A Tough End to an A+ Weekend

Because my recent excursion to Chicago was based all around the marathon, it was very different from my usual go, go, go vacation. I'll need time before I can regurgitate the play-by-play, as it just wasn't what I'm used to. An ideal getaway involves eating and walking my way through a city, and while I got to do a fair bit of that, I relied a lot more on public transportation than I'm used to (i.e., to keep the legs fresh) and thought much more about what I ate than I do in even my daily life. I also opted not to do a ton of research before heading to out to avoid setting my self up for disappointment. Though I've been to Chicago, I know I missed much on this trip. You can rest those worries though, I was again able to eat plenty and enjoy much (in a not so efficient manner); the trip was organized day-by-day. But lest I sound depressed, this trip--for the marathon--was incredible; I had a stellar race with so much support to thank for being both there and there in spirit.

I intend to share my lessons learned from my first marathon in an upcoming post, for those interested. For me, the biggest "regret" is not running my first marathon locally. Washington, D.C. actually hosts one of the larger marathons and it would have been super nice to not have had the stress of travel added to the all-consuming marathon. But Chicago was so, so, so good to me with its perfect temperature, pancake flat course, and crowd support, I can hardly regret the outcome.

As someone who likes to travel, but also likes to forecast (i.e., control) my future, the return trip was one reason running the Marine Corps Marathon would have been more convenient. I built in plenty of time for things to go wrong heading to Chicago by choosing to arrive on Thursday, however, I thought nothing about what it might be like for things to go awry on the return trip when I was exhausted and sore.

At 1:30 pm CT on Columbus Day, I learned my 4:10 pm flight was cancelled. This was a curse I placed on myself after waking up to a gloomy Chicago and immediately wanting to teleport home. I had not slept more than two hours the night before thanks to the writhing pain throughout my body. Marathoners, is this par for the course? After arriving at O'Hare International Airport shortly after 2:00 pm, Boyfriend found Customer Service to discuss our situation. We'd been rebooked on a 9:08 am flight out on Tuesday, a WHOLE DAY LATER. I absolutely could not miss work on Tuesday, a rarity. I had already bailed on an important meeting Friday and felt terrible about the thought of missing another one. We'd had our fun. That's where my head was at. And oh yeah, I was exhausted and sore.

We were given standby tickets for a 3:10 pm flight. There was hope. After rushing through some fancy security line (e.g., no shoe removal, no liquid removal--I complain not), we found gate B11, where we saw we were two of many looking to standby. The flight left without us, obviously. Then we played this game of bouncing from Terminal B to C for flights to Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport or Washington Dulles International Airport every hour following. And since my left knee disintegrated entirely throughout the course of 26.2 miles, this was super fun. At 6:30 pm we were on a delayed flight to Dulles, which is not nearly as convenient as Reagan, but more so than Baltimore Washington International Airport. With economy seat assignments, we boarded.

That's me on the "Cleared Standby" list on the top left, wahoo!

Then we sat on the runway. And sat and sat. And I'm being real dramatic because I had to go to the bathroom and in order to do that we had to be in the air at some 10,000 feet with the seat belt sign off. There were no announcements made as to why were were sitting, waiting, wishing. I was also exhausted (i.e., impatient) and sore. I don't think I've mentioned that. At 7:48 pm, we were suddenly taking off... on a rough flight. I don't think I would have noticed had I not stood almost the entire duration of the flight. I got up to relieve my bladder as soon as I was able. And I guess the crew started serving beverages simultaneously. My seat, being far up in the cabin, was blocked while all 38 rows were served. I did kindly asked to squeeze through to no avail.

In a normal situation, it's best to move while flying. Perhaps this is not the case the day following a marathon, then walking one inside the airport? My legs swelled so much they got stuck in my normally comfortably fitting boots. I was sitting on the floor of the plane trying to pull them off to relieve the pressure and I could not budge them. This was a terrifying scene, if you're curious.

Though our captain flew us home quickly, we landed at 10:14 pm ET having picked up an hour. And we were on our running way to the 10:35 bus shortly after. But if you've never flown to Dulles, it's likely you've never experienced the worst "people mover" ever. This contraption is from the dark ages and progresses slower than Grandma. I was prancing around as if I had superpowers to will the mover faster because, as mentioned, we had a bus to catch.

We caught the bus, thankfully. And then caught an Uber because Metro was being it's usual inconvenient, holiday self. I was in bed around 11:30 pm, which should be considered a win... when I reflect on how much worse it could have been.

Thinking Out Loud

There are so many unrelated thoughts floating through my head right now. Let's assume you care.

• Dan Uggla played, as a professional baseball player, for the San Francisco Giants. He went 0-8 with three errors. Dan, Dan, Dan is not your—San Francisco or otherwise—man. Poor Uggla. We—we, the Atlanta Braves, still owe him upwards of 20 million dollars. So while he may not be doing good on the field work, he’s doing alright. (In other words, I would trade shoes paychecks with him.) Please note, I am absolutely not on the bandwagon rooting for Uggla to fail; I hope he finds success again at some future point.
• Boyfriend went for a run (and then another run and one more run after that; he went for three total runs). I am not to speak of such events. He ran all by his lonesome in our apartment gym. And I am still gleaming a full week plus later. I am almost confident this was a three-time thing, though I will remain forever hopeful he will someday enjoy running alongside me (on the easy days).
• The office bathroom is never empty. I am continually peeved by this. This girl appreciates her privacy.
• I checked out I am Malala: The Girl Who Stood Up for Education and Was Shot by the Taliban by Malala Yousafzai from the library four times to finish it. The entire book is 317 pages. I could not get into the book, until the final third. The message is fabulous. I am inspired by the young activist. I am devastated for the lives of so many of the people of Pakistan, specifically the women and children. I am in awe of the courage of Malala's father, standing out "against" his own people for education. I wanted to praise the book, but found it riddled with far too much history, history complex beyond my own understanding. This unfortunately translated to choppy reading. The story did, however, make me think and challenged me to remember these issues do touch my life—not to mention my heart.

 You can all sleep peacefully at once.

This is the phase that never ends.

I write this post from a bad place. I need to rant. And I need something to blame. I am going to blame weddings for my unhappiness, when I know this funk is a result of my job. On a public forum, I absolutely cannot vent about my current work situation. That would be real dumb. And I have not lost my mind... yet.

So with warning, my head, heart, and mouth are not on the same page--tread lightly.

This weekend I am going to Boston, Massachusetts, hometown to Boyfriend, for a wedding I have (unfairly) been dreading. (Have I before mentioned Boyfriend is from a cultish town where everyone has been best friends since birth?) At one point, I was very excited for this wedding. My own unhappiness has vastly altered my perspective. I will not know anyone outside Boyfriend's immediate family in attendance. I will have to meet a majority of his friends while still allowing him space to have fun. There will be more small talk than I care for. There will be wasted calories on wedding food. And I will be dressed in a 'non-me' outfit, feeling woefully out of place. Though Boyfriend has not been dragged to many of "my" weddings, he has listened too much venting on the front. I owe it to him to attend this wedding. And to put on a smile while there.

Here begins the 2014 wedding series. And a recently engaged friend added a second wedding to the 2015 spring agenda. With each friend taking that next step, my own poor situation is amplified. But, as a result of this funk, now is absolutely not the time for Boyfriend and me to pursue engagement. I want that time to be the happiest in my life, not a Band-Aid on my current situation.

My mom keeps telling me this back-to-back-to-back wedding trend is just a phase. Well, I want to debunk her theory. My first non-family wedding took place in February 2009, my senior year of college, and the “phase” is guaranteed to continue until May 2015.

Some stats:

• I was 21 when I graduated from college.
• I will be 27 next month.
• I have been in two-thirds of the weddings I have attended, estimated to be on the low end.

That is six years of wedding-ing.

Now, some basic math: divide 6 by 27. And we can conclude 22.2% of my life has been spent attending weddings and, for better or worse, wedding related events. The financial burden for these nuptials have been insurmountable. I have honestly enjoyed next to none of it. Sorry, friends.

 

(It is important to note, there will not be a wedding "for" me. The idea is nauseating, in my humble opinion. I warned my mother years ago. And I think we have compromised on a celebration of the life event that does not involved standards or traditions. You are all invited. You are most certainly NOT obligated to attend.)

I cannot count the number of weddings I have been in and/or attended at this point in my life. I am not kidding. I get weddings confused. I often cannot remember whether or not I was in certain weddings. On the upside, I have traveled to Florida, Kansas (twice), Massachusetts (twice), New Jersey, North Carolina, and South Carolina (five times). I am sure I am missing some. 

Next up is another trip to South Carolina in August, Georgia in September, back to South Carolina in April (2015), and New York in May (2015).

And before these weddings, let me fairly account for the three trips to Michigan for the weddings of my cousins. Thankfully, I only have four total cousins. And the last one, well, he just turned 15, so I will be most excited and ready to attend his wedding should he opt for one many, many years from now.

My savings are soon to be depleted soon. This phase continues...

Low, Part B

Then you see, I woke up only to realize I had to go to work. Already. Mondays can be so cruel. And Monday, 5/5, did not disappoint. There was an after hours work function, a mandatory after hours work function at an establishment of the non-Mexican variety. It was not Cinco de Mayo—holiday of margaritas—or anything.

Tuesday, 5/6 – I managed to maintain my cool for all of three minutes before total breakdown mode commenced. I had tickets to a Washington Nationals baseball game following work. But even baseball has been a real depressing topic as of late. Before Tuesday night, the Atlanta Braves had been on a seven-game skid. (The Braves would go on to win on this night. Amen, Justin Upton.) The Braves—among much help—could use a Nationals loss, so I saw to that. I also got to see Clayton Kershaw pitch. 

(Can we please take a moment to recognize his immense talent? Can we also take a moment to acknowledge that the Los Angeles Dodgers have a line-up to envy? They should be unstoppable.)

What was on the plate for this rainy Wednesday? The job situation was no worse than any of the previously described days. Also no better. Huff, puff. The highlight was definitely meeting Mrs. C for a Tex-Mex dinner at Lauriol Plaza. She traveled all the way from Kansas to see me go to a conference. There was also trivia, including more domination. At this point, I cannot recall the last time I paid for drinks without a gift card at Black Rooster. Free food. Free drinks. And further, I found 12 cents  throughout the course of the day. I am set to retire, stat. 

Tomorrow will come. It’s Team Meeting day, so it’s bound to be a doozy. There is celebrating to do post 5:00 pm, which I will try to keep on the forefront on my mind less some minuscule person or tasks ruins my life. What are we celebrating, you ask? Boyfriend landed what could nearly be considered his dream job after more than a year of both full-time work as a temp and searching. He needs to be congratulated… in the form of a Cigar City and Hardywood Tap Takeover at Rustico.

As for the rest of my future, it’s gloom.

Low, Part A

Low. That is my life right now. The sleepless nights have returned. The sporadic eating habits. The uncontrollable emotions. The immense hatred towards all things not Starbucks and M&Ms. The breaking out like a sixteen year old. I am an unfortunately miserable being.

Why? My job is dumb. And because office tales are boring for all people uninvolved, you will simply have to take my word for it. Not only is my job dumb, a problem I could handle, I hate the work. And not just a whiny-complainy dislike, this is a full-blown hatred. As a result, these past few weeks have been a horrid blur of awfulness.

I suggest you quit reading now. Life is about to get real. There may be some grand, wonderful things I could write about, but I am numb to those things. Awesome as they may be, they do not feel so awesome in that moment. They feel forced. They feel like out of body experiences. Oh the fun! 

The recap I do not actually recommend you read.

Monday, 4/28 – Miserable day of work, followed by an exhaustive evening of a full apartment scrub-down. 

Tuesday, 4/29 – An exceptionally miserable day of work, followed an evening of cooking. And meal prep for the week, two days behind schedule.
Wednesday, 4/30 – A solid eight hours of awfulness, followed by trivia. Our hodgepodge team, scrambled up minutes before the start of trivia each week managed to continue our winning streak, taking home victories for best team name, half-time shots, and first place gift certificate—a clean sweep, one might call it.

Thursday, 5/1 – A plain, miserable May Day, followed by drinks with K.S.D. at Carpool. Drinks that went very late into the night... on a school night.

The calm, quiet weekend I envisioned was anything but. After a real long day at the office, which included an extended lunch with my not so beloved New Boss. (I shant complain too much as we dined at District Taco on Fish Taco Friday.) To extend the day further, I walked home from work in hopes of absorbing Spring weather. Then I sprinted to Eat Bar to celebrate A.J.S.’s new (and greatly improved) position at her employer of choice. And revel we did with a happy hour that went until I hit the sack.  Saturday, I had some time in the morning to make myself a breakfast of eggs, beans, and sweet potato fries before Boyfriend and I were off to volunteer at the Library Book Sale. We had so much fun organizing books. I do not kid. We literally plotted ways to improve upon the sale next year. So much fun. If you doubted my love of books before, the doubting should cease now. There were some gems—beloved childhood books to all my favorite current reads to the History of Nations, Volume 19: Africa, Boyfriend’s pick. We could have filled a library (or two). There were SO many to choose from.

(It should be noted that I might love organizing more than books. The overwhelming excitement I experienced by spending my free day organizing books. Well that, I cannot explain.)

When we finally left the book sale, hours after the end of our shift… we met friends for some loitering around our neighborhood. And in doing so, we hit up a thousand free samples—Yappy Hour, Whole Foods, Starbucks Frappuccino Hour, Grateful Red—before finding an establishment to settle in and complain endlessly about work. Actually, I think that was just half the group. But it was my half so it shall be documented. The conversation gradually improved to things like food, specifically ice cream sandwiches. Even more specifically to homemade ice cream sandwiches. Naturally, this was our next move. The necessary ingredients were gathered and the baking of cookies ensued. Turns out, ice cream sandwiches require ample (i.e., a lot of) freeze-time. From what I remember, we enjoyed cookies while playing Mario Kart and thought about how great our ice cream sandwiches would be the next time we all get together. That will be in an approximate month, if history repeats.

On Sunday, I ran 14 miles. I like to feel accomplished. Proceeding those two hours of nonsense, I showered. You are more than welcome. Then I immediately ran (yes, more) to Brooklyn Bagels for—you guessed it—bagels. And maybe an egg. And onion. And cheese. I also brought an apple and left over sweet potato fries because I knew the aforementioned simply would not be enough. From breakfast, I convinced Boyfriend a bike ride would be fun. (I can convince him of such fun precisely once a year. This was a BIG deal.) He was sold on the Gravelly Point destination. 

We pretty much sat on a blanket eating snacks as we watched the planes come and go from Reagan National Airport for the entire afternoon. Blissful it was, as I recall. The rest of the night was rather uneventful; I was asleep before 9:00 pm.

Life continues...