburbia couldn't be more perfect. Then, finally, one day, when all is teetering on the brink of collapse, CG and LG take off for a "restorative" w/e of wine-tasting and (hopefully!)lovemaking ...fast forward past the ugliness and sadness...LG gives up on CG, begins therapy for herself and tries to understand HOW she got here...
...to be continued (or not cuz it's a really crappy and sad story and I really hate those)...yeah...let's wrap this up...
Fast Foward: LG and CG ride the roller-coaster of love for a while longer, coaster crashes, they both survive. THANKFULLY they suffer from "Once in a lifetime/Same As It Ever Was" Amnesia - Can't remember the good times; Choose to forgive the bad times - And, Letting the days go by/water flowing underground/Into the blue again/after the money's gone - FINALLY, have the sense to wake up, stop letting life just happen to them and move on!
So the moral is "When you stop to think, you start to live!"
So, believe it or not, life does just happen even if you're not looking. For most of my adult life, I wasn't looking. It's like I woke up one day and heard that Kinks song over and over again in my head..."And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful Wife, And you may ask yourself-well...how did I get here? ...yeah! How DID I get here?
Well it goes a little something like this...
As a young woman, Little Girl (LG) is torn between playing it safe and being independent...at about the age of 22, suddenly doing the independent thing becomes a not-so-pretty-OR-financially-stable lifestyle.. SO luckily SAFE GUY (SG) is still available..."Order pink napkins" Little Girl tells Mom! HURRAY! They all shout; She's come to her senses! LG senses, I dunno - doom, and throws up in the gutter immediately after trying on wedding gowns; attributes it to bad tuna...Moves South, weds SG, and lo and behold, unweds SG shortly therafter. BOOOOO! They all shout. Now LG is really ALONE in a foreign country called California and back to the not-so-pretty-OR-stable-but-helluvalotofun-single-girl-in-a-rock-and-roll-world situation. Okay - we all know how long THAT remains interesting. LG already has backup plan...the Cute Guy (CG) on the ladder. Lunch? Sure..Drinks? Sure...Move in? Great! Now what? 3 years pass, CG is "confirmed" bachelor UNTIL his best friend gets married AND he finds out his mom is terminally ill...at which point he pops the question and Little Girl, (who has been waiting for exactly this) says, "Of course, Yes!". LG and CG wed. YAY! They shout (not quite as loudly as the first time.) And as agreed, Right Away, so that dying mother can be "Grandmother", CG & LG start trying to have babies...this goes on for years..yes, years. There's a lot of tears, and peeing in cups, and getting nun urine shot into LG's fanny. Sadly, before the nuns are successful, CG's mom; LG's mom-in-law/friend, passes away. CG & LG of course, keep trying to have babies because that's pretty much all they have in common now and LG is convinced a baby will make everything o.k. Lo and behold, a baby is born! Then another! CONGRATULATIONS!! They all shout. One boy, one girl, a house in the suburbs...all is right with the world. Babies puke, pee, and poo their way to school-age. LG is NOT sad when baby boy's first day of school happens to fall on her birthday...(WHAT is wrong with me, she wonders?! all the other mother's are a wreck today! hmmmm...this can't be right...) Soon enough, baby girl starts pre-school...LG REALLY starts to fidget and finally has time to THINK. CG keeps his regular drinking dates with the buddies and keeps taking his alcohol induced frustration/grief/stress out on LG..."you're never happy, I'm not good enough, you're never satisfied". No, she says, it's fine, it's fine! (God forbid he should leave her now with two young children). But LG KNOWS, it's time to find something to do during the day...Volunteers in classroom (SO virtuous!), Organizes fundraisers (SO generous!), and dreams of owning her own business, "SO unrealistic! CG always tells LG, You'll never be able to pull that off. What are you thinking? You aren't capable." LG presses on, a job here, a job there, a class here or there...years pass by...CG's binge drinking escalates, stuff is hit, stuff is thrown, stuff is said; LG keeps it to herself, keeps forgiving and keeps on pretending that life in suburbia couldn't be more perfect. Then, finally, one day, when all is teetering on the brink of collapse, CG and LG take off for a "restorative" w/e of wine-tasting and (hopefully!)lovemaking ...fast forward past the ugliness and sadness...LG gives up on CG, begins therapy for herself and tries to understand HOW she got here...
...to be continued (or not cuz it's a really crappy and sad story and I really hate those)...yeah...let's wrap this up...
Fast Foward: LG and CG ride the roller-coaster of love for a while longer, coaster crashes, they both survive. THANKFULLY they suffer from "Once in a lifetime/Same As It Ever Was" Amnesia - Can't remember the good times; Choose to forgive the bad times - And, Letting the days go by/water flowing underground/Into the blue again/after the money's gone - FINALLY, have the sense to wake up, stop letting life just happen to them and move on!
So the moral is "When you stop to think, you start to live!"
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
These are a few of my favorite words...
My favorite words lately are; dichotomy, revelation, freedom, serendipity, rebellion, transcendence, laughter, and soroptomist. They each hold great meaning for me...well, except for soroptomist. I'm not even really sure what it means, I just the like the way it sounds...is it a more optimistic optimist? Or perhaps a sorority of optimists? Either way, it's gotta be good.
Dichotomy. 2 halves of a whole, division into two parts or kinds. Which is EXACTLY how I feel about where I am on this journey called life. I correct my friends constantly; it's not a mid-life "crisis" at all! This is merely the beginning of the second half of our lives and, oh, What a revelation! What freedom! What rebellion!
Oh yes, rebellion. Nobody knows how to rebel with more stealth and cunning than I. You'd never know was the rebellious sort by looking at me at all. In the first half of my life I was what you might call a "good girl", "plain jane", "average annie" - bespectacled, and freckled, so thin I was nearly invisible (which is how I felt a good deal of the time), a straight "C" student and a commoner among commoners working in the "secretarial pool", as it were.
My acts of rebellion were, by anyone's standards, tame. I had sex for the first time, in my own bed, at the tender age of OMG! brace yourself...16! Oh, I drank my share of Boone's Farm wine and Silver Bullets, and hung out with the "wrong crowd" let me tell you! I even dabbled in drugs - but then, I rebelled against those too and moved to California to marry my high school sweetheart. (ooh, I almost forgot my most shocking & rebellious act of all! At 17, I "seduced" a younger man, a musician who later became quite famous...but more on that later)!
Shortly after the move to California I rebelled against my husband's post college keggers, frat buddies, and dirty underwear, and divorced him.
Other random acts of rebellion included getting my ears pierced twice, listening to hard rock, and much later, when it was just about to become "mainstream", getting tattooed. I tried a nose ring, but my "classic beauty" (i.e. mundane features) wouldn't support it and IT rebelled against my attempts to make it a part of my beauty routine, by glaring at me in the mirror as if screaming, "I don't fit your face, you moron!". It soon went the way of the first husband.
(Oh...minor detour. That brings to mind my favorite insult words which are moron and dumbass. I've tried the more caustic and hard-edged monikers like, "MFer" and "SOB", but they don't roll off my tongue the way they do for Lisa Lampanelli - and besides Buddha sort of frowns on the whole insult thing anyway...which is one of the reasons I'm not a very good Buddhist; the other reason is meat - Oh, which brings to mind a favorite saying which is "Everything in Moderation", and I truly believe that adage, but OH BOY is it BORING!...Forgive me, I digress.)
In a concerted effort to ramp up the "fun" in the second half of my life I am returning to school, walking half-marathons, dying my hair obnoxious colors, and enjoying time with my girl friends. I like to see my impending divorce, sudden blondeness, and new-found spirituality, as a bit rebellious - but it is just pretty much the entire formulaic quotient of a mid-life crisis - without the crisis - or the boob job.
As a matter of fact, I was thinking I was quite cutting-edge, when despite my marital status, I decided to remain living with my ex as house-mates and co-parents. What a disappointment to learn that this "revolutionary" living arrangement is becoming (egads!) quite common. Thanks alot, Diane Sawyer.
With my opportunities (i.e. time and desire), for rebellion dwindling I am heading into the second half of my life with a bucket list in hand and fantasies of anarchy in my head! But, where to begin to nurture and bring into the light my rebellious side, to transcend banality, to leave behind "average annie" in favor of "crazy broad" bodaciousness? I'm thinking SEX! Lots and lots of SEX!
How very serendipitous!
Dichotomy. 2 halves of a whole, division into two parts or kinds. Which is EXACTLY how I feel about where I am on this journey called life. I correct my friends constantly; it's not a mid-life "crisis" at all! This is merely the beginning of the second half of our lives and, oh, What a revelation! What freedom! What rebellion!
Oh yes, rebellion. Nobody knows how to rebel with more stealth and cunning than I. You'd never know was the rebellious sort by looking at me at all. In the first half of my life I was what you might call a "good girl", "plain jane", "average annie" - bespectacled, and freckled, so thin I was nearly invisible (which is how I felt a good deal of the time), a straight "C" student and a commoner among commoners working in the "secretarial pool", as it were.
My acts of rebellion were, by anyone's standards, tame. I had sex for the first time, in my own bed, at the tender age of OMG! brace yourself...16! Oh, I drank my share of Boone's Farm wine and Silver Bullets, and hung out with the "wrong crowd" let me tell you! I even dabbled in drugs - but then, I rebelled against those too and moved to California to marry my high school sweetheart. (ooh, I almost forgot my most shocking & rebellious act of all! At 17, I "seduced" a younger man, a musician who later became quite famous...but more on that later)!
Shortly after the move to California I rebelled against my husband's post college keggers, frat buddies, and dirty underwear, and divorced him.
Other random acts of rebellion included getting my ears pierced twice, listening to hard rock, and much later, when it was just about to become "mainstream", getting tattooed. I tried a nose ring, but my "classic beauty" (i.e. mundane features) wouldn't support it and IT rebelled against my attempts to make it a part of my beauty routine, by glaring at me in the mirror as if screaming, "I don't fit your face, you moron!". It soon went the way of the first husband.
(Oh...minor detour. That brings to mind my favorite insult words which are moron and dumbass. I've tried the more caustic and hard-edged monikers like, "MFer" and "SOB", but they don't roll off my tongue the way they do for Lisa Lampanelli - and besides Buddha sort of frowns on the whole insult thing anyway...which is one of the reasons I'm not a very good Buddhist; the other reason is meat - Oh, which brings to mind a favorite saying which is "Everything in Moderation", and I truly believe that adage, but OH BOY is it BORING!...Forgive me, I digress.)
In a concerted effort to ramp up the "fun" in the second half of my life I am returning to school, walking half-marathons, dying my hair obnoxious colors, and enjoying time with my girl friends. I like to see my impending divorce, sudden blondeness, and new-found spirituality, as a bit rebellious - but it is just pretty much the entire formulaic quotient of a mid-life crisis - without the crisis - or the boob job.
As a matter of fact, I was thinking I was quite cutting-edge, when despite my marital status, I decided to remain living with my ex as house-mates and co-parents. What a disappointment to learn that this "revolutionary" living arrangement is becoming (egads!) quite common. Thanks alot, Diane Sawyer.
With my opportunities (i.e. time and desire), for rebellion dwindling I am heading into the second half of my life with a bucket list in hand and fantasies of anarchy in my head! But, where to begin to nurture and bring into the light my rebellious side, to transcend banality, to leave behind "average annie" in favor of "crazy broad" bodaciousness? I'm thinking SEX! Lots and lots of SEX!
How very serendipitous!
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