#threewords

Hands… (not) touching hands….

March 24, 2020 :: 8:28 PM

lack of races equals lack of motivation

I had a really bad birthday week.

Like top three worst birthdays.

Considering that birthday #1 was the year my mother died and birthday #2 was the year after my father died, to crack the top three you know shit had to be bad.

A 10K, a half marathon, another 10K, and Rival Run were all cancelled within a few days of each other.

Universal was shut down.

People who should have wished me a happy birthday disappeared.

No special birthday meals.

No birthday cake.

A whole lot of nothing.

And yes, I am perfectly aware that this is a minor issue compared to some people’s lives during our new reality, but… I’m bipolar. This sort of situation will create a very dangerous low. When it swings the other way, it will be a very dangerous high. I purposely make a big deal out of my birthday for a reason. In order to survive, my birthday has to be surrounded by fun and I need to be distracted. Those are the rules. I don’t make them.

So.

Let’s talk about that low.

I had (rather foolishly) thought that all the shit I went through after getting fired was as bad as it could be. As depressed as I could possibly get.

Ooooooooh, how I wish I had remembered Birthday Depression.

Holy fuck, I didn’t think I’d ever see the sunshine again.

As it is, it’s still dark and cloudy as fuck, but there’s light on the horizon.

 

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My mother and I had a (thankfully) short yet ridiculously complicated relationship.

She died two days before I turned 17. She was 45.

I, myself, just turned 45.

That alone is a huge mind fuck. I know I’m not an alcoholic and that I won’t die from the same thing she did, but… when your time is up, it’s up. My only question is whether or not there’s another ticking time bomb in my DNA. I mean, she already gave me bipolar, and a family with a history or heart disease. (Thank you for the SVT, mom… and possibly, the heart murmur, too.)

It’s been twenty eight years.

Twenty eight years of freedom.

Twenty eight years of wondering if I’m going to die at 45, too.

Twenty eight years of living with the fact that “I gave everything in life, I leave nothing in death…” was published IN A FUCKING BOOK.

Twenty eight years of knowing a double life was lived… and that I got the worst of her.

Twenty eight years of conflicting emotions.

Twenty eight years of not forgiving because I earned the right to hate her.

Twenty eight years of not forgetting what she did to me.

Twenty eight years of starting my day singing “Ding dong, the witch is dead.”

Twenty eight years is a lot of life to miss out on, but she didn’t deserve to be in my life and I’m glad she’s gone.

(Did I say we had a complicated relationship? It was… Complicated.)

Link to this post   •   #threewords   •    •   bipolar   •    •   Randomness  

Twenty. Eight. Years. (part one)

March 06, 2020 :: 6:56 PM

Fitting, seeing that I’m writing YOI fan fiction and watching HP

It was a strange feeling to lose your parents. It was the kind of deep, enveloping pain that only came with truly life-altering loss, but at the same time it was accompanied by a degree of emotional liberation. Being without parents was like taking the stabilisers off a bike; both exhilarating and frightening. It was the final challenge on the road to becoming a true adult, beholden to no one but oneself.

—Iain Rob Wright (The Picture Frame: A Horror Novel)

 

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Exploration and Discovery

February 02, 2020 :: 8:47 PM

I’d apologise for the impromptu concert I gave on the way home from Orlando, but I’m not sorry.

1) I travelled to Orlando solo to run the inaugural Running Universal 5K and 10K.

I did super well on the 5K, even though it rained. I’ve started taking intervals seriously and they work. I finished the race stronger than I began it, which is saying a lot. I didn’t PR time-wise, but I did pace-wise.

I did pretty well on the 10K, too. Didn’t PR, but I had a blast running through the parks and making friends with a dude in a T-Rex costume. 

I saw a lot of PHRC people and met up with a few before and after the races. Dinner Friday night, Saturday and Sunday I corralled with a Gryffinfriend, yelled “FOR BILL!” with another Claw as she ran past, was jealous of the Puff’s Cookie t-shirt… It was nice to bring the virtual into reality, even if it was for a few seconds each time.

2) Running a 5K and a 10K back - to - back didn’t suck nearly as hard as I thought it would. That’s great news for the Rival Run weekend in April, when I’ll do a 5K, a 10K, and a half over three consecutive days. I just need to get the half under control. And it will be.

3) I finally made a long-awaited pilgrimage to Kennedy Space Center on Saturday.

(I have a Challenger/Columbia license plate, so that might tell you a little bit about how important this trip was to me.)

34 years ago on January 28th, I sat in a classroom and watched as Challenger basically disintegrated upon take off.

That affected me more than I could have ever thought possible…

I practically burst into tears the second I stepped onto the property.

That was long before I got to the memorial for the three astronauts who died on Apollo 1.

Long before I saw a space shuttle for the first time.

Long before I saw the memorials to the crews of Challenger and Columbia.

In a weird quirk of timing, I happened to go to KSC on the 17th anniversary of the day Columbia was lost.

In another weird quirk of timing, Ron McNair’s family was on site. His uncle owned a bar in Hartford, CT, and somehow, my father knew Ron. I can’t remember how they met, but I do vividly remember my father’s reaction when his name was read out loud on the news. (McNair was on Challenger’s final flight.)

At any rate, the reveal of Atlantis was super powerful and I burst into ugly tears. As I stood there crying, an employee came over to me and asked if I was OK. (I was so NOT OK.) He told me about how he had worked on all five shuttles and… just a bunch of stuff. It meant a lot to him that he would come over to me and start talking.

Then. I went down to the the memorial area. I cried the entire time I was in the hallway looking at the personal mementos of both shuttle crews. I made the mistake of looking around the corner and seeing a piece of Challenger’s left body paneling and Columbia’s cockpit window frames.

I’m still tearing up thinking about how powerful that was…

 

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Look at that smile!

January 12, 2020 :: 7:26 PM

13.1 miles :: 3:55:31 :: 17:58 mm—PB

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13.1 - I’m only half crazy

January 12, 2020 :: 4:07 PM

hey, complete stranger, i’m proud of you—random dude’s sign at mile 11

So. I ran my first half marathon yesterday.

Well, I walked it. More like a stroll because it was so damn hot outside.

BUT. I got enough of a jump start that I could walk an 18mm pace and not get swept.

And I wasn’t tired or dehydrated when I finished.

Seriously. Somehow, I screwed up and managed to both fuel and hydrate properly.

Recovery sucked, but walking around with that medal on my neck made it all worth while.

- - - - - - - - - -

There was a lot of bitching in several runDisney Facebook groups about people walking. Too many people walking five or six in a group, people walking in front of runners, people walking, period.

But it goes both ways.

I spent the entire time on the far right side. I didn’t stop for photos. I plowed through water stops, grabbing cups without missing a step. I hardly passed anyone and when I did, I shouted “on your left / right”. I kept looking behind me for runners before I moved.

In three very tight spots, runners tried to pass me on my right. I elbowed two of them accidentally - I was swinging my arms and they basically ran into them. The third one, I managed to get in the nuts. I was reaching back for my water bottle and the dude ran into me. I heard him cuss at me, but really? There was no room on that side. I don’t know why any of them thought they could pass me. In all three cases, I had to move left without a warning and caused one poor woman to trip.

In happier news, the PHRC Cheering Squad was there, around mile 3. It was so great to see them that I promptly burst into tears.

Um, yeah. Ugly crying and half marathons don’t mix particularly well.

My next half is in March and I’m expecting it to be just as hot and humid as it was this weekend.

I’ve got ten weeks to push for a 3:30 finish time. (There’s a hard time limit for the March half.)

I got this.

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#dopey2021

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