Me.

Mom. Triathlete. Yogi. Foodie. Writer. Boss. Coffee lover. Side hustler.

I run for team Oiselle Volée and Skratch Labs.

When Pigs Fly

When Pigs Fly

I've known for a while that it's been a while since I posted.  There are so many writings I have stored in my head, but I rarely (obviously) make the time to put them here.  I still struggle with a busy schedule and staying busy when I'm not, well, busy.  

Today was a special day.  Weeks of creeping stress hit in a delicate way this morning.  I went through three outfits before I settled on, eh, something that I could wear to work and be, eh, somewhat comfortable.  I tried, delicately, to rehang each clothing item without frustration, but eventually it got the best of me.  

During this adult meltdown, I was texting a friend to whom I informed of my revolving wardrobe. His gentle recommendation for me to stay home in my jams was one upped by my 'like putting lipstick on a pig comment'.  As quick as my response, he comes back with:

I’ve seen you scratched and covered in mud so will never believe your smile wouldn’t shine through always.
— Today's Savior

Aw, shucks.  Instant tears.  Damn it, my make up was already done; nothing a little tissue tab and Q-tip couldn't fix.  In that moment, I thought about the beautiful lotus blooming from mud; the phoenix rising high and fierce from the ashes.  Just like every day is a process, I put on my big girl panties and handled it.  

My typical day is atypical: triple booked appointments, not enough food packed for me to graze, staving off bathroom breaks, lots of 'f' bombs, herding cats, and lots of chuckles.  Failing to eat lunch, I zipped through a local fast food joint for a salad and tried to not shovel it into my mouth, as I watched time tick from the driver seat.  I had an evening appointment with my life coach which involved a more serious round of smeared mascara.   The session left me exhausted, yet, ready to carry on; I had one more box to check which was my speed workout.  Damn it.

Within ten minutes, I was dressed and in the basement warming up, so as to not aggravate my runner's knee (details for perhaps a separate post).  Ah, a workout of tempo repeats on an incline - wonderful (sarcasm).  Following a pace increasing warm up of twenty minutes, I was off to the races.  At the end of the first six minute repeat, I hopped off the treadmill, ran to the bathroom, and dry heaved (on my tip toes) like it was my calling.  After a minute of that, I slowly walked back to the treadmill to finish the repeat and begin the other.  Following the next repeat, I, guess for lack of words, repeated the bathroom trip.  Again, I walked back to the treadmill to wrap up the final repeat.  I finished that one only to step off, walk in a slow circle, and stand in front of a fan for about thirty seconds.  

The lesson?  I am strong enough; I can push through the struggle.  Mascara can always be fixed and pigs do fly.  

History Repeats: Not Always A Bad Thing

History Repeats: Not Always A Bad Thing

The Sun Sets Only to Rise Again

The Sun Sets Only to Rise Again