kritta (n) (adj.) krit • ta
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1. belonging to or of the female species; 2. does not like flowers or chocolate; 3. can often be found in the company of two cats, not to be confused with cat lady; 4. overly sensitive, enjoys dry sense of humor and/or political incorrectness; 5. blogger, runner, writer; 6. likes purple and Mexican food; 7. also referred to as Krista. Synonyms: neat, awesome, witty, clever. “I wish I was more like Kritta.”
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Running Training Log
That’s what she said.
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September 2009
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OHMYGODIHAVEMISSEDYOUSOMUCH.

YOU GUUUYS. Blogging from a BlackBerry is HARD. I’m actually typing from a computer right now. A real, live computer. With a keyboard. And screen. And thanks to the 10 weeks of corporate training I endured for my job, I KNOW HOW TO USE IT.

So, I don’t have my computer set up at home. Partly because I have no room for a desk, but also because I don’t have Internet, either. But mostly because I don’t have room for a desk. But MY GOD. I miss having a computer. I miss the real Internets. And a big keyboard. Don’t get me wrong, I love my BlackBerry more than the average human should love any inanimate object (I’m not even kidding), BUT I MISS TYPING.

Le. Sigh.

I’m at my mom and dad’s house right now. Mom insisted that I come downstairs and blog. FROM THE COMPUTER. Like a real person. So here I am. Thank my mom for that. I’ve missed my blog, but I just can’t bring myself to write an entire post from my BlackBerry.

HOW IS EVERYONE? What’s new in the blogosphere? Is anyone even out there anymore?

I’ve obviously been real busy curing cancer and saving endangered animals, etc. It’s a fulfilling life I lead.

I’m totally lying.

I’ve been doing nothing exciting. Not a thing. I work 11 to 8 now, which is surprisingly bearable. At night I get home and watch The WB until bedtime. The Office, Scrubs, The Family Guy and Friends. In that order. Every night. I can’t stop.

In the mornings I set my alarm and pretend I’m going to get up and go for a run, but have mostly been unsuccessful in that venture. It’s so HARD to wake up and run. Life is HARD, guys. So mostly I just lay in bed and roll around until I am forced to start the day.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Enough about me. God. How are all of you? Do tell. I promise to be back soon. Swear.

Edited: September 27th, 2009

Makes us feel better.

“It’s almost Friday!”

“Mom. It’s Monday.”

“I know, but I say that every day. Makes me feel better.”

Edited: September 15th, 2009

Oh my.

Today was like the Armageddon. And not, like, Ben Affleck all sexy-like Armageddon. More like the actual end of the earth.

Am I dramatic? Yes. But you know what? YOU GO WORK 11:15 A.M. TO 8 P.M. And then we’ll talk.

Started the new shift today. I thought I had overcome the despair of a shift guaranteed to ruin an entire day. I had a list of pros, even. Sleeping in… Running in the morning… But when I found myself in my car in the parking lot, 15 minutes before my shift, popping anxiety meds, well, I discovered differently.

DON’T MAKE ME, NO! MOM! HELP!

It was so bizarre. Lunch break at 3:15. Who eats at 3:15? I drove home in the dark. WithOUT my sister. WTF? We’ve been carpooling for 10 weeks, and now we’re on different shifts and WHO ELSE is going to listen to Pitbull’s “Krazy” with me really, really inappropriately loud in the car on the way to and from work every day? Dammit.

It’s been one day. I’ll give myself more time to adjust. And more time for the Celexa to kick in. (Cough). But, really, day one: FAIL.

I’m heading out for a long run tomorrow morning to take advantage of my ability to do so. It’s a way to convince myself an 11 a.m. start to the work day isn’t completely heinous. I have a feeling it’ll turn out to just be a 12-mile run at 7 a.m., and work will still blow.

But I can still hope.

Edited: September 14th, 2009

Is two years enough time?

I watched the 2009 Ironman Wisconsin on Sunday. It took approximately 33 minutes into the 17 hour event to declare that I would register for the 2011 Ironman.

It was amazing. I don’t know how else to describe it. Just thinking about the atmosphere gives me goosebumps. A 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile ride and 26.2 mile run. These people – each and every one – were mindblowing. Every age, every size, every ability. Ironman isn’t something you simply register for and complete. As if it’s that simple. You dedicate. You train. You find support. You give a year of your life to it. You don’t just cross the finish line. You accomplish something absolutely amazing.

I had goosebumps all day. Seriously. You should see my Twitter feed from yesterday. I was all, “OMG! Amazing! Did you see that?! OMG! Ironman! Yay!” Like, for real. Watching the finish line was an event in itself. The relief and pride on those faces puts a lump in my throat. You want to see the happiest people in the world? Watch the finish of Ironman.
But aside from the goosebumps and lumps in the throat, I felt something else: OMG I NEED TO DO THAT.

I spent the summer working in a triathlon shop. I’ve been surrounded by it. The athletes, the atmosphere, the chatter. I watched some ass-kicking teammates cross that finish line last night who were a part of our store’s team. I witnessed their dedication all summer. How could I have avoided being absorbed by it?

So is 2011 the year? Registration for the next year’s Ironman opens and fills the day after each year’s race. Already tonight, the 2010 competitors are locked in. Registration for 2011 is in a year. I’ve got training, coaching and a built-in support system at my fingertips. I’ve got a year to think, facilitate, guage my abilities, and plan. And if I register, another year to train my ass off.

If 2011 isn’t the year, another year will be.

“You are Ironman.” I heard the announcer declare that hundreds of times last night as each competitor made it across the finish line. Such a statement. Something to be proud of. I am proud of every one of those Iron men and women. To become one of them would be an honor. In a year, maybe I’ll be one step closer.

Edited: September 14th, 2009

Remembering.

*** This is a re-posting of the 9/11 post I wrote last year. I’d write another one, but I’d say the same thing. Can’t believe it’s been 8 years already ***

I had been up late the night before. Sept. 10, to be exact. In fact, we probably didn’t go to bed until Sept. 11. We being my roommate, Katie, and I.

We were at a Lifehouse concert. We’d just moved in to our house near campus, and this was our first real adventure as roommates, very soon to become closest friends.

We were up late chatting and swooning over Jason Wade, talking about our classes and this “new” city we were thrown into. COLLEGE WAS SO EXCITING.

Cough.

I dragged my tired ass out of bed the next morning for my 8 a.m. class. It was a writing class, and I loved it. That day we had our desks in a circle and we were reading each others short stories. Mine was about a bunch of kids in college. Clever.

On my way back home, campus felt empty. Those who were out and about seemed rushed, upset. I heard a girl on the phone. She was crying, asking a question about her dad. I heard “New York.”

I obviously did not get the memo.

Until I walked into the student union and found everyone. They were hoarded around televisions. Some sort of “breaking news.”

I wandered over, still unsure of what the hell was going on. All I saw on the television was a building, a very tall one, on fire. Two of them, actually.

The World Trade Center, they said.

World Trade Center? I didn’t even know what that was. Seems foolish now, to think there was a time in my life when I had no idea what the World Trade Center was.

Planes hit them, people were saying.

Planes? Are you serious? How do you hit a building?

And then I heard “terrorism.”

Such a foreign word that was – terrorism. Never heard it much back then. Now it’s part of our every day vernacular. Terrorism. World Trade Center. September 11. Those words meant nothing to me. Before.

In those early hours, after I went home and glued myself to the news – the towers had collapsed by then – I was still piecing together in my mind what it all meant.

Who would do that? Why? It’s New York, though, right? So we’re safe here, in Milwaukee? It doesn’t really affect us. At all.

I wish I could still be that naive.

It’s been seven years, and I now know more about the World Trade Center and terrorism and September 11 than I probably ever wanted to. I’m changed. All of those words are so normal now.

I was on my way to the library this morning and saw a flag at half-staff. For about 11 seconds, I questioned why that was so. What happened, I asked myself. Who died?

And then I remembered the date.

Oh.

Edited: September 11th, 2009