First World Runner Problem: I got REAL mad at my Garmin today. Like BIG MAD.
No, it wasn’t broken.
No, the battery didn’t die.
No, it didn’t track my miles wrong.
It was just flat out mean to me.
*stomp foot brattily* *shut up, WordPress, brattily is a word if I say it’s a word*
I have been freaking THRILLED to get back to a normal level of activity. 2.5 months out between a broken leg and a heart condition…
I JUST WANTED TO RUN!!!
But I couldn’t…and I didn’t…because I was a good girl.
But now I’m running short distances again. Testing the waters. Seeing what I can do. Making progress.
Or so I thought!!!
But look at this nice little message Garmin sent me after this morning’s run.
Oh, STFU.
Apparently my run was unproductive. Not because I’m overtraining…but just because my “fitness is decreasing”.
BITCH… I am 42 years old… With a VO2 Max of 44 (which YOU say is that of a 20 year old)…am just getting back to my workouts after a broken leg and a heart condition…and you want to get onto me because my fitness level is decreasing? OF COURSE IT DECREASED!!!!!!! And I’m still way ahead of where I could be at my age.
What the hell do you want me to do?!?!
Yes…I’m ranting at a watch. But, it’s like being mad at your boyfriend that you love and trust in every aspect of your life…because he betrayed you and called you fat.
So. This is how it ends. With a teenaged girl standing over my body…frantically mashing…
444. 44-2-8-33. 999-666-88.
Over and over and over.
While laughing maniacally and rocking back and forth like a lunatic rocking horse.
Or, you know…that’s how I imagine this playing out when I get home with her new prepaid flip phone tonight. That she will give up her iPhone for until she can stop being…such…a…teenager.
You guys…let me tell you about the horribly awkward moment that happened to me yesterday. This random guy…asked me out to dinner…on a county facebook thread…with 1,000 comments…in front of all of those local people…
In case you were wondering, Facebook doesn’t have a good “deer in headlights” gif.
I tried to be polite and kind…But, my response (below) actually kept me thinking last night about how true it really is. Lol
I am my favorite butt of my own jokes. I *constantly* make jokes about my spinsterhood. But let’s be real. No one HAS to be single these days.
Being single is a choice we make.
Every time someone asks us out and we say no. Every time we swipe left for some ridiculous reason because our heart just really isn’t in it. Every time we choose to stay home instead of going somewhere where we might actually meet someone.
It’s a choice. And…I’m good with my choice.
I don’t want to be single forever.
I’m good at relationships. But, with a few exceptions, I’ve been very bad at choosing who to have them with. I’m realizing that the reason I keep saying “no” is because I still don’t trust myself. I don’t trust myself to choose someone who will choose me every day as I choose them every day.
So…I make that choice. I make Bella and work and school and working out and friends…and everything else under the sun…a priority.
Until I learn to trust myself again.
And until then…I will continue making jokes at my own expense (because they’re HIGHLARIOUS!!) and I will be happy.
I’ve heard it said that the hardest part of grief isn’t the beginning. At the beginning of the situation that you grieve you are surrounded with love and well wishes. You are in the forefront of everyone’s minds as they try to help you through. No…the hardest part of grief is when people have to turn their focus back to their own lives. You are left with your pain and grief…and only your own thoughts to keep you company.
It sucks. Without a doubt. But it is part of life. People are inherently self involved. And I don’t mean that in a bad way at all.
I still say the best way I was ever able to explain this theory was in a conversation I had with my dad after 9/11. We lived in NJ and had been witness to the devastation of families and volunteered to help however we could. So, one day I made the same comment that I made above. People are inherently self involved. He was aghast. “That’s so cynical!!” “Not at all…it’s just human nature. Let me put it this way…9/11. HORRIBLE tragedy, correct?” “Yes!!! Thousands of people died!!!” “I know. Now. Imagine I had died in a COMPLETELY UNRELATED car accident on that same day. What would you grieve more? My death or the death of thousands?” “Yours of course. You’re my daughter.” “Exactly…but don’t you think that’s a little self involved? One life being worth more grief than the loss of thousands? But…it’s human nature…we have to be most affected by what is closest to home. It’s how we survive. It doesn’t mean we don’t care. It just means we are surviving.”
Why am I writing about this today? Because we all come to a moment…a moment when we are dealing with a situation that is rocking our worlds…when we suddenly feel alone.
As a friend just told me, “I’m sick of talking about it and I know y’all are sick of hearing about it.” <~~~~~ No. I’m not. Ever.
The thing is this…maybe we stop asking if someone is ok everyday…maybe we don’t have the time to drop by unannounced and annoy the hell out of someone just to remind them they’re not alone…maybe we have to take care of other things…
But in those moments when we feel that others must be sick of our grief…I bet any one of those people would stop what they were doing in that moment to be there if we just reached out.
In the beginning…those people who won’t let you be alone…in the end will be the people who will still be there when you’re ready to talk.
And those people never ever EVER get sick of being there for those they love.
I write this to remind myself. I write this to remind my friend. I write this to remind every person who’s life has ever touched mine.
I hate the word Can’t. Seriously, I hate it SO MUCH. We (usually) use the word “can’t” as an excuse. I know I sure used to.
I was diagnosed with Lyme Disease at 23 years old. That’s when the can’ts *really* began.
“You can’t exercise.” <—–Oh no…I have to be sedentary? Shucks.
“You can’t have the energy to be social very often.” <insert introvert not actually sad face>
“You can’t have the memory you used to.” What? You told me who? When? Why? Sorry…I forget.
The can’ts were many. And I relished them because they excused things I didn’t really want to do anyway.
But…then one day I suddenly wanted to do something different. I wanted to LIVE instead of just existing.
I decided to start by getting in shape. The doctor said, “You can’t. Just be happy you’re cute for a fat girl.”
Ummmmmm…no….
So I started eating right. “That’s great, you’ll lose a little, but you’ll never be able to exercise.”
I started walking. “Ok. Walking is good, but you’ll never be able to do strength training.”
I started lifting weights. “Just be careful, your body can’t do that.”
I started running obstacle course races. “Ok…we give up.”
Thank you very much. Please DO give up on telling me what I can’t do.
I became the girl that no one wanted to say “Can’t” to because that just made me want it more. I had, “I will because they said I can’t” tattooed on my ribs.
You tell me “CAN’T”…and I will say, “WATCH ME.”
So, yesterday, after I saw the cardiologist and he diagnosed me…I joined a couple of POTS groups on Facebook. I wanted to see what I was in for. I wanted to get information. If this is something I’m going to live with and fight…I want to know.
Or maybe I don’t…
Because…what I saw in these groups were tens of thousands of people who were still living gloriously in their “can’t”. I saw people who said, “Oh I know this is from my POTS…does this make you all miserable, too?” <insert hundreds of comments of people commiserating> “I know I can’t do this because of POTS.” <insert a thousand comments of people agreeing that it’s impossible>
What I didn’t see…was ideas on how to fight it. All I saw was people succumbing. What I saw was people who decided that their diagnosis was their identity.
MY DIAGNOSES (yes, that’s the plural, I checked…lol) ARE NOT MY IDENTITY.
Don’t get me wrong…I understand and have compassion for the fact that everyone has different levels of disability with their illnesses. There are some things that, maybe realistically, can’t be done.
But one thing that I can guarantee you no illness will EVER take away from you without your participation, is your hope.
I have always been a firm believer that everything happens for a reason. It is a comfort to me to know that all of the deep valleys in life have also brought me to my highest peaks.
And yet…we always forget that in the moment as we are trapped in circumstances.
I was reminded LOUDLY of that today.
I’ve been…let’s be real…pissed off and a total bitch…lately because I couldn’t run. My leg had basically tried to shatter and I’ve been sidelined for 10 weeks so far.
I didn’t handle it well. I kept my faith…and I knew that there had to be a reason…
But I was still pretty pissed off about it.
And then…today…God very loudly told me why that had to happen.
Today I learned that I have a condition called POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome). Basically my heart beats too dang fast, with sudden dips, but my blood pressure stays low. Put the two together…and you get dizzy spells, palpations, tachycardia, headaches…all kinds of stuff. Lyme Disease…which I’ve had for 20 years…is a well known cause of POTS.
Here’s the kicker…
My running and exercising was masking it. Both are good for me and my condition and I need to keep them up because it keeps the condition in check…but…
Had I not been sidelined from running…I wouldn’t have known I have this condition. And that would have been very, very bad.
So…A’ight, God. I hear you. I understand the reason. (And you didn’t even make me wait as long as usual for it.)
Now…my leg will finish healing…my condition will be treated (it’s chronic, but manageable)…and I can go forward with life and the things I love, but better than I was before.
And hopefully I’ll stop being such a little bitch when I feel like my plans are being thwarted. (But…probably not…I’m human… 🤷♀️ )
You think I’m joking, but I’m not. I’ve been a fairly raging bitch since the end of last year.
Why? Because it felt like everything was suddenly spiraling out of control. One thing after another after another after…well, you get it.
One of my greatest fears is the loss of control over my own life.
I know why I have this fear. I earned this fear. When your whole life, even your name, is ripped away from you at 10 years old…you either crumble or you become a person who finds ways to make sure no one can rip the rug out on them again. I did the latter.
But, yesterday…when I got a little more control back on one of the issues I’ve been facing…it was this weight off of me. I suddenly felt the ability to…well…stop being a bitch. Something so stupid as getting a walking boot off…
But it was a sign that I wasn’t losing control.
Which, got me thinking. You guys…
I have more issues than a magazine stand. We all do.
And, for many of us, our issues lead to fear…usually logical fear based on our lives…but fears that completely hold us back and control us.
My fears are loss of control, being abandoned by people I love and trust, and that I’m unlovable. I’m afraid I’ll disappear and no one will notice or care. Every single one of these fears is tied to my childhood. Every single one of these fears is logical based on my own experiences.
Every single one of these fears is holding me back.
By being afraid of losing everything, I lose the ability to enjoy what I have. By fearing abandonment, I hurt myself by waiting for it. By being afraid I can’t be loved, I sometimes don’t give people the chance to prove me wrong. By being afraid to disappear, I fight a constant battle between wanting to disappear and being too in your face so I’ll be seen.
But if life has taught me one thing besides what to fear, it has taught me…
I am stronger than my fears.
I don’t want to be held back by these fears anymore. I don’t want to cower before what might come to be. Could it all happen again? Yep. That’s life. But will I survive it? Yes. I only need to remember…
I know I can survive my fears coming to fruition because I already have.
So. What are you afraid of? How is it holding you back?
Hi, my name is Sheri…and I’m “Way too excited about my new toilets” years old.
*sigh* When did this happen??
This morning, as I sat there excitedly looking at my beautiful brand new toilets that one of my best friends and her husband installed yesterday…as I sat there thinking, “None of them are broken or leaking!! They’re all so clean!! Look at those top buttons!! No more broken flushing handles for us!!”…it hit me. Holy shit. I’m an adult.
Don’t get me wrong. Like most of you I don’t FEEL like an adult.
I still don’t want to clean my room. I still make boob jokes like a 12 year old boy (*cough* I may actually be giggling before the 12 year old boy…). I still have days where I want ice cream for dinner. And…I have to admit this…
Sometimes I still relish people telling me how to do things better, because I have no flipping IDEA how to successfully navigate some of this grownup stuff.
And, yet…it snuck up on me.
I used to get excited about going to the bar with my friends. Now I get excited about eating nachos alone in bed to unwind from a long week.
I used to get excited about traveling everywhere I could! Now…hold on…let me check mine and Bella’s schedule. Maybe that Saturday…no…tax season…how about Sunday 4 weeks from now?
I used to think parents knew nothing…now I find myself yelling, “Because I’m the parent! That’s why!!” at my teenager way more than I’m comfortable with.
I’m “Yay!!! Someone else cleans my trash can!!” years old.
I’m “I wonder if I can just get the groceries delivered this time” years old.
I’m, “I need to be up at 3 am to get everything done” years old.
BUT…because I still fully believe that you are only as old as you let yourself be…
I’m also “Forget chores today! We’re going on an adventure!” years old.
I’m also “Let’s go get our pictures taken with Santa!” years old.
I’m “Oooh!! I wonder if I can talk my friends into an animal onesie party for my birthday!” years old. (Spoiler alert. I can. 😁)
I will always be “That’s what she said” years old.
But…I am also still “Way too excited about my new toilets” years old.
First things first, let’s be real…we’ve all had our hearts broken and we’ve all probably broken someone’s heart. It’s just part of life.
And man does it hurt when it happens.
BUT, as I’m pondering this today, I have a new view on broken hearts and their pain. What if…hear me out…
The part that broke NEEDED to break?
I think back on my broken hearts. I’ve had a few. I’ve had my heart broken so badly I thought it would destroy me. And you know what?
It DID destroy me. It destroyed a part of me that needed to be destroyed.
When I look back on my broken hearts…it still hurts…but…it’s not the guy that makes my heart twinge and ache. It’s looking at who I was in that relationship and what I allowed.
In my marriage I was easily manipulated into feeling guilty and being quiet for being upset about valid issues. That relationship very much broke my heart…and it broke the part of me who was too afraid to speak up and would rather be hurt myself than risk someone being upset with me. Seriously? Thank God that part of me broke.
In another relationship I was SHATTERED after years of emotional abuse and then finding out I’d been cheated on the whole time. I had known the entire time that something was wrong…but I was consistently told I was crazy…and, when I wasn’t? Heart broken. I thought beyond repair. It also broke the part of me that was willing to ignore my own instincts and allow someone to emotionally abuse me. Again…that trait being broken? Bye, Felicia.
Another man I loved…he was different than those guys. He would never purposely hurt me. But he also didn’t know what he wanted, vacillated on his feelings for me, and…in all honesty…because of where he was in his own life…could not give me the relationship I deserved. But I settled for the scraps he gave me, because I loved him. And I spent every day feeling torn apart because I wasn’t being true to myself and what I needed. The ending of that one broke my heart, too…but it also broke my willingness to put aside my own needs and wants.
When I look back on these relationships…it hurts. But it doesn’t hurt because I’m dying to have them back. It doesn’t hurt because I still pine for them.
It hurts because it reminds me of those parts of me before they were broken. It reminds me of how much damage I did to myself while those parts were still intact.
So…that’s my new theory. A heartbreak is something to be grateful for. Not in the way that that means you should be with those people again! Lol But…
Those broken moments are what built me.
So…to my past relationships…thank you for breaking my heart.
Disclaimer: This is probably not even the same cow…
The perfect date. We all have one (hopefully). That date you look back on and think, “Why can’t they all be like that?”. Maybe it was a beautiful restaurant…dressing up and being treated like royalty.
Orrrr…maybe you’re like me and it involved a giant cow. 🤷♀️
Many many (…MANY…) years ago, a fresh, innocent (stop laughing!! I can be innocent!!) young 21 year old Sheri went on her first solo business trip…to Omaha, NE. This particular trip, other than being a milestone for her, wasn’t exactly a big deal….I mean…Omaha…what is there to do?
WELL. LET ME TELL YOU!
First, the regional manager and branch managers asked our young heroine what she had expected of Omaha. “Corn. I expected a lot of corn.” So…those managers drove me out of Omaha…to see a large corn field…so I could say I had…and cautioned me to NOT run through it (as I had seen in movies) unless I wanted to be cut to shreds.
That was it. I’d been to Omaha. I had seen all that it had to offer. Until…
We got back to the local office, still laughing about our corn adventure, and…I met a boy. I wouldn’t have normally thought much of this boy because I was there for business, but…21 year old version of me was intrigued by the conversation that happened…
“Hey…would you want to go out with me?” *confused Sheri face* “You live in Nebraska…” “And? You’re IN Nebraska. I’ll take you out on the river on my boat and we can moon people eating at the restaurant.”
HOLD UP. YOU HAVE MY ATTENTION.
That was the day I met Niall. Niall was…this amazing, hilarious, boy version of me. I instantly decided he was going to be my best friend. We both liked each other as more, but that whole distance thing…
So. Every time I traveled to Omaha, or he traveled to New Jersey, we would hang out. It was never a date…until one night it was.
I was back in Omaha and Niall asked me out. He made it clear THIS ONE was a date. *sigh* OK. Dates suck and typically take all of the spontaneity out of life, but fine.
“What are we going to do?” “Don’t worry about it. I’ll meet you at the hotel.” Ok….
What followed was the gold standard of dates that I have held every date up to in comparison for the past 20 years.
See, Niall knew that I wasn’t a dinner and a movies kind of girl. He knew that from the moment he heard about the corn field and asked me to go moon people from the river. Niall knew his audience and he…dare I say it…nialled it. (Damn, I wish I could tell him THAT little pun I just came up with. 🤣🤣)
First he took me to the bar. Big deal, right? So many dates in our early 20s wound up in bars. But…no…this wasn’t just a bar…it was THE bar. It was the seediest, run down, basement of a motel, 70s style rug still intact, bar that you ever have seen. It was barflies and truck drivers and…a scene straight out of every, “Oh this won’t end well” movie you’ve ever seen. We sat there for HOURS…making friends with the locals…with the longhaul truck drivers…potentially with hookers…IT WAS AMAZING.
Then…at around 1 am…we decided we were a bit peckish. Lol We sat at Denny’s for another couple of hours. Talking and laughing like only Niall and I could. Until he looked me dead in the eye and said, “Wanna go climb a cow?” “Ummmmmm…is that even a question?!?!?”
So he took me to this monstrous cow statue that was gated off in a parking lot nearby…and he kept watch, like Bonnie’s perfect Clyde, while I ran around it and tried to find a way to climb up it. It was slippery and impossible to climb, but holy hell we laughed while I tried.
That was it. That was my perfect date. The date where someone knew me well enough to know that the way to my heart is adventure and laughs and the unexpected.
Niall and I stayed in touch for a very long time, even after I got married and he met his person. He was the first guy to call me his, “What if? Girl”…and the only one that it doesn’t piss me off when I think of it. But, time moves on and so do our lives…and apparently so does that cow. Years later Niall told me that the cow had been moved to the rooftop of a local place.
Over the years, I’ve looked for that again.
The poor guy who wanted to walk to some local ruins to “look” at them after a lunch date. Sooo…I made him walk through a Civil War cemetery reading tombstones on the way and then asked him to take cover while I climbed the fence at the ruins so I could get closer and take pictures. The look on his face… 🤣🤣 We’re still friends, but that was our only date. 🤣🤣
The various guys who have said, “What do you want to do for our first date?” “Hmmmmmm…I have a camera…wanna go wander around Walmart and be undercover People of Walmart photographers?” (No one has taken me up on that yet…I’ll probably marry the guy who knows I’m not actually trying to be cute…)
It seems silly, but…that moment stands out because someone liked me for EXACTLY who I was and wouldn’t have wanted me to change a thing about me…quirkiness and all.
And that’s what I’m waiting for.
I’m waiting to find a cow to climb.
(I also just emailed Niall, because hell it’s been 2 years since we talked!!! Not cool, Niall, not cool!!)
*Jazz Hands* Mom 