The Mind of a Maverick

This morning after a swim and a set of PT exercises on the beach (try doing balance and hip/glute work in the sand!), I found myself curled up in a hammock. I knew it would be a while before anyone else woke up. So I enjoyed my time alone – hammock, water bottle, hoodie and shorts, the sun beginning to rise above me.  I brought a book but I ended up people-watching.  It’s impossible to hear the sharp shrill “Daddy/Mommy, look at me!” without also gazing in that direction at the latest finding by a small child.

Kids like to discover things about the world and themselves and their abilities.  And it’s like they were the first person to ever discover that particular thing.  They are that excited and proud of themselves.

A friend came out and sat on the porch – his lanky frame stretched out over a number of stairs. He watched me watching the kid and then said “We all want to be special, you know.”

That’s the irony.  We think we’re unique and special in wanting to be unique and special. When really, we’re all unique and special working extra hard to be unique and special which makes us, in some ways, very alike. We really don’t have to try so hard.

I dated a guy once who didn’t find me special. I didn’t know that at first but pretty soon it started to feel that way. But you think to yourself “I’m being silly” or “I’m being selfish” or “My expectations are too high.”  When someone tells you that you’re good but not good enough, that they want you to date them exclusively but they want to keep their own options open, you are being told that you are not special. And it’s okay to want to be special. There were many reasons I had to walk away from that relationship and I’m especially grateful now that I wasn’t special to him, it made it that much easier. All these years later, listening to him talk about his latest girlfriend in a very non-special way, is sad but also reaffirming.

It’s okay to want to be special. It’s okay to want to find your place within your family, to find things that you are good at that they aren’t.  To find things about your family members that you love and remind you how special they are.

But being special in the day-to-day means noticing those small special moments:

The friend asking if you can please hang out this weekend because she misses you.  That makes me feel special.

Graduation cards in the mail.  And friends who sat through a ridiculously long graduation ceremony and had a better attitude about it than me. That made me feel special. And a bit concerned about my attitude.

The friend who emails you when he’ll be working out at lunch in case you need someone to spot you.  Because he knows how much you fear asking random strangers for help.  That makes me feel special.

The friend who makes time, lots of time, to listen to whatever silly thoughts I have.  And then says “Is there anything else you want to discuss?” as if he has all the time in the world and doesn’t think I’m a completely illogical female who stresses about randomness.  That makes me feel special.

The friends who aren’t scared away by my tart frozen yogurt obsession. My love for steel cut oats. My need to do homework a week in advance in case something comes up.  The friend who sits through an entire Chelsea match for me, not because he loves the team, but because he knows I need someone to look at for reassurance during penalty kicks. The friend who gives me a hug when I say “I think I need a hug” even though I kinda think hugs are not his favorite thing. The friends who make terrible jokes about how bad I would look wearing fully padded hockey gear.  And I can’t even be annoyed because it’s all true and I love laughing at myself.

We all want to be special.

And there are always going to be people who make us feel very much less than special.  And although we need to respect them, we may need to work with or for them, or we may be stuck sitting next to them at family reunions, we don’t have to be friends with them.

There are a lot of people out there who find you special.  Enjoy it. Find and cherish the specialness of everyone you choose to interact with. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be special. But there’s nothing right with assuming no one else feels the same.

Spread the specialness. (Thats what I thought as I spread lemon glaze over blueberry pancakes this morning.)  Cheesy.  Not a slogan I’d be willing to wear on a t-shirt. But one I’m willing to ‘fess up to right now. And one I plan on thinking about as I pace some half marathon runners tomorrow morning.  It’s time to make specialness go viral.

(To borrow a line from a book that borrowed it from Shakespeare…)

The fault in my stars is that I think I can accomplish too much.  And that I sometimes think rest and relaxation are for the weak.  And that a To Do List must be completed.

For two weekends in the very near past, I did next to nothing thanks to a combination of strep throat/ear infection and pneumonia. I highly advise against this combination – it was brutal. The first weekend, I had a To Do List.  But when it took me 4 hours to write up a shopping list and then another 3 hours before I felt like walking a block to the store, I gave up.  The To Do List ended up in the trash.  The following weekend, still sick and exhausted from a new job and transition, I didn’t even make a list.

Sometimes To Do Lists are just suggestions of things that would be really nice and convenient to get done.  The world will not end if the floor doesn’t get swept and a birthday card gets mailed late.

And rest and relaxation are for everyone.  No one is superhuman enough to not need down time. But when people like me who are over-peopled at work and at school and at the gym continue on a path of not allowing for downtime, we end up pretty frustrated.  It’s not pleasant.  And it’s not right to let my lack of relaxation affect others around me. I spent a good three hours lounging around on Saturday, rather than diving straight into homework.  And I felt balanced, which I think is the point.

But my real fault, the one I struggle with, is thinking I can take on any challenge.  This Sunday, I agreed to do 1000 pushups throughout the day with my soccer team.  I made it through (sets of 50 for them/25 for me).  But I’m left wondering what the point was?  Just to prove that I could do something most other girls can’t?  I had been planning on training for a 50K race (about 30 miles) and then hopefully a 50 mile race.  My IT band injury has me reconsidering whether that’s a good idea for me.  And it’s a hard pill to swallow that a good idea for someone else may not be a good idea for me.

When I began PT, it became clear that I had bad balance. That standing on one leg on a Bosu Ball was impossible.  Fast forward three months and through lots of practice sessions and diligence, I can now stand on one leg on a Bosu Ball…on tiptoe…and have someone play catch with me.  All it took was 5-10 minutes a day of practice, training my body to adjust, my knee to not wobble, my legs to concentrate on hip and glute strength instead of forward motion.

Balance can be achieved.  Whether it’s learning how to balance your kids’ needs and your spouse’s needs and your needs.  Or learning how to balance work and home life.  Or school and more pleasurable activities. But rest and relaxation are essential, To Do lists don’t always bring good pressure, and it’s okay to not do everything in a day that you think you’re capable of doing.

Especially 1000 pushups.  Unless you like being unable to lift your own water bottle the following morning.

You can read my latest Red Sox blog here.  There is a lot of angst and just as much discussion about the Phillies as there is about the Red Sox.  Oops.

Yesterday, as I set out for a longer double-digit run, I found myself saying “I must control this run. This run does not control me” over and over.

Sometimes, I let runs control me. Sometimes, I let the weather control me. Or my mood. Or my lack of sleep or lack of fuel. But yesterday, I decided that I was in control. And that there were no rules.

If I had to walk a little or wait at red lights, it was fine.  If I wanted to stop and run barefoot on the beach, that was okay. If I wanted to alternate listening to podcasts and music, that was good.  And running the last mile without any musical distraction was great. I smiled at every person wearing Chelsea apparel and child in a stroller.

I ran into the Breast Cancer walk women. That was completely out of my control. I imagined wearing red Mario Kart shells around me that would detonate when people bumped me.  Sometimes mental images are fun.

The beach was alive.  In all of my ocean runs from October until now, this was the first time I’d seen the beach full of people.  And people-watching is entertaining.

My legs were light and my lungs were clear. Well, for the first miles.  But as my legs grew heavier and my lungs felt crowded, I still made sure to control my run. Negative splits.  Excitement that I graduated. Nervousness for the Chelsea versus Bayern Munich game to come. I tried to find enjoyment in everything I saw – bridges, apartment building architect, marketing slogans, snippets of overheard conversation.

I thought about how a run is more than a run. It’s a process that involves sleep and rest and fuel and water and mental acuity and preparation. The run is only the final building block of the pyramid. Some are good. Some are bad. I have built a lot of run pyramids but I have many more left in me to build.

And that thought made me smile. Which made me run faster. Sometimes controlling your run is simply the same as enjoying your run.

It finally came.

I remember the day I got accepted to Boston University for my MBA. I went to the local liquor store and bought a Special Limited Edition bottle of Boston Absolut Vodka. And then I said to myself “I will drink this bottle (well, not all of it by myself) when I graduate.”  It seemed a long way off.

That bottle traveled to three different apartments in Fenway with me. It sat in my wine rack above my fridge during both of my sisters’ weddings, during my first Red Sox-Yankees game and my first Eagles-Patriots game. It survived three years of midterms and final exams, three years of Human Resources drama and a number of bike accidents.  I got injured (three months of IT band rehab) after a marathon, an ultra marathon and a slew of half marathons and shorter races.  But the bottle remained intact.

I traveled to San Francisco, Miami, Philadelphia (7 or 8 times), Washington, D.C. (twice), Baltimore (twice),  New Haven (3 times), Pittsburgh (twice), Bemidji, Lancaster County (twice) and Mexico (twice). I’ve probably left some out. I ran and biked and swum and faithfully went to the SMG building for classes at least twice a week.  I ate a lot of peanut butter and banana sandwiches in the classroom.  I chewed a lot of my classmate’s gum. I sat in a lot of team rooms with pretty great people.  There may have even been some beer and talk about Four Loko in one of the team rooms.

Thirsty Thursdays. Way too many BU emergency alerts.  Buying books.  Photocopying. Summers in classrooms where the air conditioning wasn’t working. Good professors. Tough professors. Odd professors.

The death of two good friends.  Viewing one suicide on the Mass Ave bridge. Two breakups. Daily work drama. Two grades I wasn’t particularly proud of. One grandma moved to NH. One grandma moved to Pennsylvania. Lots of weddings and babies born and birthdays celebrated.

And it’s almost all over.

Today, I walk.  Monday, I start my final class.  July 11th, I walk out of an MBA classroom for the final time.

July 11th I have a lot of vodka to drink.  Anyone want to help me?

The Red Sox win 4 straight.  Nothing short of a miracle.

Read my latest baseball ponderings here. 

My friend got such a laugh out of this anecdote (maybe because I’m just so pathetically oblivious) that I figured I would share it…

Friday night at the gym, I spot a guy wearing a Cliff Lee Phillies shirt. It makes me smile.  Later, when I’m headed to the locker room, he walks right past me.

Me: I like your shirt!
Him: Oh? Are you from Philly.
Me: Nope. Just a Phillies fan. Your shirt matches my watch.
Him: It’s just too bad they aren’t playing like they did last year…
Me: Yup, R2C2 needs to up their game…

(Then I disappeared into the locker room.)

Today, I spot him in the gym. Not wearing the Phillies shirt.  I walk past him twice (I have nothing to say) before he stops me.

Him: That was kinda weird, wasn’t it?
Me: What was weird (racking my brain for some oddity of the recent Phillies games)?
Him: You didn’t give me your number or ask me out on Friday.
Me: Wait…what?   (long pause)  Seriously?
Him: Seriously what?
Me: People say things like “nice shirt” and then ask each other out? Because they are fans of the same team?
Him: I think so….you were really just commenting on my shirt?
Me: Yes.
Him: Oh.
Me: But, if you’re free on Wednesday at noon, I could really use a spotter for the bench press…
Him: And when you say a spotter, you mean you just want a spotter?
Me: Yes.
Him: This is refreshing. But strange. You liked my shirt. You need a spotter. That’s all?
Me: Um, yeah…

Now I’m scared of complimenting people on routing for the right teams. And completely puzzled that people try to pick each other up at the gym….