into the light

first things first, i flat out lost a brand new, straight from the box, still in its wrapping j.crew dress.  and it’s making me nuts.

second things second, i am doing a brightening face mask (cue angels singing) while watching the new netflix original the crown and indulging in a raspberry habanero noosa yogurt.  yes.  and yes.  and yes some more.  get this life.

third things third, i have something really scary to tell you.  come in a little closer…yep, right up in my face mask so i can whisper this scary thing in your ear.  i want to run a 3:05 marathon.  nope, that’s not the face mask radiating nonsense – that’s real.  a 3:05.  that’s 7:04 mile pace…for 26.2 miles.

know why that’s scary?  because i’ve never done it before.

i’ve been kicking it around for a while.  ruminating on the idea of the 3-hour marathon.  but yesterday was the first day i said those numbers out loud.  i opened my mouth and told another human my scary thing.

and you know what?  saying it out loud won’t make the 3:05 any easier, but it did make the number real.  and most people know that – like monsters hiding in your closet or a serial killer in your basement – the scariest things in life are imaginary.  show the scary things the light and they’re not so scary.  maybe the boogie man lurking in the corner is just a wad of clean clothes piled on your wingback chair that resemble a murderous villain in the dark of night.  that 3:05 is nothing but a scary figment of my imagination.

now if only that boogie man wad of clean clothes included my brand new crew dress…

 

 

you’ve been served.

i’ve been suffering a major case of the weirds lately.  tension in friendships, struggle at work, distractions in life.  a speaker at work last week pitched the concept that all of these things – the daily weight we carry – takes our energy away from the things that warrant our full attention.  for instance, worrying about someone liking you takes focus away from the friends who do actually care about you and deserve your love.  and second guessing every word and punctuation mark in a work email because you feel like someone belittles you is time you could spend clearing out your inbox.

my intention this month is to give time, energy and importance only to things that serve me.  food, relationships, work – how will those choices get me closer to the me i want to be?  how will this energy send me in the right direction?  how will focusing on the things that actually matter bring me clarity?

and the sour skittles?  those are here to stay.

settled.

you know what i would love?  high waisted, perfectly stretchy, not too short running shorts.  you know what i’ll settle for?  reese’s peanut butter pumpkins.

compromise makes the world go ’round.

(cookies are important)

and then i ate a morningstar farms “sausage,” egg and cheese breakfast sandwich, washed down with one red velvet oreo and a blackberry serrano noosa yogurt for dinner.  all while mixing from-scratch sugar cookie dough for my upcoming halloween party.

i don’t win them all.  but i win the important ones.

boom.

i grew up in the soccer boom.  enthralled by mia hamm’s star power and brandi chastain’s abs.  i played for the half-time snacks and the friendships built on the green and the spiffy high school varsity team track suits.  i played because every other little girl played.  and our mom’s – lined up in their white minivans around the village park lot – signed us up for select soccer tryouts and summer camps and laundered our stinky socks.  they told us about their childhoods and that girls didn’t play sports back then.  and then they sliced more oranges and washed our shinguards.

to “train” for soccer, i ran cross country.  i ran because it made me a stronger soccer player.  and because every mile put me closer to brandi chastain’s six-pack.  i was a good runner naturally.  but it wasn’t the sport that i loved – it was a means to an end.  soccer was the goal.

somewhere between junior prom and senior ball, things changed.  when i toured college campuses, i wasn’t asking to meet with their soccer programs.  i was chasing down cross country coaches.  the best accident – the kind you don’t even know is happening but changes your life.

i ran 18 miles this morning.  no, that’s not normal.  and no, that’s not my idea of weekend “fun.”  but it is life as i’ve known it for the last 10+ years.  my life in sneakers, played out to the beat of feet on pavement.

on my way home, i ran through a 5k charity run and 2 little girls being chased by their dad. they might not have internalized it but they’re growing up in the midst of a running boom.  and, more specifically, a women’s running boom.  for the first time ever, 3 american women finished in the top 10 at the olympics marathon.  emma coburn is at the top of the steeplechase world.  kara goucher is a running celebrity.  alexi pappas just made a movie starring real movie stars about the running world.  and the abs!  these runners could give brandi chastain body issues.  boom.

i don’t know where those 2 little girls will land.  maybe they’ll be violinists or nuclear physicists or moms.  maybe they’ll be runners.  regardless.  as their dad prodded them onward, in their matching sports tops and wrinkled pain faces, he pointed to the finish line.  i hoped they didn’t see an end.  i hope they saw a beginning.

 

some days in san francisco

some days i don’t even know that i live in san francisco.  the headlights, the weird smells, the monumental beauty of a crushingly big city.  is this d.c. or is this the west coast?  is that the bay or the tidal basin?  key or golden gate?

some days i don’t even know.  and then some days, i miss my life on the east coast with every pulse of my heart.  actually, that’s most days.  i miss the thunderstorms and stupid traffic around dupont circle.  i miss the sweetgreen around the corner and the homeless man who orders a dr. pepper and apple pie when i dart into the cvs.  i miss the sticky rush of metro train air when it pulls into the station a block away from the white house.  i miss my friends.  people who know me and hate me and love me and sage new apartments to kill bad spirits with me.  i miss the random people i’ve never met, never known, and will never see again commuting to work down 14th street toward the heart of everything.  i miss the glimpses of the washington monument that sneak up from rearview mirrors.  i miss the east coast time zone.  i miss d.c.

some days i don’t even know i live in san francisco.  some days i miss d.c.  and one day, i will miss it all – san francisco and d.c.  this probably isn’t forever.  it’s only for some days.

entertaining.

what to do when you have a studio apartment big enough for two?  why, entertain of course!  and here’s what i’d whip up for my first…course.

a big hunka hunka wood buffet a la west elm’s delphine

and bubbles in the daintiest of cylinder pink champagne flutes by cb2

brought to you by spring/summer 2015 chanel (timeless?)

{no, that’s not laundry you hear churning away in the background.  nor a rerun of criminal minds.  and no, i didn’t eat whole foods’ salad bar for dinner.  or race home to put on my pajamas/running clothes.}

on fleet

this has been one of the greater weekends of my san francisco life.  is it any surprise given it was a weekend full of rooftops, sunshine and the blue angels whizzing through the air?

oh, and a denim romper.  weekends with denim rompers are usually great ones.

a-parent-ly

who are your parents when they’re not your parents any more?

you know, when they’re not the people who clean your spit-up off your bib and play airplane with a hot dog and a neon green plastic fork.  when they’re not the ones who comfort you in thunderstorms and cheer you on from the sidelines even when you score a goal against your own team.  when you don’t get mail at their address and you haven’t eaten dinner around the same table for years.  when they’re not the ones you go to with problems big or small and they’re not the ones who celebrate your good days with a clink and a cheers.

who are your parents when they’re more person than parents?  when they’re humans?  when they’re audience members instead of stars of the show of your life?  who are your parents when they’re not your parents any more?

and who are you when you’re not a kid any more?  but you are a kid.  you’re someone’s kid.  and that’s a thing filled with all sorts of tension and push and pull.  because you’re not a kid and your parents aren’t your parents but a thunderstorm is still a thunderstorm and comfort is still comfort.  and no matter where you get your mail or who packs your lunch, you still need your parents to be your parents.  even when they’re not.

and someone there to clink and cheers on the good days.

on target.

mark this date in history: the day i went into target, returned an item, and bought nothing.

jenny: 1

monday: 0

target: 1,732,096