Julie Says... The Neverending Story

Right. So the countdown timer is all zeroes. Er hm. As am I.

The good news is this: wacky winter weather caused the cancellation of the Myrtle Beach Marathon. I'm not sure that's good news really, just comforting for my ego. See... if I had endured this scary town and horrible weather to prep for this marathon, it would all have been for nothing anyway.

All sighs today. I miss running. Or, not so much the running, as the running outdoors in nice weather part. I miss the smell of the woods. I miss the feeling of mud squishing between my toes. I miss losing myself in effort, turning the brain off to favor the body. I miss the sensation of evaporating sweat. Gross, right?

Where did we go anyway? What happened? (Like anyone is paying attention anyway).

Life, in short. It has been almost a year since we started and subsequently abandoned this blog and goal. My sister and I both have had eventful lives in that time. I can't help but wonder if this marathon goal actually did function as a kick in the pants for the both of us.

To quote myself (really, why not? blogs are inherently narcissistic, aren't they?)

Just because you end up on the path, if it’s not really where you want to go, you don’t have to finish. It’s not quitting. It’s being honest.

There's a story to go along with that, but appropriately, I have never finished it :) Gee, that makes me giggle.

If you're bored, below is part one of the story, though you should be warned that I may never produce part two, and you will ever be bereft of a suitable ending.


In the summer of 2005, my friends invited me to spend a weekend camping at Yosemite National Park. I suspect the reasons for inviting me on this trip had less to do with the value of my company and more to do with an act of charity. Still suffering from too-fresh memories of Iraq and a recent gut-wrenching end to a four-year relationship, I had little interest in doing anything. Agreeing to join the trip was a big step for me. It was no surprise then that despite much cajolery, I refused participation in their plan to hike 17 miles round-trip to Half Dome. The morning of the hike, they left around 5am. Refusing to leave my sleeping bag, I wormed myself outside and into a camp chair to stare at ducks in the rising sun. Eventually motivated by guilt and shame from not joining in the hike, and maybe a little uplifted by watching those ducks racing in the Merced River, I strapped on my backpack and set off to have my own solo adventure.

It started innocently enough. I just wanted to walk. By myself. Somewhere. Until I was done.

I wandered through the park aimlessly, dismissing several trailheads that failed to ignite my curiosity. Then I saw the sign for Upper Yosemite Fall. 7.2 miles round-trip. Okay, I could do that in my sleep (usually did in those days). "Strenuous," it said. I thought, well, the ratings are based on the average person's fitness level. I'm not average. So, "strenuous" equals "worth my time."

Not the most sensible thought I ever had. There is reason humility is a virtue.

That particular day, the temperature was in the mid 90s. I was wearing sneakers, a pair of jeans, a five dollar tank top, and an LL Bean backpack containing nothing more than an eight-ounce bottle of water and a paperback. I began the walk, enjoying the beautiful scenery and just trying to be content with breathing. Not too far into the trail, I noticed a couple of women ahead of me. I wasn't feeling social, so I picked up my pace and as soon as they paused for relief, I squeezed past them and raced ahead to buy myself some space. I had some vague inclination to find a cozy spot in the woods for me and that paperback. I climbed until I spotted another person ahead of me and repeated the previous strategy. After dozens of switchbacks, several miles into the hike, I kept passing people. The lone Boyscout. The lovely pair of Brits. A miserable looking family. With every one, my determination to pass the next person grew. And grew. Faster. Climb faster, weakling. You're winning! You'll beat them all to the top!!

Then there I was, gasping and grasping rock on a particularly bare portion of the trail, baking in the sun, muscles shaking from fatigue, soaked in sweat, dizzy, with a growing headache and not a single drop of water or bite of food.

Beverly says Travel recap

I owe an update... so let's see, when I last left off I was packing for Ireland. Well I packed, I went, I returned, and I have been lazy ever since. I packed pretty well but I did not earn a perfect score. I managed to get it all in my backpack. Huge gold star for me. I only had one clean shirt left so I really pushed my luck. I ran out of toothpaste thanks to the 3oz rule. My tote bag was great in the POURING rain and was a great size. However, the strap kept slipping off of my shoulder forcing me to wear the bag over my neck and across my chest. Not the most flattering way to wear a tote bag. My jacket was great in the rain and I made it without an umbrella. My boots were almost perfection. I got hot several times and wish I had cooler (read lower temperature not style) shoes. They did hold up in the country walks, city streets, slippery stairs, and driving the cute Fiat. Okay, here come the pictures... my shoes in the highest point of the city Dublin. A 360 view of the city. Slippery steps indeed. At the Blarney Castle it is rainy, slippery, and you have to use a rope to climb the stairs. Oh how I hated those stairs. On the way into the castle I assisted a solo blind nun in locating the exit door. She had just climbed the castle and descended the castle stairs. I secretly and stupidly saw this as a sign of the simplicity of the stairs. WRONG. I am ashamed of myself. Lastly there is the picture of the Fiat. I loved that car. I zipped through Ireland having a blast and tremendous fear. All the cliches came true. Narrow roads, one lane roads, stopped by a herd of sheep, cliffs around every corner, and all things scary about driving on the side of the road that I wasn't use to. And in the end as predicted I loved it.

Ireland was great and easy which sounds unfair. It is a nice starter European vacation country. I hope to return someday. If I am so lucky as to go back to Ireland I will definitely focus on the rural areas and shy away from the cities. The land was just so amazing. I wish I could prove it with my pictures but I can't. Here are several shots that may start to explain the beauty of Ireland that I saw:




All of these photos were shot in the Dingle Peninsula.

Next post... where is Julie? Should this silly little thing called a blog continue? And did I really sign up for a superhero 5K for Halloween? sigh.

Beverly says The travel edition.

Running isn't getting very far. I got up Monday morning and did 3 miles but they were spent walking. Tuesday I maybe ran 1/2 mile and then walked 2 miles, wash rinse repeat for the rest of the week. The end. That is all I have to say about running.

Now. I was walking this morning wondering what in the world I could write about. Not running, not my job, duh, not my friends because they didn't sign up for this, and that doesn't leave much. One of my loves is traveling and as fate would have it I spent this week preparing to travel. I thought I would let you in on the craziness. I am leaving Friday night to go hop over the big pond to pretend to be Irish for 4 days. I am very fortunate to have an opportunity to go with some friends for a quick trip to Ireland. We leave at 7pm and land at 1am or about 6am their time. I hope I can fall asleep on the plane ride over. Because! Once I get there I am driving. eeekk! I am the only one who can drive a manual and automatic vehicles are rare therefore cost a premium to rent in Ireland. I drive a manual so that isn't a big deal. The big deal is the fact that I will be driving from the right side of the car on the left side of the road. I'm nervous. But I will report back on all of that when I return (whew, another post idea taken care of, check). No, no. Today I want to talk about how I travel.

I hate packing. I hate the commitment of packing. I will be stuck with the items I pack for days. I hate the inevitable mistakes I will make packing. I don't think I have ever said "boy I packed perfectly for that trip." True story, my Mom (hi Mama) packed for me the first time I went to Europe. I couldn't bare it. I manage projects for a living but managing the project of packing is a weakness. I do however have a little bit more figured out than I use to. I have some rituals when traveling and I will share them with you. I have these boots that are amazing. Thanks to two of my friends who both have a pair, I own these boots, Fat Baby by Ariat. One of the top 5 shoe purchases I have ever made. These puppies are rugged, have a great sole and go with most pants. Also, they are pretty good in the airport since they slip on and off pretty easily. I wear these on a regular basis in my daily commuting walk. Also, when I was in Greece I wore these every day, all day for 8 days without my feet ever getting tired much less a blister. I stepped on some pretty gross and dangerous things in Athens and these boots have a thick and flat sole that kept me safe. It is very important to me that I not look like a tourist so I shy away from sneakers. I figure I don't walk around in sneakers in my daily life, well except for that running thing. Oh and don't even get Julie started on how bad she thinks sneakers are for your feet. I just want to do my part and not promote the stereotypical American tourist. I want to be an interested and polite traveler so that I can represent the US on a positive note. But I digress. To go along with these boots I wear these socks. Whoa buddy these things are expensive. However, if you have ever hung out with me while I have blisters you would hand over the cash on my behalf. I have sensitive feet. I think that is a theme on this blog. So these double layered socks combined with the comfy boots equal a pleasant Beverly. I only have 2 pair. When traveling I wash the pair I wore that day at night before I go to bed and then alternate pairs allowing a day for the washed socks to dry. Also, this is good for light packing. Two pair of socks and that is it. I also pack a 3 oz bottle of laundry detergent. One last thing while we are on the subject of footwear. Mama gave me these one year for Christmas and I use them and love them. I wear them on the plane and in the hotel room because floors are gross. And they are very comfortable.

Okay, moving on. The bag. Essential. I wish I could be stylish and functional but I am afraid that I will always pick function over style. The prequesities are that the bag be large enough for camera, water, wallet, map, ipod, phone, keys, and maybe a pair of shoes. It has to have pockets on the outside. I have a dedicated pocket for my keys and train pass. I refuse to stand outside of the train gate digging around for my pass and can hear the train coming. Final requirement is waterproof. It rains. My favorite purse is fabric and when it rains all of my stuff gets wet, so when traveling and commuting I have to have waterproof to protect my essentials. I am currently using this bag that I paid way less for than on this site. I am not crazy about the color but I like the nylon, pockets, size, and adjustable strap. Next up, rain coat. Umbrellas are no good when traveling. Besides my larger and awesome umbrella for my commute (check it out if you need a good one), umbrellas tend to fail me. So a hood on a rain coat is all you need. I am sporting this one but in black.

Besides these items a couple of things that I always have: ipod & headphones, camera, bed bug spray (just in case), necessary papers, copies of cards & passport to keep in a separate place from my wallet, pen and paper to jot down notes, observations, and directions. I am hoping that I will get everything I need in my backpack and tote. My goal is to pack light. Who knows, maybe this time I proclaim "boy I packed perfectly for that trip."

Julie Says... Can I get a Midol?

As part of this couch to half-marathon journey, I expected there would patches of time where motivation waned. I am, after all, only human -- despite my best attempts to be otherwise ;) What I did not expect is to be at war with myself. I WANT to run every day. I see my Vibram FiveFingers and get teary eyed. I see my lovely foot muscles atrophying. My joints are aching again. My back hurts. I'm depressed, and I'm mad at myself. Nothing has changed since the last time I wrote. I'm still held back by fear, time, and money. Mostly fear. And a touch of agoraphobia. Perhaps it isn't agoraphobia so much as severe anti-social tendencies. I came close to breathing fire on a check-out lady at Sam's Club today. Which bothers me more than I think I can explain.

I found my warm-fuzzy-world-loving-all-forgiving-peaceful self after many, many years... or so I thought. Can I blame it on work? In the first two months on my new job, I have dealt with disaster involving police, fire, water, vomit, tears, and urine, in some combination, almost every day. Do you remember me complaining about the fact I couldn't get a job? Yeah. Beggars can't be choosers. I am grateful to have a job... but it isn't easy to be grateful. The best I can come up with most days is, "At least I'm not being shot at... yet." I don't say thanks every day. I don't find joy every day. I have a hard time forgiving minor transgressions (like a check-out lady who removes me from line, sending me aaall the way to the check-out lane on the opposite end, only to be told that she has closed). I've gone from being grateful that I am single and independent, to regretful that I don't have a man in my life to provide a second income. And perhaps a little sad that money would be the greatest/only motivation for entering into a relationship now.

One step closer every day to being the crazy cat lady librarian... oh, I forgot. I left my cats for this job, too.

Also, I'm still having trouble figuring out how to keep from starving on a low-fat diet. I keep falling off the wagon, eating pizza, lasagna, cake... only to end up writhing in pain. Then I eat my carrots, broccoli, fish, beans, carrots, broccoli, fish, beans, carrots, broccoli, fish, and beans... until I nearly explode from frustration and cram a pizza down my pie-hole to appease the hunger monster... only to end up writhing in pain... again... from being weak and stupid. I could blame the fat-givers at work. The ones who bring/buy the pizza, lasagna, cake, brownies, doughnuts, etc., but no one is forcing me to eat the bad stuff. Weirdly, the threat of death isn't a great enough deterrent. Who knew?

Did I mention I'm cranky?

To end this misery loves company pity post/confession... I will admit I tried to talk Beverly out of doing this. Forget it. Next year. Next decade. Next century. Never.