Flawed.

I bite my nails. It’s a flaw. I bite them when I’m bored, and I bite them when I’m nervous. I’d probably be biting them right now, but my fingers are tapping the keyboard. I’ve been told that I snore. I hate that. It’s embarrassing. If I’m in the same room as someone, I don’t want to fall asleep anymore.

I’m sensitive. Quick to have hurt feelings. And I’m not always going to tell you when my feelings are hurt, you’ll just know. Because I’m going to act upset. I’ll get quiet. You’ll ask me what’s wrong. “Nothing,” I’ll say. Also a flaw.

I’m easily excited by things like my favorite show, my favorite song, a puppy. When I’m excited, I talk too fast. And too much. I’ll catch myself rambling and stop myself. It’s embarrassing.

I’m easily embarrassed. Flaw.

I run too much. Or not enough. One day I’m on top of the running world. The next day I complain about having to even step outside to go for a run. I’ll go an entire week without so much as putting on a running shoe. The next week I’ll be adamant about going every day. I’m a runner. Or am I? Flaw.

I get insecure for no reason. And for every reason. I compare myself to others. Should my hair look like that? My waist isn’t that small. I wish I had those shoes. And those eyes. Why do I look so bad in this photo? I want to be told I’m beautiful. I don’t know why. Maybe I need the validation. Flaw.

I’m naive. I believe in love and happily ever after. I believe I’m enough for people to stick around, and am crushed when they don’t. Too crushed. I fall hard, as my head fills with wispy dreams of perfect endings and smiles and hand-holding. Those things don’t happen, so I fall again. Off the edge. And spend weeks picking up broken pieces of my naive dream. Of course I put them back together, just in time for the next time. It’s all cracked and misshapen, but I’ll be damned if I don’t put it back together. Every. Time.

Flaw.

I don’t like the sound of chewing. So much so that I’d actually kill you with the looks I shoot in your direction. If looks killed. Big crowds of strangers put me on edge. If those strangers are also drunk, you may as well give me a sedative. Or a shot of booze. I’m irritable at the drop of a dime. Flaw. Flaw, flaw.

But I’m happy. I love my job. I love my friends. My family. My apartment, my cats. I love my favorite shows, my car, my couch, my sweatpants. The smallest of things make my day. A smile. An email. A text. A sign of something good. I’m optimistic, even though I tried so hard for so long to be a pessimist. I believe in love and happily every after.

Not a flaw.

Edited: October 27th, 2010

Putting on my Serious Face to talk about friendships.

I had a conversation with a friend last week about relationships. Friendships, actually. But it’s been on my mind ever since, and has me wondering if I’m missing some sort of gene.

I’m lucky. In the last few years alone, I’ve met so many fantastic people, and developed amazing friendships in the most unlikely of ways. When I step back and look at the big picture, I have a lot of friends, and I’m thankful for that. Some of those relationships are stronger than others, and some of those friends come and go, but I’m blessed to have them when they’re here.

But the thing I’ve lacked since I was a kid – a teenager, even – is a best friend. Until recently, I threw that label around quite a bit because I do have, what I consider to be, “best friends.” They’re the people closest to me, who’ve been around for all of my formative years – good and bad. I can go to them for anything, and I hope them to me. But the common thread amongst my best friends is that they all have a best friend. Their person. When you think of one, you think of the other.

So right now I’m at a crux. Wondering if it makes me sad to know I lack that one person, or if under it all, I’m lucky to have multiple people whom I consider to be “home.” And I don’t know why, suddenly, this revelation has had such an effect on me. I’m not lonely. I don’t feel put out in any way that my best friend’s best friend isn’t me. But I think I feel like I’m missing something. And what if I am?

During the conversation, where my friend and I found ourselves in the same best-friendless boat, she brought up a good point. Maybe we’re meant to have a handful of amazing friendships, each relationship bringing a different value to my life, much like a puzzle. Put together all the people to make one, giant best friend. Instead of one, small one?

Or that was just a really good analogy to make us feel better. I mean, it worked.

While I don’t feel alone now, I’m afraid of feeling alone later. And really, this is just my super secret insecurities talking. Or blogging, rather. You understand. Of course no one wants to feel alone. It’s not like I’m alone in this (pardon the pun). But when I’m 82, and dying alone, because clearly I’m incapable of coming across a man who’s not knee-deep in a life I can’t be a part of, and someone needs to contact my next of kin, because obviously I’ll outlive my entire family, who are they going to call?

(No. No, not Ghostbusters.)

Well I’ve got 54 years to figure that out.

And, people, these are the things weighing on my mind at the moment. Yes. Yes, I do need to get out of my head. I also need a nap. And to finish washing my laundry. So don’t worry, I’ll add it to the list.

Edited: October 25th, 2010

Tights, television and my pending doom.

(Insert sentence lamenting how it’s been SO long since my last post, etc., etc.)

I bought tights over the weekend. Yes. That’s the most important thing I’ve had to say in about two weeks. I haven’t worn tights since I was approximately 7-years-old, and now that I have them on, I can’t think of one good reason why it’s taken so long.

They turn summer into fall just like that. And patterns! They’re so NEAT. I feel like a whole new woman.

Shut up, it’s the little things that make me smile, OK?

I’m happy to report that all it took to kick my nasty habit of blowing off running was finishing my marathon. Now that it’s over, I run almost every day. And I – gasp – ENJOY it. I needed to smile for 26.2 miles to remember why I do it in the first place. My body feels good, my legs feel strong, and it’s going to be a lovely off-season.

Oh, let’s see, what else can we talk about?

Oh. I KNOW. Dexter.

I’m finally caught up with the current season. I still love him. LOVE HIM. I want one of my own, preferably of the Michael C. Hall variety. I have no words. Other than – Julia Stiles better not screw this up. There was a time when I loved her to death. That’s not to say I still don’t enjoy her, but man, she’s always been a horrid actress. So this guest role of hers better be fantastic. So far, so good.

In other news, my friends are slowly crawling out of the woodwork again with “so, I know a guy. You guys would really get along.” And that’s cute and great, but, uh, I can’t help but do a preemptive *face palm* at the idea. These things hardly end well. At the same time, who am I to turn down the suggestion? I trust my friends. I trust their judgment. And if you’re my mother, you’re already convinced that at the ripe old age of 28, my shelf-life for potential suitors is diminishing by the day.

No time to waste!

SOON ALL THE MEN WILL BE GONE!

G-O-N-E!

I giggle at this now, but I bet I won’t be giggling when she turns out to be right, and I’m 35 years old, sitting at home at night with two elderly cats in my lap. Harley will probably still be shitting on the floor at that age.

Oh, I’m doomed.

Edited: October 19th, 2010

The Wonder Twins

Our pal Tracey dubbed Anne and I “The Wonder Twins” on race morning. I think that’s a very fitting description, given every single one of these photos. Wonder, indeed. This is what 26.2 miles of happy looks like.

Edited: October 4th, 2010

In the books.

This picture sums up the Lakefront Marathon in so many ways. That’s me, hands in the air, stupid grin on my face, coming in for one of the most genuine hugs you could ask for. Anne’s about to get her hug, too. Our friends were along the course. So many friends. Amazing friends.

If 26.2 miles were a picture, it’d be this. I can’t not smile while looking at this. And I can’t not smile while thinking about the entire weekend.

If I could dedicate an entire post to Anne, I would. And in fact, I can, but we’d probably both just weep and giggle our way through the whole damn thing. I think this weekend we were each other’s saving grace. She was my baby spoon, and I hers. And I realize that doesn’t make any sense to any of you, but it does to us. She was my slumber party pal the night before the race, and I’m not lying even a little when I say we spent probably a total of five hours that day in the midst of giggle fits. I love her in the most real, honest-to-goodness way. And she knows it. I won’t forget “our” marathon. Ever.

Rochelle, Tracey and Marty, the remaining trio of running loves, you three are phenomenal. So proud of what you accomplished yesterday. Just thinking of sweet, little Rochelle’s tears of joy after her race gives me goosebumps. Tracey, you’re an absolute machine. I had no doubt, even once, that you were going to hit your goal. Marty. Oh, Marty. Mr. Science McSpreadsheet. You blow my mind. And inspire. Thank you for that. I love you all.

I crossed the finish line yesterday in 4:34:24. That’s not really significant in any way. It’s no San Diego Rock N’ Roll 3:58, but it’s also no Nike Women’s 4:49. I’ve hit every spectrum on race day. But I’ve never felt better than I did yesterday.

Anne and I had a goal: Enjoy. Smile. Inspire. We did that. We never had bigger bursts of joy and motivation as we did when we came across our friends, waving their hands in the air, cheering our names. I gave more hugs that day than I can count. (Chelsey, Amy, Sarah, Mosey, Kim, Cheryl, Tim, Jess, Clara & Bella, Alicia, Tony, Mike, Kelley, Rachel, Angie – ALL of you. Love.)

We slowed down when we wanted, sped up when we felt it, port-a-pottied when it struck us, walked if we needed. From miles 7 to 19 we were accompanied by a (new to me) friend, Howie, who served as our “butler” during his leg of the marathon relay. He saved us with encouragement, stories, chivalry and water. I’m more grateful to him than he probably realizes.

As the miles began to tack on, and we rounded the lakefront just a few miles from the finish, I felt it. Strong. I’d never felt that way three miles from the finish of a marathon. I didn’t hit a wall. Even a little. My brain was doing cartwheels at the prospect of finishing a marathon without ever crashing. Feeling good, no less.

Anne encouraged me to push on. We’d each have our own minute in the spotlight of the finish line with our friends waving us home. At mile 24, with hesitation over leaving my baby spoon after all those miles, we hugged, said our “love yous” and I brought myself in to the finish.

I felt like I was flying. Though I didn’t have my Garmin, I’m positive those last two miles were a sub-9 pace. I couldn’t stop grinning. Even spectators noticed. “Look at that SMILE!” I couldn’t see the smile, but I could feel it. It didn’t leave my face for hours.

(There are more stories to come, and they will, but for now I’ll bask in the glow of the memories.)

Edited: October 4th, 2010