Raise your fist with me

Over the new year weekend, I received an email from a friend who used to work for me years ago and was starting the following Monday to work for me again. But it wasn’t about work. It was about who she thinks I am.

It was an email with 41 words and a link. But the most important thing about the email was that she thought this was a thing I would/should (probably more would than should) do.

The end of my 2015 sucked ass. I got sick and spent the weekend before Christmas in the ER and was down for the count for two weeks. I couldn’t leave my bed or my bathroom. Colitis sucks, people.

And then at the beginning of the year,I lost my last cat, my 19 year old companion. I’d lived with her longer than I’d lived with anyone else, even my parents. So, shit was bad, and I hated everything and felt like I hadn’t done anything last year. It was awful. . . But this thing. This thing happened.

It was called www.yearcompass.com. I didn’t look at it over that weekend, but then I looked at it Monday morning, the first Monday of the month, January 4th. How was I going to shape my year? And dude, like I said before, I did SHIT the year before, so there is no reason to look back. I didn’t even write a blog about what I had accomplished for 2015 over the weekend because it seemed like I hadn’t done anything. And I always write something about the year before. And I was sure I did nothing. Absolutely nothing. But then on Monday, the 4th, I read about this booklet.

I told my friend that I would totally do this and would she do it with me and could I write it out and share it with her and would she share hers with me. We agreed.

The next 4 days I spent time doing this “The Year Ahead” booklet. But the first page taught me everything I think about myself is wrong. I am not lazy. I am not terrible. I am not a loser. The irony of these words does not escape me. I mean, every year for the last few years I write the same thing. . . “I’m so lazy. I don’t do anything. But wait. I did do things. Lots of things. Why do I always think I’m such a slag?”

This past year, 2015, is no different.

The first page tells you to consider the following: “Go through last year’s calendar week by week. If you see an imporTant event, family gathering, friendly get-together or significant project, write it down here.”

I didn’t have enough room.

I finished a tarot class
I started a writing group, where one of the writers finished a book
I met Gloria Steinem and Alice Walker at my writing conference
I saw Rose’s Pawn Shop
I stayed overnight with Simon playing games and telling stories about the slumperflurfer that lived under the couch and needed carrots - and every time it got carrots gave a kissing fit to laughing boys
I saw Amanda Fucking Palmer in Vancouver (I’d never been) with all of her TED TALK friends!!
I played smashputt!
I did Lauren’s hair and makeup for prom. She wanted to be cinderella and had a dress to match
I walked a marathon
I went to the women’s world cup
I attended a women’s conference and was inspired; meeting Gloria Steinem and Alice Walker (who does that???)
I stage managed Gary’s 50th birthday and had the fucking time of my life and loved on Gary and Rodney
I orchestrated a winning sock drive for homeless
I watched ET with Ciara. . . Watching movies with her is a healing experience.
I had two bouts of anaphylactic shock that left me on the couch for three total weeks - but it didn’t kill me - so fuck you antibiotics
I finalized my divorce
I went to see March4th and loved on Shannon and Shelia
I attended Derek and Kristin’s wedding, re-connecting with my soul twin Kelly
I lost 20lbs
I told a story as part of an event about my amazing familyship with Ciara
I got Colitis
An employee came back to work for me
I took a road trip to Montana in a corvette
I went to Florida in JULY to hang with my family. And it was amazing and fantastic, reminding me that despite my closed offness, they heal me.
I lost my Willie
I visited Alistair’s family for Doug’s 70th birthday and was reminded how much I belong
I celebrated my and Jennifer’s birthday with oreo cakes
I rooted for the Green Bay Packers at a playoff game with the Seahawks and kept all my friends
I discovered Kat Robicoud
I hired a life coach
I hired an assistant
I stage managed The Lion in Winter and could not be prouder of this production
I wrote more than 50K words.
I asked for help


There were 8 more pages that asked me to relive my most important events, accomplishments, avoidances, challenges, risks,fears,favorite things, people that helped me and that I helped, made me realize what I needed to forgive and let go, and helped me boil my last year into a book title with three themes: learning, change and asking.

The book title to 2015?

The Fool’s Journey.

Don’t judge. If you get it, you get it. If you don’t. Look up the Fool/Tarot.

And then came the planning for 2016.

I am not a planner. . . Not in anyone’s imagination.

But, despite this depression (getting colitis and being in the ER during the week of Christmas and your birthday and then losing your 19 year old cat a two weeks later will totally fuck with you and help you right into the darkness of depression), it gave me hope. It made me smile. It inspired me.

The first thing it asked me was this: What does the year ahead of you look like? What will happen in an ideal case? Why will it be great? Write, Draw, let go of your expectations and dare to dream.

My answer?

Hopeful. Full of family and travel and writing and friends and change. I will leap. I will step off the sidewalk to see what it is like off the path. I will give myself, all the way, to the universe. I will hide nothing, be shamed by nothing. I will close my eyes, throw back my head and my arms out wide to let the universe fill all the space with no apologies. And when I fall, I’ll get back up by asking my loves to give me a hand.

And then I remembered I was going to share this with another person. It was terrifying and I realized I had committed to telling another person of all my failures. But then I looked at my dare to dream statement. How could I NOT share this with her. I had declared my unabashed vuneralbility. I would start out the year being a fraud if I didn’t share it with anyone.

And so I will live it. I believe that stating these things to me. Stating these things to you will inspire, compel and propel me to that. And I’ve shared that statement of dream to many people. Close people and not close people. I want to be free to declare myself always. And so I do.

I am brave
I am courageous
I am vulnerable
I am fragile
I am strong
I am fallible
I am trusting
I am trustworthy
I am worthy

I give myself to the universe.

I believe the universe will give right back.

I know that I can lift my fist in the air and say
Fuck yes.
I am here.
I love.
I am loved.
I see you.
We are connected.

AND I SAY TO ALL MY PEOPLE (you know who you are - I love you):
FUCK YES
YOU ARE HERE
I AM HERE
WE LOVE EACH OTHER
WE ARE LOVED BY EACH OTHER
THANK YOU FOR SEEING ME
WE ARE CONNECTED

Here is to 2016.

p.s. I share with her tomorrow. And I’m not afraid. oh, and here are some pictures https://goo.gl/photos/AVsD66XPUbshyHhFA

and then there was that time you were too busy to write at a writer's conference . . .and it broke you wide open

to even know where to start is difficult. you just spent one of the most magical but exhausting weeks in Mexico at the San Miguel Writer's festival. you didn't know what to expect and you were scared not knowing what to expect.  you figured everyone would know what to do and how to act and that you might not fit in.

the fitting in part . . . well . . . you were young in comparison.  one morning at breakfast, you were talking with someone and you said something about 20 years ago and high school.  the woman to your right stops you short and demands to know your age.  when you tell her you will be 40 this year, she exclaims, "oh!! i thought you were in your twenties!" you tell her you love  her and would like to take her every where with you.  so as far as fitting in, in your age group, you are one of only a handful under 40.  you were few and far between.

as for the fitting in with the "writer" part of you - you have no problem at all. everyone there was there because they love to write or want to write or are trying to get their writing published, read, out there.

the first thing everyone asks you upon your return, is, "did you write your heart out???"

no. no, you did not. you did almost no writing at all. but you have a good excuse . . .

every morning, you wake at about 7:30ish, get ready for the day and head out for breakfast which is to be taken with about 200 other people in large tables. so, you have to find a place that isn't taken yet that has silverware and fruit at the place setting. this is usually between people that are already seated and likely know each other. some are kind and some are not. you talk about what is coming up for the day or what happened the day before. you discuss what you like and what you don't and what you are writing and whether or not you talked to an agent or what strikes you as absolutely amazing from
another author. you wish each other luck and sometimes exchange information and sometimes not have enough time. you re-introduce yourselves because so many people makes remembering names so difficult. your favorite one of these moments is this:

a playwright turns to you as she is running to give her next workshop, "what was your name again, dear?"

"kp, like kitchen patrol."

"kaypea," she repeats, like she is rolling it around on her tongue. "that sounds like a writer's name."

"well, it's the one i've used for the last 20 or so years, so i'm hoping so."

she nods as if this is just right. "well, it's a good one. i'll see you later, kp."

it feels like validation, even if she hasn't heard anything you have written.  she has heard you read before though. you have taken her workshop on what "action" is in a play and we read Gypsy (you read the stage directions). it is fascinating and makes you really appreciate a good play and what moves the play forward. you think it will really help in scenes your fiction.

after breakfast, you run to find a seat in one of your workshops. they are full to the tippy top with 40 or more people in each one and if you don't get there at least 15 minutes early, you will only get a chair and no table (which, of course, makes it difficult to take notes).  then you stuff your brain for the next hour and a half with what ever wonderfulness that happens in the workshop.

after the first workshop, you have a half an hour, along with the other 900 people at this conference, to find a bathroom, grab some coffee or tea or water, change out of your sweater (because now it's no longer FREEZING), and find your next workshop room in time to get a seat with a writing space and that is if you don't talk to anyone - and believe me, you want to talk with people because you've just had this weird shared experience but you can't because you need to pee and you need some water and you need to figure out where you are supposed to be . then you spend the next hour and a half stuffing your brain full of more exciting and cool stuff only to want to talk with someone about that workshop too - and the one before, but you need to find a bathroom and lunch and there is a line and there is a keynote speaker you want to listen to in less than an hour and you want a good seat.

then you listen to a most amazing author tell you about his or her experience with their writing and their research and how they fell in love with what they do. and you cry. hard. so hard that you go back to your room an hour and half later, having taken no heed of the wetness on your face that your best friend says, "um, you have mascara all down your face." and you look, and you do - you have mascara all down your face, and you don't even care.

then you go on an amazing "excursion" where you are crawling to some local cantinas listening to a beatnik inspired performance that takes you back to when Uncle Bill really existed and you cry because you think of your first husband and how cool he would think this is. you look over to your best friend and you squeeze her hand for so many reasons, not the least of which is her being there Like Water for Chocolate. and when you aren't there, you are eating tacos and running into those same said people.
with  you and not the most of which is her just knowing this is the thing you need and will love and is the most right thing for you. and if you aren't crawling to cantinas, you are watching cooking classes and giving beer to the presenters and hearing a most amazing new orleans accent tell you of all the wonders of

and after these excursions, you are trying to find your place in a ballroom for another author speaker where you are inspired to buy his book (and spend hours trying to find a way to buy it in the united states since it's only available in canada) to send it to your favorite artist because she's writing her own book about art and what it means to ask for supporting art. and you think about how weird it is that all things are connected and how everything finds itself eventually, over and over and over.

then it's time for dinner, or a fiesta . . . with a donkey. . . and mescal with shot glasses around your neck. . . and then it gets to be after 11pm and you know you are supposed to be up for the next day to do this all over again.

and you do this for five days. . .

and you are so busy you aren't even taking pictures and you are so glad because your best friend is here taking pictures. you are too busy to take pictures, or read, or write, or even have time to pick at your fingers. . . they've never looked so good.

and while you are at a fiesta with a donkey you meet the production manager and sound and lighting people and you gush over how much you noticed how they saved the day. and they give you their card and the next day when you are barely figuring out where you are supposed to be, they want to see you and they ask you if you will help them with this Shakespearean play that is to go on the next night and can you do rehearsal? and OF FUCKING COURSE YOU CAN because you cannot wait to see the actual show and these people want you to HELP THEM?  of course you want to do this. and you rehearse with them and these two amazing Shakespearean actors who tell you that you are doing great work and they are tired, and you are tired, and the sound and light people are tired and you tech this show like a bitch. and they love you and you love them and they give you cupcakes and water. because they are awesome.


and then you go through your day and stuff your brain and run a show like a boss. and you are proud and you have fun and you are grateful. and then you get to go out with your best friend who came all this way to hang with you and your new friend (her old friend) and you talk and drink and listen and eat volcanoes of shrimp and pork and steak and chicken and fish and it bubbles and erupts and is amazing. . . and comes with a side of guacamole you cannot possibly replicate.

and on the last day you have where you aren't in some workshop reaching too deeply within yourself , you explore the city with your best friend and her friend, your new friend. you hike up crazy hills, worse than you have ever hiked on any of your marathons (and maybe it only seems like this because you are at 6000 feet). you take so many pictures of doors while thinking of your mother and magic and stories you want to write. and you spend money on rings and bags and other day of the dead-type fabrics for your family. and you eat - oh, do you eat. and then you try to nap by the pool, but the sky is so blue and the temperature is too hot and you are to distracted by both to be able to read or write, so you still do neither and you go back to your room to nap because, HOLY HELL, you need a nap on this 6th day.

and then you get on a plane, and you cannot sleep, but you read. voraciously. you read your new friend's work and a book by an author that did a workshop that touched you so deeply you buy her books. you don't buy anyone else's books, but you buy hers and you carry them around for days waiting for her to be available to sign them for your step-daughter. and you cry while you read this book and you realize how all of these things are so connected over and over and over.

and you think about this whole week and how amazing it all is - you think how all these things are connected to each other over and over and over.

and then you break open - wide

and THEN you write 

you write your mother. and you cry, unabashedly as you write more than 2000 words to her with less than an hour left on the plane ride home. and you still don't care that the tears are coating your neck as you cannot type fast enough to share with her all of the things you need to tell her. and how you will always write to her from now on.

and you are happy. because you are a writer. and you have been opened like a new book cracked - that sound that is so satisfying yet a little sad because it is the only time that sound will be made.

and you continue to share. . .

the sky is the limit. . . looks pretty wide open to me

a magical universe

I've been avoiding writing all day.  Pretty successfully, if I don't say so myself.  I've been actually avoiding writing for about a week (or more).

If I were a new mother, it's like I have Mastitis and until the blockage is removed, my boob is gonna really hurt. If I were at work, it's like there is a backlog of messages waiting to clear but can't until I move the file in error.  If I were Dr. Sheldon Cooper and didn't think through my friend formula, I'm stuck in an infinite loop until Howard gives me a counter for my looping structure.  If I'm opening a show, it's like tech week. . . until  opening night.

And today the universe was magic - it's a bit long, but I think it'll make sense and this fulfills a promise I've made to tell you about why I'm writing.

I have written in journals for a large portion of my life, but really only in journals.  You have recently seen that I'm branching out and writing fiction.  I've wanted to be a writer my whole life (my journals tell me so and I'll explain more on that later) but I guess I took a different path.  Then this whole internet thing happened and I started reading blogs - lots of them.  It made me think - hey, I can do that.

sampling of some of my journals (some purchased, some gifted)

So, I originally started this blog to write, but more importantly tell my friends and family back in Wisconsin what Alistair and I were up to. It was fun.  I wrote about our "escapades" - our outings to the mountains, the Blue Angels scaring the cats, letting my sister know how her daughter was doing while she was out here, Alistair's cancer scare, you know - life.  As I go back through the posts from back then, it's clear I was "journaling", but instead of doing it in a book, I was doing it online.  I wasn't really forming thoughts or arguments or doing anything really creatively significant.  It was more just facts.  But I was writing!

Then Alistair died.  The last post before that happened is actually of the last Sunday I ever saw him; he went back to school the next week. It was actually almost the last time I wrote for a year. I wrote two more times before I stopped.  Here are pictures from that last time - I think it helps you understand why I didn't write for a year.

This first one is from 9/7/2007 - It's what I had to write down to know what to do when I got to Montana - I wrote it on the plane.  It's the only thing I wrote until the night before planning the funeral.

That night, I woke up at about 2am and had a terrible physical reaction.  I locked myself in the bathroom with Alistair's iPod (the police gave it to me that day) and started writing feverishly.  What I was writing came directly from Alistair's iPod.  I was writing every song from the 25 most played songs  on the iPod and the 25 most recently played songs. I was terrified that I was going to lose what he had been listening to and writing it down was the only thing that could make it real and make it so no one could take it from me.

This last picture is of the rest of the journal.  It's empty. I stopped writing.

A year later, I wrote two entries on the blog.  One was of me just missing Alistair, and the other was about how I was avoiding thinking about Alistair.  But at least I wrote something.  There are no other journal entries or writings of any other kind anywhere during that time.  It took me about 6 more months before I wrote again.  And then I just slowly started.

I wasn't writing to be a writer at that point.  I was writing to . . . connect . . . to work through my stuff. . . to feel.  And that's sort of where the journey of being a writer emerged.

Through the course of writing about my struggles, I started sharing it with people that were having some of the same struggles - mostly physical struggles (I was having neck and back problems).  I shared my neck and back pain writing with someone from work.  She ended up reading the whole blog.

One day, she came to me after a meeting and told me the stories I shared had touched her deeply and that I was a good writer and should consider doing it professionally. It meant the world to me for two reasons.  1) It was the first time anyone had said that to me in my adult life and 2) She is a deeply private person and isn't the type to share how affected she is by their personal stories.  Her compliment hit and sank into a place I had never really allowed myself access.

I didn't do anything about it for another year other than continue to post.

That's when the universe became magically connected (as it is wont to do).

If you spend any time with me or spend any time reading my Facebook or twitter feeds, you'll know I'm unnaturally obsessed with Amanda Palmer.  But everything about her - her music, her blog, her art, her words - moved me.  She said the things I had been trying to express.  Her unabashed openness, vulnerability, and talent pushed me to ask myself, "what are you afraid of?" She taught me to not be afraid.  She just did a TEDtalk about The Art of Asking - watch it, she talks about vulnerability and what it can do.

At the same time, Terri Weagant and Jesse McNeece and I were working on Cabaret in 2012 and we spent a lot of time together - working, talking, drinking, inspiring.  Jesse said to me (and I'll paraphrase because my memory isn't that good, but the sentiment is exactly what he meant), "doing art isn't hard, you just have to be brave enough to just make a decision and start."

Terri and I kept talking about doing a project together and we had many nights where we talked about what that would be.  I shared with her my passion for writing and she introduced me to the Artist's way which unblocked a huge damn in me.  And then she made a crazy suggestion.  She asked me to go back and read my journals - the early ones - the ones from when I was in middle school or high school.

my The Artist's Way book

It was FASCINATING.  And completely hilarious. But it told me something very important - I had wanted to be a writer since I started writing in journals.

So armed with Amanda's permission (well, really mine that she helped me see), Jesse's quote and Terri's nudge, I made a decision to start - and just wrote.  and wrote. and wrote.  Not all of it was posted, some of it was.

While I was in Turkey with Mikal, I started thinking about taking a writing class.  Very seriously thinking about taking a writing class - so seriously that I asked my best friend, Ciara, if she thought it was a good idea.  I also asked if we could ride together for class (she teaches at University).  She was hugely supportive of the idea and helped me write my admission letter AND I don't think I could have gone to that first class without her being there on the way.  She also has been sharing ridiculous resources with me (she's defending her PhD this year in Comparative Literature - so SCORE!).

And then there is my mom.  When I told her about this, she sent me a book about writing.  Her inscription made me cry (I'm not sharing that because I'm keeping it for me when I need it). But to know she supported this endeavor filled up my soul.  She's always been supportive, but this one was different for me.

a magical inscription that brings me strengths lies within

And so - now I write fictional stories.  I've shared one of those stories and people have been very encouraging.  I'm still terrified that I'm not good, so there are many that I haven't shared.

Brittany and Nate have also played key roles in my success in this journey.  They read my stories.  They love them all (however undeserving that may be) AND they give me feedback to make them great.

And Jen brings me smiles when I'm stuck.  I demand pictures for my soul and she delivers (like today).  She and her family are a respite from my real life (both work and writing) and there are several free write pieces I've written about their bundle of joy.  He makes me smile and unlocks my playfulness (which I need because a lot of my pieces are pretty dark).

And then, this morning I was having a conversation with Mikal and it went something like this:

Mikal: what's wrong?

me: I am avoiding writing and it's hard to do anything because I'm so scared I'm writing the wrong thing and then I'm just scared I'm not doing any writing.

Mikal: Sometimes just starting is the hardest thing.

He's wise, my husband.  And a huge supporter of my writing. Without him, I wouldn't have even asked Ciara if it was a good idea.  He listens when I need to read out loud.  He gives me his opinion and allows me to ignore it.

Crazy universe.  I love that you are magically connected.

So, I'm now unblocked, I've moved the file in error, I'm not stuck in an infinite loop, and the show has opened.

me at an AFP concert with Ciara: photo credit Terri Weagant

thank you magical universe

breathing out loud

I feel too much.  I love too hard.  I think too fast.  I fear too secretly. I believe too little. I cry too reservedly.  I laugh too loudly.

I feel and sometimes it's a problem.

I'm not sleeping right now.  I would say that it is due to insomnia, but I think the nightmare I barely remember is actually what kept me from falling back asleep.

These kind of nights I cannot make the madness in my brain stop.  It goes from work to school to family back to work to writing to my day to my mistakes and back and forth and back and forth. In fact,   in the last two hours I have read three short stories, written feedback, drafted blog postings, drafted fictional stories, transcribed some existing writings, watched a movie and cried.  None of these things were done without being interrupted by another.

I actually have several postings that I've started but need some alone writing time to do them.  I haven't made the time.  It's silly.  I should. I will. I am strong enough.

This one?  This one is about just admitting I feel crazy and sad and happy all at the same time.  I think it's more for me this time.  I guess I needed to breath out loud.

thank you for listening

How many miles? Holy ravioli!

Today is the day before I walk a marathon. . . and I'm not quite sure what to do with myself.  I think if my mom were here, she'd be commiserating with my husband as if I were dressing for a huge event, like Prom.  I'm really crazy when it comes to these types of events and although I'm normally pretty normal, on big event days (like, let's say, company holiday parties, prom, and marathons. .  ), I'm way crazy - like 4 cups of coffee crazy.  And today isn't even the day. . . So I'm going to write to you all with the hope I become less crazy.  And you might want to settle in because this is a long one.

How long is that, you ask?  Um. . . 26.2 miles.

I was trying to remember when I said I'd do the marathon.  I knew it had been captured via email, or I'm sure I would have gotten out of so much exercise.  I went looking for the email, and started laughing out loud from the exchange.  I'm going to re-print the excerpt here because it's cute and gives you a glimpse into how fantastic and supportive Ciara is.  This exchange happened while Ciaracat was away in Europe during July and I was missing her.  We'd been emailing back and forth for about a week on this chain and I was espousing my laziness (and she hers) . . . and then she asked me this. . .(oh, btw - ciaracat is funny and for context - Suz is ciaracat's best friend since childhood - she's also an all around most fantastic woman)

 ---------------------

From ciaracat to me:

You don't want to sign up for the marathon in November do you?? Suz is going to come up and do it. And I'm really nervous. But excited about having a new goal an something to train for.

I love you. And hope

You're not too

Lazy to see me. 

From me to ciaracat:

Ok. . . so. . .committing to a marathon

we're walking, right?

I'll say yes IF we are just walking - but I'm gonna need to seriously get off my ASS!!!!

and I won't be too lazy to see you. . . I promise. 

 (btw - the sun agrees with you)

From ciaracat to me: 

Um YAH we’re walking. Have you EVER known me to even run after a bus???

Crack bird mama!!

That would be amazing.

For the record I have not started my training yet so...!!

From me to ciaracat:

I was just checking. . . I mean. .. dude. . . a marathon is just so (well, what's the word?) . . . so . . .daunting.

but yes, I will do it!  send me links (again) so I can officially be accountable for doing it.

From ciaracat to me:

Honey. It Is huge. And I will NOT think anything if you think it's too much right now. Seriously. I'm shitting my pants for roping Suzanne in to it!! For me there's no Going back!! So!! Don't worry about feeling not ready yet!!

If you want to look up more the info is just at Seattle marathon 2012. Don't have the link handy at the mo. 

Love u!

From me to ciaracat:

No worries, will do some official googling. . .

and it isn't too much in fact, it might be just enough right now.  I need to figure out something to work for!!

----------------------

And actually, when I check the dates on these emails, I see that she asked me that EXACTLY four months ago today - HOLY CRAP - only 4 months ago???  How is that possible?  I can't believe I actually trained to be ready for this thing in only FOUR MONTHS????  

How long is that, you ask?  Um. . . 26.2 miles and at the end of this journey I'll have gone more than 100 miles.

I have to say, it's been a most amazing journey. 

I was born with a club foot (it sounds worse than it is) and was actually a Forrest Gump kid, complete with a brace contraption that had a leather belt around the waist, two metal pole like things down each side of my legs and a metal plate between the two shoes.  I think there is only one picture I have with it and I can't say I remember spending a lot of time in it.  At age 5, I had surgery to fix my foot permanently.  I had a wonderful doctor (in 1979!) and he did such a good job you would never know today that I had this "disability."  In fact, I used to run pretty regularly as a kid.  I was on the track team and ran hurdles and relays.  Don't get me wrong, I had my fair share of troubles.  I sprained my foot many times and had several stress fractures (it's my right foot and as such I used it as my lead leg as a hurdler. . . that's a lot of stress).  I did stop running sometime in high school after a particularly bad injury that required a visit to a doctor who said, "you're running?  you shouldn't be walking let alone running."  Of course, I'm paraphrasing what I remember about that day and it probably wasn't that bad. . . but that is how it felt.  The thing I DO remember most about that day at the doctor's was afterwards, my mom and I left the office quietly and on the way to the car she says, "well that calls for a snickers bar"- mom is awesome and knew chocolate would cure all at age 16.  I stopped running after that but don't worry, I have not been a total lazy hack. 

With all of that history, I knew, as did Ciara, I needed a good pair of walking shoes.  We went to Road Runner Sports in Green Lake to get tested.  They take a picture of your gate and also a pressure test of your feet (see, my right foot looks like I don't put any pressure on the ball of that foot).  20 minutes later, I was out the door ready to take on our walking goals.  

Ciara and I started out just walking a couple of miles at a time which didn't seem so bad and we'd done that so much anyway going down to baseball games and concerts in Sodo.  We went around Green Lake a couple of times, but, we decided after the second time, if we had to do any length of time we'd get bored going around in circles and planned city trips from then on.  It was through that kind of thinking that I learned so much about my awesome city!

we were ready to do this thing!

so many people!

It wasn't long after I said I would do the marathon, I did my first 10K (which is officially 6.21 miles in case you need the conversion - I usually do).  I hadn't walked any more than 3.5 or maybe 4 miles at this point and so I was really nervous.  This first race was the Lake Union 10K and I walked it with Trish West - a most amazing woman who had never done this before either!  I have to say, 6 miles seemed SO MUCH LONGER than I had ever walked before.  But it was cool to walk down the middle of highway 99.  There were so many people and I was afraid of being last even though that was silly.  I've included a picture of the 5km mark.  I remember going - OK - half way to go!!!!  Dang, that last half was rough!  But we made it (and we weren't last!).

half way. . . half way to go!

I did it!

After that, it was clear more training was needed (duh!).  We did my first 7 mile walk from Capitol Hill to the U-District on the Burke Gilman trail where we ended with beer, chips and salsa.  This became a theme - beer and food as our reward, cuz, let's be honest, why else do something so crazy without rewarding yourself!  I had never really walked around on the Burke Gilman before and it was beautiful.  They have this sculpture where you can pretend you are a picture and, of course, there are the boats and views of any bridge over the lakes.

Ciara and I did our first 10K together about two weeks after my first and then one week after, we walked 7 miles.  This time the actual length wasn't so bad!  I was nervous though, because I remembered how long that last half of that 10K seemed.  The cool thing about this 10k (it was Seattle Marathon's 10k), was that we went under the highway 99 bridge in downtown Seattle!  So cool.  I cried pretty hard after this one for a couple of reasons.  First, it was really cool to cross the finish line with Ciara (she's inspired me so much and I was so grateful to have her with me), secondly, they had military folks down there giving us ribbons as we crossed the line (how can you not be grateful at that?) and lastly, and really most importantly to me, Mikal came down and cheered us on and drove us home!

Then I went to Turkey and stopped "training" in the traditional sense. . . well, let's be honest, I only trained in so much as I walked every day, but not hard, not fast, and I stopped a lot - to eat, to admire ridiculously awesome sites and to lie on the beach. . . so - for two weeks, I was on intermission. . .

Upon my return, I had signed up for the Lifelong AIDS Alliance walk on Capitol Hill - it was only a 5K and I roped my step-daughter into it.  She was nervous at first, but we ended up having a great time, walking 3.1 miles and giving to a great cause.  Lauren swears next year we'll be the Tummy Wombat Family and get a bunch of people to be a team, dress up all crazy like and have another great time. Who doesn't like walking down the middle of the street, going through red lights, and making traffic wait for you?  

It was now time for the big leagues.  Ciara and I needed to train a little bit harder and a little bit longer.  We signed up for a half marathon in Vancouver, WA called the Girlfriend's Half Marathon and it was only three weeks away.  We started by scheduling every Saturday a walk of some large amount of miles.  We walked to Shilshole marina which was my first 10 mile walk.  The best part was meeting one our friends at Zayda Buddy's in Ballard.  Beer, tator tot casserole and pizza were the rewards.  So amazing. . .

Two weeks later, we were in the half marathon.  To think I hadn't walked 13 miles before and that I would do it that day was a bit daunting.  We didn't talk much (I think it was mostly me. . . ) when we first got there.  There were more women than I had seen in one place, EVER.  Before the race we waited in line with about 1000 (and I am NOT exaggerating) women to go to the bathroom and met a couple of older women we saw later on the course.  They were really sweet and took our picture before we started.  I found it exciting, later that day, to wave and say good luck as we were passing them on the way back.

We also met Betty.  She was our godsend, I think.  She must have been at least 65 (though, who knows these days) and as Ciara and I were cheering ourselves on to get to the Miller Lite at BW3, Betty struck up a conversation with us about what to eat before and after the walks.  She's been on (wait for it) SIX (yes, that is the number 6) marathons!  We walked with her for the next bit in the marathon before we were passed by her (we did stop, to be fair) and then we passed her later on!  She and her friend told us how to train for the marathon.  We learned we shouldn't be walking as fast as we want to during the actual marathon - it's about putting in the miles and getting your body ready for the actual length of time you'll be out there.  We felt so much better after meeting Betty.  I'm not going to lie, the last three miles were excruciating!!  Betty also taught us to change it up a little while we were walking, so now, when  you see me and Suzanne and Ciara walking, we sometimes do this weird dancing thing or we do high knee lifts when it gets tough.  Go ahead, laugh, it works. . . and I'll keep looking like a moron if it keeps me from wanting to die on the course. 

We were never alone on the course because there were so many other women and (as you can see in some of the pictures) everyone was was excited to be in the race and were really supportive of each other.  We would cheer for the runners coming back the other way and for each other when it looked like we were having a rough time.  Complete strangers would clap for us and cheer us on.  I probably cried on the course about 5 times.  It was completely amazing. 

The last 3 miles of the course were pretty rough.  I thought I was getting a blister and, as I mentioned earlier, I never walked 13 miles before, so the end was really really hard.  But we made it and I was so excited I picked Ciara up and twirled her around.  I only asked later if I hurt her (luckily I hadn't!)!  And as we crossed the finish line, there was a receiving line of officers and volunteers handing out water bottles (with water in them, thankfully!!) and medals!  My first official MEDAL!!!  We could not wait to reward ourselves with some beer and chicken wings.  

Unfortunately it was a Sunday which meant lots of people and football. . . service was less than desirable for two really hangry (yes, hangry) peeps that just walked 13 miles and spent more than 1350 calories!  BUT, when the food came, it was SOOOO good.  I don't think Ciara and I talked to each other until after we inhaled food.  The worst part of the trip was actually the ride/drive home.  I am grateful Ciara was driving because it was a THREE HOUR drive and it poured the ENTIRE way home.  Talk about a sucky end to an awesome day.  We did make it home safely and both fell into bed exhausted but so happy about our accomplishment!

The next weekend was 16 miles.  Honestly, Ciara and I were freaking out because 16 miles is SOOOO long and we remembered how hard the last 3 miles were the week before.  But the funny thing about "training" is that. . . well. . . it works. The other thing that we noticed was that it didn't seem so long this time.  For this training session, we walked to and from Alki Beach.  We saw some cool stuff on the way to Alki - there was the skate park under the expressway and the shipping canal. It's amazing that this city has all these crazy walkways to connect different parts of the city.  We crossed to West Seattle and on the Alki side, we saw the beautiful trees and of course, Seattle!

When we got across to West Seattle we kept commenting on how NOT hard it was.  After much discussion, we have a theory (and it's possibly total bunk, but it's our theory and we're sticking to it). When we were in Vancouver, WA, a city neither of us know, it was hard to gauge how far we were and how far we had left.  Here in Seattle, we know the city, and we knew how much longer we had to go and how far we'd been.  It really made it easier. But again, those last three miles really sucked, especially since we decided to come back up through the Pike/Pine corridor and there were people and stop lights.  This dramatically impedes your progress when you are trying to get home.  Our worst mistake for this 16 miles was not choosing a place to drink beer and eat food for afterwards.  The mac and cheese I made for myself just wasn't as satisfying as I wanted it to be.

The following week was only an 8 mile walk.  I believe we were scheduled to go on Saturday, but after much imbibing by both Ciara and myself (independently from each other - we're not always bad influences on one another), we postponed until Sunday. . .we both needed some . . . rest.  But the next day - IT WAS ON!  And man, it seemed like NOTHING compared to what we had done the two weeks prior.  That week, I saw the sculpture park which I had never seen before.  It was beautiful to walk down on the water and across the Amgen bridge and up a Queen Anne trail (though there was much cursing Ciara for this particular path - but we needed to do some hills because the actual marathon has a bunch of them).  I found that after the hill, much to my dismay, I was energized and refreshed.  We were supposed to go up the big Denny Hill on the way home, but I totally bagged out and went to GameWorks to meet my family and have fries and beer.  Ciara is a better woman than I.

Then there was the 20 miles.  The coolest part about this 20 mile walk was that we were doing it with Suzanne - thanks to technology!  We had a three way text going on and were cheering each other on!  It was a bit grey here in Seattle (and 70 degrees for Suzanne in San Fran) and we were expecting some rain.  We had only had a little taste of bad weather during the 16 mile week on the way back from Alki - it freaking hailed on us.  I think there is a picture of it. . . hailed. . . seriously? right?  So, we were hoping we'd get some rain on our 20 mile walk so we would know what it could be like on a really bad day during the marathon.  

not discouraged by the amount of miles!

The walk itself was beautiful.  One of the things Ciara and are continually amazed by is the awesome neighborhoods here in Seattle.  There are awesome parks and houses and you would never know they were even there!  Most of the pictures from this walk day are from Ciara (she's definitely on the ball when it comes to recording our walks and could probably be the source for any walking magazine if they needed pics!).  

we laugh at the rain!

For some reason, neither Ciara nor I were very pleased around the 10 mile mark.  My ankle hurt and I had wrapped it so. . . this was a little discouraging.  Then we got "lost" in Seward Park (aka we took a forest trail rather than going around it on the paved trail).  We discovered having crap kicked up on the backs of your legs sucks more than getting wet - sucks WAY more. . . But we got through it and mostly didn't have any rain until we got to Beacon Hill and then it started to rain a little bit.  Our theory about "knowing where we are going makes the miles seem not so bad" actually held up until we saw that we had 2 miles left and Capital Hill looked . . . so . . . far. . . away. 

Our plan was to have Mikal drive us to The Hurricane where we would eat and drink.  Ciara and I were so tired we barely spoke  (it's tougher when no one is cheering you on) while we shoved food and beer down our throats.  I am not sure either of us tasted it.  We looked pretty funny too. . . talk about two old women trying to get in and out of the car - it was pretty funny.  The 20 miles was too much for my ankle though, but thanks to a great doctor and two cortisone shots later, it is as good as new.

who knew there was the path all the way back to downtown

Seward park is beautiful

we didn't have a membership, so we kept walking

ridiculous, no?

I had never been this far to I-90 except when I drove on it

so pretty!

the rocks hate Ciara

caught in the act!  there is no sitting on this trip!

we could see the city - it just seemed so far away!

ahh

The two weeks after the 20 mile walk felt like 10 minute jaunts.  And we even did four hills!

So - it's less than 12 hours away now and I cannot think of anything else.  Yesterday, Suzanne, Ciara and I went to pick up our packets. . . I have an official number 19063 and a shirt.  I'm very nervous but we have amazing support in our best friends and partners (thank you Tori and Mikal!).

I am about to walk an entire marathon. . . 

How long is that, you ask?  Um. . . 26.2 miles.

yeah -  holy ravioli - see you at the finish line - I'll be the one hugging her two friends and crying.