On a day when I hate my job (my co-workers annoy the s$#& out of me, my boss is unhappy with everything I do, I can't find an important document, my clients are calling multiple times with the same stupid questions, etc.) I get an e-mail from the U.S. Department of State.
My eligibility as a candidate to become a Foreign Service Officer has been reinstated and extended through April 2009.
If it were appropriate (and not so painful) I would be doing cartwheels down the halls of my office building.
Suddenly all my hopes and dreams of having a career, rather than a job, and doing something important are reawakening.
It's a beautiful feeling.
This is my chance to re-test, score higher, complete the oral interview again, perform better, and improve my chances of actually getting my dream job. I approached it with such a lacsidaisical attitude before, because if I cared too much about it, I had a greater chance of being disappointed. I'm learning that if I don't go for things with discipline and determination (buzz words for the week), I'll still be disappointed, and I'll regret not trying as hard as I could have. I have already registered to take the written exam over again. We'll see where I end up in terms of the oral exam.
I haven't been this hopeful about my future since I started working full-time at Dill and Dill. These little events renew my faith in a God who wants good things for me.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
4:13:12
I completed the Denver Marathon yesterday in a full 22 minutes less than my previous marathon, nearly a whole minute/mile faster. I was shooting for 4:00, but I am pleased with my performance. I ran hard and it was infinitely easier than the first one. I could hardly believe how quickly the miles passed. After the 18 mile point I just kept ticking them off. By 23 I was exhausted, my left hip and right knee began to ache with fatigue, but with less than 30 minutes left, I knew I couldn't stop. I walked about three minutes then pushed through.
Before the race, our head coach reminded us that the first 20 miles of a marathon are about discipline. Discipline to set and keep your pace, discipline to hydrate as planned, discipline to run as you've trained. The last six miles are about determination. It's running with your head, then running with your heart.
The head part was easy. Contrary to my normal approach to life, when it comes to running, I make a plan and stick to it. I have unwavering discipline in my training. I know the advantage. I know how important discipline and organization are to prevent injury and to improve. You can't approach endurance running with a "que sera, sera" attitude - you'll end up hurt and disappointed. So yesterday, I started the race with a hydration and fuel plan, knowing exactly where the aid stations were located on the course. I ran a majority of the course in my training, so I knew every hill, pothole, tree-lined road, steaming piece of asphalt, and landmark I would encounter during the race. I ate, drank, slept as planned the week before. I even handpicked and ordered the playlist on my Ipod, knowing exactly what I would feel like listening to at different points in the race. So the first 20 miles were calculated and comfortable.
The heart part is where it got hard. Once the aches and pains began to set in, I began to doubt that I would meet my goal time. I was only three minutes behind pace at the twenty mile point and just over five minutes behind a gun-time four hour race (a planned pit- stop at mile 16 set me back about six minutes when my headphones got tangled in my fuel belt straps - had been consistently :45 ahead of my pace until that point). That meant picking up the pace thirty seconds faster per mile. With this realization, my determination wilted. So I decided that a 4:10 finish would be acceptable. When I rounded the final, familiar hill, with half a mile left, my determination wilted a little more and I slowed to a jog. Then, I turned the corner, passing the capital building and caught sight of my mom. I picked up the pace, and ran with everything I had left across the finish line. I slowly limped through the runners' finish area, chewing a banana that had appeared in my hand, shaking.
The head and heart take such an opposite role in the rest of my life. I'm rather undisciplined, disorganized, and much less interested in strict rules and guidelines (I am a control freak, so I like OTHER people to follow the rules, but I want to be exempt). My determination has gotten me more than my discipline ever has. I often make decisions with my heart, how I FEEL about something, rarely relying on what I THINK about things. When things aren't going my way, I will them to work out. I keep pressing because I feel that it's right, even if I know there's no logical way for it to be right. So running has become something of a teacher for me. Though laying down rules and a plan for a four hour race is quite different than living daily life in the same fashion.
A couple hours after the race, I was sitting in an ice bath, chatting on the phone with my other marathoner friends, recounting the details. They're the only other people who really get it, and even some of them don't understand why I'm running another 26.2 mile race in just 7 weeks, and then another 9 weeks later.
Perhaps it's because I'm a little crazy. Maybe I like pain. But I can only think of a few things that make me feel better (or even close to as good) as finishing a marathon. It's a test, and I keep getting better. I learn something every time, and throughout the training. It's not just the race itself, it's the whole preparation process. Runs end, but running doesn't. It's also about pride/ego. I run because it makes me like who I am. People ask me if running so much is really very healthy. I can't think of anything better for me.
Before the race, our head coach reminded us that the first 20 miles of a marathon are about discipline. Discipline to set and keep your pace, discipline to hydrate as planned, discipline to run as you've trained. The last six miles are about determination. It's running with your head, then running with your heart.
The head part was easy. Contrary to my normal approach to life, when it comes to running, I make a plan and stick to it. I have unwavering discipline in my training. I know the advantage. I know how important discipline and organization are to prevent injury and to improve. You can't approach endurance running with a "que sera, sera" attitude - you'll end up hurt and disappointed. So yesterday, I started the race with a hydration and fuel plan, knowing exactly where the aid stations were located on the course. I ran a majority of the course in my training, so I knew every hill, pothole, tree-lined road, steaming piece of asphalt, and landmark I would encounter during the race. I ate, drank, slept as planned the week before. I even handpicked and ordered the playlist on my Ipod, knowing exactly what I would feel like listening to at different points in the race. So the first 20 miles were calculated and comfortable.
The heart part is where it got hard. Once the aches and pains began to set in, I began to doubt that I would meet my goal time. I was only three minutes behind pace at the twenty mile point and just over five minutes behind a gun-time four hour race (a planned pit- stop at mile 16 set me back about six minutes when my headphones got tangled in my fuel belt straps - had been consistently :45 ahead of my pace until that point). That meant picking up the pace thirty seconds faster per mile. With this realization, my determination wilted. So I decided that a 4:10 finish would be acceptable. When I rounded the final, familiar hill, with half a mile left, my determination wilted a little more and I slowed to a jog. Then, I turned the corner, passing the capital building and caught sight of my mom. I picked up the pace, and ran with everything I had left across the finish line. I slowly limped through the runners' finish area, chewing a banana that had appeared in my hand, shaking.
The head and heart take such an opposite role in the rest of my life. I'm rather undisciplined, disorganized, and much less interested in strict rules and guidelines (I am a control freak, so I like OTHER people to follow the rules, but I want to be exempt). My determination has gotten me more than my discipline ever has. I often make decisions with my heart, how I FEEL about something, rarely relying on what I THINK about things. When things aren't going my way, I will them to work out. I keep pressing because I feel that it's right, even if I know there's no logical way for it to be right. So running has become something of a teacher for me. Though laying down rules and a plan for a four hour race is quite different than living daily life in the same fashion.
A couple hours after the race, I was sitting in an ice bath, chatting on the phone with my other marathoner friends, recounting the details. They're the only other people who really get it, and even some of them don't understand why I'm running another 26.2 mile race in just 7 weeks, and then another 9 weeks later.
Perhaps it's because I'm a little crazy. Maybe I like pain. But I can only think of a few things that make me feel better (or even close to as good) as finishing a marathon. It's a test, and I keep getting better. I learn something every time, and throughout the training. It's not just the race itself, it's the whole preparation process. Runs end, but running doesn't. It's also about pride/ego. I run because it makes me like who I am. People ask me if running so much is really very healthy. I can't think of anything better for me.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Denver Marathon - Just One More Day
The pre-race nerves have set in full force. We had our last group training run last night, and we were all ready and rearing to go. This taper week has been killer. I can't sit still at work, I can hardly sleep because I have so much energy, the scheduled runs have felt way too short and the rest days way too long. It's like being overly caffeinated 24/7. Really, I think it's a good sign though. If I had overtrained, I would be tired, sluggish, sore, and dreading any sort of run. Before San Diego I wasn't as amped up and ready to go, and I had a fair share of nerves for reasons other than the race itself - being in a new place, transportation, hotel, food, new people, etc. Being home and in a position to keep my routine and my eating habits will give me a real advantage. Not to mention the fact that I've run most of the race course multiple times. Miles 18-22, typically the hardest of a marathon, I'm anticipating to feel really good. Those miles are around Washington Park where I've run twice a week for the last 18 weeks - it's like comfort food: familiar, easy, friendly. In fact the only part of the course with which I'm less familiar is the first 10K. That will be the easiest part in terms of energy level.
My goal for the race was to finish in 4 hours. After talking with my friend Will last night, I think I really need to go for it, puch myself, and try to qualify for Boston with a 3:40 finish. I've trained well, I'm prepared, and a 4 hour finish was reasonable, if not conservative. A 3:40 finish is rather ambitious, but I need to give it a shot. If I don't make it this time, Las Vegas is only 6 weeks away. If I don't make it there, I'll be signing up for another race in February. I am determined to qualify this season. I think I can actually do it. Wish me luck! Post-race report will follow next week.
My goal for the race was to finish in 4 hours. After talking with my friend Will last night, I think I really need to go for it, puch myself, and try to qualify for Boston with a 3:40 finish. I've trained well, I'm prepared, and a 4 hour finish was reasonable, if not conservative. A 3:40 finish is rather ambitious, but I need to give it a shot. If I don't make it this time, Las Vegas is only 6 weeks away. If I don't make it there, I'll be signing up for another race in February. I am determined to qualify this season. I think I can actually do it. Wish me luck! Post-race report will follow next week.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Rollercoaster
After a perfectly wonderful weekend, nothing is more of a let down than walking back through the front doors of the office and sitting down under blaring flourescent lights in front of a computer screen to do a job that doesn't fill my forty-hour week and doesn't come close to filling my brain activity quota for an hour.
Last night I was more than content, almost giddy. I had a perfectly wonderful and satisfying weekend. I saw friends I hadn't seen in a while (twelve years), went for a good run with my favorite running buddy, went out with my brother and some friends, went to the Broncos Game with Casey (even though they lost, the company couldn't have been better), and spent an hour on the phone with Ivy engaged in our on-going conversation about the newest men in our lives.
Monday mornings are all about reawakening to a cruel reality: bills to pay that I can't really afford, an empty refrigerator, a sink full of dirty dishes, a pile of laundry to fold and put away, sheets to change, clothes to iron, cat litter to clean, etc., etc. To top it off, I'm running the Denver Marathon on Sunday, and pre-race anxiety is setting in early. I think it's the combination of training harder this time, feeling more pressure to perform well than I did in the first race, and that my family may actually turn out to watch me in the least spectator-friendly sport ever.
Regardless of all the good things going on in my personal life, my work life is at a stand-still. I'm fairly happy with where I am. I have a job, first of all. Steady income is a true blessing these days. I like my co-workers, most of the time. The liquor licensing work is less than stimulating, even though I do interact with quite a few characters. I took the job knowing it was something I could do for only a couple years. But lately, I've been vividly reminded that there really isn't any potential for promotion, or even much of a pay increase. It's increasingly frustrating to see the attorneys I work for bill $125/hour for my work (in addition to the $350 they bill for their own time), and I never see a dime of that. No matter how much I do (and how little they do) on a case, I still make the same hourly wage. Just last week, one of them had the nerve to complain about only earning $90,000 for that MONTH. That's almost more than I'll make in TWO YEARS after taxes.
So, rather than complaining about it, I started looking for college level teaching jobs today. I previously held a position at Rivendell College, so I sent a friendly inquiry into whether they will have an opportunity for me in the Spring. I also starting preparing an application and updating my Vita to apply for a part-time faculty position at a local community college. It makes me really happy to think about getting back into academia. I miss it. I fully plan to go back to school to get my Ph.D. and then take a University job. But right now, I believe that I am right where I am supposed to be. I don't quite feel the freedom to pick up and move right now. In fact, I've actually considered looking into some Colorado schools instead of going out of state. School has always been a way for me to escape my current circumstances, but I don't feel that same itch in my feet to leave again right now (other than the usual "I need an adventure" itch - but that's a given).
It must be a sign of growing up; wanting to stay in one place. It's a new sensation for me, and I'm not sure if I like it. Responsibility and settling down sounds so boring. The last thing I ever want to be is boring.
Last night I was more than content, almost giddy. I had a perfectly wonderful and satisfying weekend. I saw friends I hadn't seen in a while (twelve years), went for a good run with my favorite running buddy, went out with my brother and some friends, went to the Broncos Game with Casey (even though they lost, the company couldn't have been better), and spent an hour on the phone with Ivy engaged in our on-going conversation about the newest men in our lives.
Monday mornings are all about reawakening to a cruel reality: bills to pay that I can't really afford, an empty refrigerator, a sink full of dirty dishes, a pile of laundry to fold and put away, sheets to change, clothes to iron, cat litter to clean, etc., etc. To top it off, I'm running the Denver Marathon on Sunday, and pre-race anxiety is setting in early. I think it's the combination of training harder this time, feeling more pressure to perform well than I did in the first race, and that my family may actually turn out to watch me in the least spectator-friendly sport ever.
Regardless of all the good things going on in my personal life, my work life is at a stand-still. I'm fairly happy with where I am. I have a job, first of all. Steady income is a true blessing these days. I like my co-workers, most of the time. The liquor licensing work is less than stimulating, even though I do interact with quite a few characters. I took the job knowing it was something I could do for only a couple years. But lately, I've been vividly reminded that there really isn't any potential for promotion, or even much of a pay increase. It's increasingly frustrating to see the attorneys I work for bill $125/hour for my work (in addition to the $350 they bill for their own time), and I never see a dime of that. No matter how much I do (and how little they do) on a case, I still make the same hourly wage. Just last week, one of them had the nerve to complain about only earning $90,000 for that MONTH. That's almost more than I'll make in TWO YEARS after taxes.
So, rather than complaining about it, I started looking for college level teaching jobs today. I previously held a position at Rivendell College, so I sent a friendly inquiry into whether they will have an opportunity for me in the Spring. I also starting preparing an application and updating my Vita to apply for a part-time faculty position at a local community college. It makes me really happy to think about getting back into academia. I miss it. I fully plan to go back to school to get my Ph.D. and then take a University job. But right now, I believe that I am right where I am supposed to be. I don't quite feel the freedom to pick up and move right now. In fact, I've actually considered looking into some Colorado schools instead of going out of state. School has always been a way for me to escape my current circumstances, but I don't feel that same itch in my feet to leave again right now (other than the usual "I need an adventure" itch - but that's a given).
It must be a sign of growing up; wanting to stay in one place. It's a new sensation for me, and I'm not sure if I like it. Responsibility and settling down sounds so boring. The last thing I ever want to be is boring.
Sunday, October 05, 2008
Come on Get Higher
Life just could not be better at this point.
Last time I expressed this sentiment, it was tainted with my anxiety about waiting for the shoe to drop - for the next disappointment. I got it.
This time around, I don't have any sense that the floor is about to drop out from underneath me. I feel safe with where I am and more importantly with who I am.
I had a great realization this summer. It started the weekend of the Wild West Relay. I really admire my friend Christine for always being herself. She's comfortable in her own skin, at peace with who she is, what she wants out of life, and that really emanates. Observing her that weekend made me realize that I put a lot of undue pressure on myself to be perfect. I get really frustrated when I don't feel like my life is picture-perfect. But what I saw in Christine is that she's not perfect either (by perfect I mean adhering to a social standard that is unrealistic and unobtainable for most women) but she likes, no loves, who she is. I want that to be true of me.
So I've tried cutting myself some slack this summer, loosening up a bit, relaxing my unrealistic expectations for perfection. For example, if I skip a training run, I don't kick myself over it for days and tell myself that I'm hopeless and pathetic and I'll never make anything of myself if I can't have the discipline to go for a 45 minute run. Or, if I eat a bite-sized Butterfinger out of the candy dish at work, I no longer berate myself for the rest of the day. It sounds a little extreme, I know; but I so easily believed the lies inside my head, and it's quite liberating to ignore them these days and just enjoy myself a little more.
When it comes to dating, it's had a revolutionary effect. I have always been so insecure around men because I was afraid they wouldn't be attracted to me because I'm not a perfect size 4 with size C breasts. I acted aloof, cold, disinterested, because I was so afraid of being rejected. Rather, I developed "bizarre semi-romantic" relationships with male friends because they were safe. These days I am learning to get over myself and open up a little - believing that if guys initiate with me, make eye contact, smile, that it's a safe assumption they are at least somewhat attracted to me. Even more important is the realization that if I make eye contact, smile, give an encouraging touch, men respond well to me.
I'm seeing someone for the first time in a while - actually dating him; not just doing the stupid, confusing shit I have done for years. And it's easy, fun, comfortable, stimulating. I look forward to seeing him, and everything about his behavior indicates that he likes seeing me.
I read Love the One You're With by Emily Giffin earlier this summer. It's a light, summertime chick novel that happened to be quite cathartic for me. I loved one of the analogies the main character used in comparing her relationship with her ex-boyfriend and her relationship with her husband: One was like climbing a mountain at night, in the rain, the other was like laying on the beach on a beautiful summer day. Her resolution was that the beach wins, everytime. Unfortunately I like climbing mountains at night, in the rain and a day laying on the beach gets boring pretty quick. But I think when it comes to men, I need someone more like a day at the beach. Everything doesn't have to be hard, but I seem to have a knack for making it that way.
This time around I'm trying to relax, bask in the sun a little (with proper SPF coverage, of course), and just take it for what it is. I'm in unfamiliar territory, but I AM one for adventure.
Last time I expressed this sentiment, it was tainted with my anxiety about waiting for the shoe to drop - for the next disappointment. I got it.
This time around, I don't have any sense that the floor is about to drop out from underneath me. I feel safe with where I am and more importantly with who I am.
I had a great realization this summer. It started the weekend of the Wild West Relay. I really admire my friend Christine for always being herself. She's comfortable in her own skin, at peace with who she is, what she wants out of life, and that really emanates. Observing her that weekend made me realize that I put a lot of undue pressure on myself to be perfect. I get really frustrated when I don't feel like my life is picture-perfect. But what I saw in Christine is that she's not perfect either (by perfect I mean adhering to a social standard that is unrealistic and unobtainable for most women) but she likes, no loves, who she is. I want that to be true of me.
So I've tried cutting myself some slack this summer, loosening up a bit, relaxing my unrealistic expectations for perfection. For example, if I skip a training run, I don't kick myself over it for days and tell myself that I'm hopeless and pathetic and I'll never make anything of myself if I can't have the discipline to go for a 45 minute run. Or, if I eat a bite-sized Butterfinger out of the candy dish at work, I no longer berate myself for the rest of the day. It sounds a little extreme, I know; but I so easily believed the lies inside my head, and it's quite liberating to ignore them these days and just enjoy myself a little more.
When it comes to dating, it's had a revolutionary effect. I have always been so insecure around men because I was afraid they wouldn't be attracted to me because I'm not a perfect size 4 with size C breasts. I acted aloof, cold, disinterested, because I was so afraid of being rejected. Rather, I developed "bizarre semi-romantic" relationships with male friends because they were safe. These days I am learning to get over myself and open up a little - believing that if guys initiate with me, make eye contact, smile, that it's a safe assumption they are at least somewhat attracted to me. Even more important is the realization that if I make eye contact, smile, give an encouraging touch, men respond well to me.
I'm seeing someone for the first time in a while - actually dating him; not just doing the stupid, confusing shit I have done for years. And it's easy, fun, comfortable, stimulating. I look forward to seeing him, and everything about his behavior indicates that he likes seeing me.
I read Love the One You're With by Emily Giffin earlier this summer. It's a light, summertime chick novel that happened to be quite cathartic for me. I loved one of the analogies the main character used in comparing her relationship with her ex-boyfriend and her relationship with her husband: One was like climbing a mountain at night, in the rain, the other was like laying on the beach on a beautiful summer day. Her resolution was that the beach wins, everytime. Unfortunately I like climbing mountains at night, in the rain and a day laying on the beach gets boring pretty quick. But I think when it comes to men, I need someone more like a day at the beach. Everything doesn't have to be hard, but I seem to have a knack for making it that way.
This time around I'm trying to relax, bask in the sun a little (with proper SPF coverage, of course), and just take it for what it is. I'm in unfamiliar territory, but I AM one for adventure.
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