running

#UntilTheVeryEnd… also, #FUCKWARNERBROTHERS


May 21, 2022 :: 12:49 PM

I watch too many horror movies and my husband is The Chicken is Boba Fett. There. That’s a thing you know now about my private life.

I’m done.

Just when I thought I couldn’t be any less motivated to run…

RTI just settled their lawsuit with Warner Brothers, which loosely translates to WB just killed a group that is filled with people who love their intellectual property so much that they band together under the name and use their combined energy to do #somuchgood.

Yeah.

The Potterhead Running Club is closing up shop.

And because the PHRC basically funds all the other RTI clubs, Whovian and Fandom are closing down as well. They hope to keep the FRC Fan Domain group active, but no more medals. No more Racery events. Some of the PHRC groups (like Book Club, Transfiguration, etc.) are spinning off and will continue to operate under different names with volunteers to keep them alive.

But it won’t be the same.

The Tower has always felt like home to me… but it’s lost its magic. Literally.

There’s no other way to put it.

I’m not OK with this.

Seriously.

I’ve been crying since the news broke.

I’ve needed the consistency and the friendship and the sense of family the clubs were filled with.

And now it’s going away.

And I don’t know what to do with myself.

 

- - - - - - - - - -

I joke all the time that I’m not all that great at the social part of social media.

But let’s call it what it is: I collect people and then I barely interact with them.  That’s why I have like 75 or 80 Facebook friends and most of my newsfeed is either (Ukrainian) bands or RTI groups. Anything more is overwhelming.

Shit, I haven’t spoken to my best friend, my little brother from another mother for two years now.

I’m just not good at it.

I keep coming back to the therapist that asked me why I don’t let people get close. Why I don’t let them help me through the Dark Days and The Ick.

I hate me during those times. I definitely don’t want to subject people I care about to that… which is why I am SO FUCKING HAPPY that my husband has been able to tolerate it.

We’ve been together since 1998 and got married in 2002. He’s a fucking saint.

A. FUCKING. SAINT.

 

- - - - - - - - - -

We’re doing a Stand with, or Support, Ukraine 5k locally tomorrow (whatever, I can’t remember the name). Proceeds are going to the Ukrainian Red Cross. I know they’re having problems selling the race, so who knows how much is actually going to Ukraine, but it’s still… something.

My tryzub sticker is on my car. We went shopping for shelving today and managed to fit it in the car. (I HAVE A TRUNK AGAIN! I might have started jumping up and down in the parking lot screaming my joy… have I mentioned my husband is a saint? Yup.) My Deathly Hallows is also on my car.

The only thing I’m missing are my race stickers. I can’t decide if I want to put them on now and add the marathon after, or do all four after and see if I can find a Dopey sticker.

I guess we’ll see…

 

THE. DWARF. WILL. DIE.


April 19, 2022 :: 11:31 PM

#dopey2021, try3

I have to vent about this…

Marathon Weekend’s registration opened today at 10.

It’s well known that the “best” way to get a bib is to have multiple browsers open, over multiple types of devices. You can also get into the queue PRIOR to 10AM.

This is all lies.

When I tried to access the runDisney website this morning at 9:50-ish, the site was already down. Like crash, burn, blue screen of death, website down. I had two browsers going on the work computer and just let them sit. I refreshed when I could, or when I remembered to. After a while, I was set to give up, and then - of course - registration was rumoured to be opening back up at 12:30. I fired up my phone around 12:00 and let it sit. Computer was showing more than an hour wait. Phone had 45 minutes. That 45 minutes flew. I finished my registration around 1, and the races were all sold out by 1:30.

I’ve struggled with the idea of doing Dopey again. I already know I’m not a marathoner. Nope. Those 26.2 miles are going to suck, but if I’m not injured, my only enemy will be my brain. And I can drug that fucker into submission.

At the end of the day, I did register for Dopey. I want to try it again. I need to try it again.

And now I feel guilty for registering.

There are a lot of people who got bounced out of the queue while the website was being worked on. A ton of people who were bounced out when one of the races they registered for was sold out. (So… if you had a Dopey and a 5K registration and the 5K sold out, you’d lose both and have to start over again.) Even more people that had sat in the queue only to find out all the races were sold out by 1:30. The loudest screamers are the ones who got into the queue prior to 10AM and missed out. It’s completely random as to who gets in at what time. I mean, it’s just so weird. Someone who gets online at 12:30 had a better chance to get a bib than someone who sat in Disney hell since 9:45.

I don’t know.

Part of me feels bad that I took a spot from someone who waited for more hours than I did.

Part of me doesn’t care because I just have that kind of shitty luck.(Seriously. I didn’t want there to be any races open by the time I got in. *grin*)

And part of me thinks that I’m insane to want to try this again.

So yeah.

#dopey2021 - It’s going to be a fight to the death between the dwarf and I. I wonder who’s going to win this year?

Whine and (Nickel and) Dime


April 03, 2022 :: 10:06 AM

lack of motivation is a real bitch

Soooooo… much like my on-and-off again attempts to learn the Ukrainian language, I’m suffering through the same fits and starts with running.

Consistency is not my thing apparently.

I decided to register for Wine and Dine because I want to redeem myself and not end the half marathon in tears, wondering when I’ll get swept. That’s totally public enemy number one, that Disney half marathon.

I have a whopping 107 miles under my belt this year. That is not the training of a serious runner…

I can barely consider myself a walker at this point.

Right now, I’m dealing with the aftershocks of a decision I made last weekend. I’m waffling between pride and stupidity.

I signed up for a half marathon that went three loops through a park. In a “safe” park. In a “safe” town.

I managed two loops because during the first two, my bad touch spidey senses were tingling. There were parts where I was the only person on the course for as far as I could see. There were random guys scattered through the park alone and in groups. There were a few in a playground area that were definitely giving off some bad energy, and I’m not normally given to paranoia, but it is what it is. I got to the split for the finish line and walked off the course, bib in hand. I wasn’t going to cross the finish line… I didn’t want the participant medal. I didn’t want anything but to go home.

I’m on the phone with the husband telling him what a miserable time I had when this dude approaches me. Big guy. He will not leave me alone. Asking me if I want a medal or headphones (what?! Seriously! Do you want some candy, little girl? / Why don’t you get in the back of my van. I’ll drive you to your car. / Hello, Lester the Child Molester). I ended up elbowing him in the gut and running the rest of the way to my car. It was a shame I turned my Garmin off - that was probably a five minute mile.

So. Yeah. Happy I didn’t tempt fate, but upset that I didn’t. Damned if I did, damned because I didn’t.

I’ve decided to rerun all my medals again - surprise! But, I’m doing it a little differently. I’m still tracking the original rerun because I want to earn them all, but I decided to also track my medals earned by distance run. Right now, I have an excel spreadsheet that I’m filling in based on mileage alone. In order. So if I run a 5K, I fill in the very first 5K on the medal list. Regardless of which RTI club it is. On the ‘real’ tracker, I’m trying to run races in a way that allows me to finish challenge medals and then fill in the rest of the blanks. Out of the 107 I have on the year, I’ve only run 74 RTI miles. Technically, that’s about 2 miles a day from here to the end of the year.

But anyhoo, I digress.

Marathon Weekend’s registration opens on April 22nd. I priced out the costs of doing the Wine and Dine races separately (5K, 10K, and Half) and comparing it to what I actually spent for the 5K and the Two Course Challenge. Of course, the Challenge costs more, but it’s minimal. You’re basically paying for the cheap race shirt at that point. Pointless math, except…

I’m not sure if I want to run Marathon Weekend if I’m not attempting the Dopey. It’s a lot of money… and I could technically do a half marathon anywhere, except that park. I was thinking about signing up for the three races and avoiding the marathon completely - or signing up for the Dopey if it’s cheaper and selling my medal on eBay, if I accept it at all this time.

I told myself that if I can run consistently through April 1 - 21, I will register for the Dopey again. If I can’t, I may do the three races… or at very least, the fucking half marathon.

I will beat the balloon ladies even if it kills me.

I no make words go good. English hard.


February 23, 2022 :: 9:56 PM

I’m running out of icons and pretty colours on my little sidebar.

I’ve decided to scrap the third draft and start over again…

Welcome to draft 4, which is already filled with random notes like this one.

TBH, I don’t know which one of us was completely shitty when that was written, but my money’s on me. Beka seems like he’d be straight-edge. (When he’s not statutory raping a fucking 15 year old, that is. KEEP IT IN YOUR PANTS, BEKA.)

Yeah.

So much shit on my mind and instead, I’m tearing apart a story that I’ve already written three drafts of to play with new point of views and - hopefully - get them to keep it in their pants. I DO NOT WRITE KIDDY PORN, GODDAMNIT.

At this rate, I’m going to have to age them up… and I hate that. I like AUs, but that’s totally not the story I wanted to tell.

Yearning. Slow burn. A love story spread over three years.

That’s the story I want to tell.

And the one I am completely incapable of telling.

Oh well. The 4th time’s the charm, right?

 

- - - - - - - - - -

I’m trying to keep myself distracted.

The pending war in Ukraine. The new job. Life in general.

I’m a big ball of stress right now.

So, of course, the Sims released a new game pack today.

By all accounts, it is buggy as fuck, even despite being held back by a week. (And wasn’t that a week - the short version is, EA self-censored and refused to release the game in Russia. All hell broke loose. EA backed off and held the release a week to ensure that the game would launch globally at the same time. A whole lot of stupidity ensued.)

Still bought it. Haven’t even bothered playing yet.

I probably won’t get a chance until the weekend.

Maybe EA will patch it by then. (Or not. We still have bugs in the game that are several years old and well known by everybody. Like, there’s no way the SimGurus don’t know about them. Why they aren’t being fixed is anyone’s guess at this point.)

Also not helping is the fact that the 2023 NHL All Star game is being held in my backyard. At that place. That I used to work at. Before I got fired for being bipolar.

I’m torn between wanting to go and staying home. I don’t know which option is healthier.

I’m just glad that life is starting to become closer to normal again… I have a half marathon towards the end of March and I just signed up to run a 5K in early March. I have a Boombox concert to go to, and I might head to Universal on my birthday to see Gavin DeGraw.

Who the fuck knows.

All I know is that I’m stressed to the gills….

I need a nap, a cookie, and a hug.

When you lose something you cannot replace


February 12, 2022 :: 10:45 AM

reminiscin’ this ‘n’ that ‘n’ havin’ such a good time… oo-de-lally, oo-de-lally, golly, what a day

I’m in a few Disney running groups, but my favourite is, hands down, #runDopey. The people are so great in there. It’s truly one of the safest Facebook groups there is, everyone is friendly, and there never seems to be any conflict. (Can you imagine that? A Facebook group without the token asshole? I KNOW!)

So anyway, a while back, they created an offshoot, called DFF. One of the mods has had some pretty debilitating depression lately. He’s so open about posting it that it breaks my heart. It hurts to hear what he’s going through because I’ve been there / I am there / I know I will be there.

Behold: twelve years of psychiatric care records.

I haven’t had the heart to go through them - I had them sent to me when I was going to pursue an EEOC violation against that former employer. I didn’t, in the end. The money I would win from the lawsuit (and I was told I had a textbook case) wasn’t enough to justify keeping that wound open for however long it would take to go through the EEOC process and subsequent legal bullshit. In all honesty, I don’t know how much would have been enough… No matter how you slice it, it wouldn’t give me the closure I still so desperately need. I’m not sure that’s attainable. I’m always going to be bipolar. I’m always going to carry that stigma. Getting fired because of it was unavoidable considering how fucked up that job made me. So yeah.

It is what it is.

Acknowledge. Move on.

But, to circle back to the DFF… we may run hills on Tuesday and flex on Fridays, but Mondays are mental health days. So many people unload their issues and we all reach out to comfort each other / share coping skills. It’s beautiful. I’ve been pretty open there. Even more open than I am here sometimes, because they understand in a way I’m not sure you all can. (I don’t even check my stats… I could be screaming into the void for all I know.)

They give me hope when I’ve lost it. When I don’t know how to talk about the noise in my head, they sort through it for me. Nobody tells me I’m crazy. Nobody tells me I’m broken. Nobody tells me it’s all in my head and I should get over it.

Depression is a bad-ass motherfucker and I don’t mean it in the ‘good’, Samuel L Jackson, way. Lately, I’ve been struggling. A metric fuck-ton. That group is my safe harbour. That group reminds that depression lies. That I am a bad-ass motherfucker, in the good way. (I mean, fuck, that man could teach me a thing or two.)

It’s good to find those places online - anonymity is awesome. People just know me from the little bit I share in the group. I love it. Face to face therapy does me more harm than good, because they want to dig, dig, dig until all my wounds open and I bleed out all the defences I’ve built over the years. Plus, half of them want to change my meds right off the bat. Um, no.

I don’t know… I guess all those words just to say that I love my DFF family. They keep me sane when no one else can.

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