Thank you, 2011, for Kicking My Arse

…but in a good way. My arse was so kicked I didn’t even have time to tell you all how kicked it was. I only wrote two blog entries in 2011, which is kind of nutty and makes me a feel a little bit sad. This blog is my friend, and I seem to have neglected my friend. But blog-friend should understand- getting your arse kicked is no joke.

Now, the arse-kicking I speak of is that kind of lesson-learning, beautifully humbling, sweetly loving, and gently prodding kind of arse-kicking that most of us enjoy, at least in retrospect. It can be a struggle, but ultimately the arse-kicking moments just become part of my infinite list of blessings, and I’m left feeling like I’ve learned a hell of a lot, at Walmart prices.

Thou Shalt Not Forget Aunt Squiddie

When I miss my family, it feels like someone opened up a can of whup-ass on my soul. When I say goodbye to them after a visit to CA, my sadness is tempered by the knowledge that I will likely talk to my mom, dad and sisters regularly and often until my next visit. But my heart starts to break when I say goodbye to the six sweeties who are my nieces and nephews. I am genuinely worried they will forget me before my next visit. So, to account for the squirley electrical nature of memories, I’ve implemented two strategies:

1) Be in their faces: I’ve started to send them all framed pictures of me+them to hang on their walls. My goal is to force myself repetitively into their little minds every time they look up and see me smothering them with Auntie love. They shalt not forget Aunt Squiddie or her love-clutches.

2) Infiltrate the older ones: Actual message on VM: “Hi Aunt Squiddie. It’s Maya. Mama put your phone number in my phonebook and said I can call when I want. So, I wanted to call…um… just ‘cause. So, you can call me back if you want and we can talk… if you want. Ok, bye Aunt Squiddie.” Maya (now 9) and I have started to call each other every couple of weeks, um... just ‘cause. We like to chat. We like to shoot it. We like to catch up. Um… just ‘cause. Sometimes she puts Max and Brynnie on the phone too. More difficult conversations with the young ones, but for someone who wants to just hear their little voices, this will suffice.

The Mike Trifecta

Mike #1: “Why don’t you take a week off and really rest your body.” Gulp…

Mike #2: “He’s right. You might want to even take two weeks off and rest your body.” Double gulp…

Mike #3: “Good, now that’s it’s been two weeks, I don’t think you should run until all your pain symptoms are gone.” Ahhhhhhrrrggghhhhh!!!!!

Ho. Lee. Hell. These suggestions from the Mike Trifecta resulted in two months off from running. Ultimately their wisdom lead to the very successful Sarah Weigel Couch-to-50-mile program (not to be confused with the Sarah Weigel Marathon of 2009, Scott Weigel). The couch-to-5K program (weeks 1-4) were the hardest I’ve ever been through- lungs screaming, sore everything, walking breaks, cursing the heavens… you name it. Those first three miles are the worst! I have SO much respect for new runners now, and that will live in me forever.

I learned more about my body and mind as an athlete in those 2-3 months than I ever have before. I have big plans for running this year, and I don’t want stupid decisions, like running through injury, to get in the way… if nothing else, it isn’t worth battling through those first three miles again.

Where the hell are all my witnesses?

2011 boasted one of the big loneliness shockers of my life. I envy the people I know who have close and frequent fact-to-face contact with others who share a deep history with them. I didn’t know it until my friend Jamie moved back home (east) to New England, and I was filled with a crazy clingy glee that there were now two whole people on the east coast who knew me before I moved out here. And not only that, they knew me before I realized Mike was my dream man (when we were just friendseys).

I had no idea that I would be subsequently hit with a profound longing for my friends and family, scattered all over the world, witnesses to my first 32 years on Earth who don’t know me as: 1) “Sarah, Mike’s girlfriend”, or 2) “that crazy CA girl who decided to move east” and often added 3) “who insists on running with us”. Please don’t get me wrong though, I LOVE being known as Mike’s girlfriend and CA girl, I just miss my other people (see Is Anyone Else Here a Hare Krishna?).

I described this to my best girlfriends, and their response was a resounding, “Yep. That sounds about right”. Each of them understands the fear of a past identity being lost in your present-day shuffle, and the nostalgia it brings for past people and places to remind you of who you are, or to hear someone else say, “Oh yeah! I remember that too!” when you tell a story.

People and place help create identity, so when you change both of those up all at once, you are left scratching your head and wondering, “where the hell are all my witnesses?”. It’s not a bad thing, it’s just a thing I never knew mattered. A thing to adjust to. That’s all.

Puppy-Pile

And now, the puppy pile of events that added to the arse-kicking:

Finishing a job, starting a new job

Buying a beautiful home and tightening the financial belt

Making new friends, and trying to keep in touch with the old ones

Utter success and utter failure, utter delight and utter disappointment

Saying goodbye to some familiar things

What went down during miles 39-46

The elation of having the love of your life pop the question

The sweet rhythm, the “go team”, the delightful mellow of being with someone you totally dig.

Exhaustion from work, exhaustion from play

My temperamental gut and my grumpy hip

Having faith in people, trusting people, authenticity with people, patience with people

All of the above, but with myself

Having SO much love in me that I don’t know what to do with it all- I may explode.

Happy New Year, Everyone! I hope 2012 kicks your arse!

(…but in a good way)