Faroes: Keep Calm, Carry On

After months of planning, it was time: our trip to the Faroe Islands and Copenhagen was just around the corner! As soon as we'd booked the flight, I started hitting the "end of winter" sales and gathering sweaters, picking out the perfect outfits to look fabulous for the 'gram while hiking mountains. There was also a long quest for hiking boots, as I was determined to get a pair of highly recommended (but discontinued) boots (long story short: I got em!). Every bit of my gear was slowly and meticulously planned out.

That's when, a week from our departure, the beau sprung on me that he had thought we weren't checking bags. Just carry-ons, he said. For seven days. Of sweater-weather. Shouldn't be a problem, should make things much easier.

... And with that, all my carefully laid plans imploded.

There I was, standing amongst my stack of sweaters, buried in stress from work, having a mild anxiety attack, staring at my two suitcases. The one I had planned to bring, and the infinitely smaller (per my mind's eye) carry-on.

After a come-to-Jesus moment with myself (read: sobbing, clinging to my Insta-worthy sweaters), I was ready and determined. A carry-on it was. I could do this. I ran off to buy organizer bags, because everyone said that was the trick... Most were totally unnecessary and I returned them. Here is what I DID do to save space, and what I brought along in that tiny bag for our voyage.**

Let's do this, little red!

To save space:

• Streamline shit:  Duh. Best way to save space is have less stuff. So, I laid everything out to decide what was really necessary and what wasn't. I also made a firm "maybe" pile of stuff I could add back in if I had room. I laid out every single thing, so there would be no surprise items to squeeze in last minute (this was the night before we left #nopressure).
• Roll with it: You'll always hear people talk about rolling their clothes to avoid wrinkling and save room. This is infinite wisdom, always. Just, do it. 
• Suck it up: Vacuum seal compression bags. I've heard rave reviews, I just didn't get how to pull that off. TURNS OUT that there are some that require no equipment. It's like a jumbo ziploc bag that you seal up, and then roll the air out. The air can only go out one way. It. Is. Magic. That magic bag is how my sweaters went from taking up 3/4 of my carry-on to 1/3 of it. [Price: $5 at TJ Maxx and I now use them to store blankets under the bed, dust free!]
• Bag it: Organization is key to space saving. While I returned most of the little organizer bags, I did keep one "cube tube" to keep my socks/panties/PJs/misc in order [Price: $10, Container Store travel sale]. I had my makeup bag to org toiletries, the compression bag to keep my sweaters together, and then a shit ton of ziplocs to org anything else (seriously, no need to buy something fancy, these work fine). 
• Splitsies: I split up the liquids and had the beau take some of the shared items, like shampoo and nail clippers, to save me a little room. (That bag was lost going through security so... hit or miss on that decision.) 
• Disposable: Since I wasn't sure what I might want to buy to bring back, to make sure I had room for later, most of what I brought with was also "disposable." Snacks would be consumed, tissues used, my face wipes tossed, etc. AND a lot of my clothing could get tossed if I was in a real bind for capacity (see ratty shoes and free sweaters below - plus, TMI, but I brought my least fave panties - they take up space, too! Toss if needed!) 

Flatlays confuse me.... 

What I packed.... 

• On my person
• My badass waterproof, wind resistant, lightweight, 3-in-1 coat (that I've worn every day since I bought it) - the HFX performance Kingsley 3-in-1 jacket - it has a black rain jacket shell and teal puffy insulated jacket liner, they  easily zip apart if you want to wear just one part - it's the probably best coat I've ever owned 
• Price: $112 (originally $220) - this was my splurge item since I haven't gotten a new winter coat in six years. It's even MORE on sale now, so GET IT!
• My bulkiest blue-and-white-stripped sweater [Price: free* - Old Navy]
• A black undershirt/tank 
• Black scarf
• My comfy black "jeans" - Rockstar 24/7's (that my sister tried to convince me are jeggings but, I swear, they're not - they're just soft denim!!) [Price: free* - Old Navy] 
• Semi-ratty black sneakers (since I just wanted comfy plane shoes and a hiking boot alternative if needed for dinner or something)
• Mint green watch - which I didn't change the time on for our whole trip
• In my backpack - we flew SAS which had size limitations for your "personal" item, which meant my backpack was a bit of a stretch, so I made sure not to pack it TOO full, just to avoid conflict. I specifically packed my most important items, just in case something happened with my carry-on though.
• Nautica waterproof cross-body purse that I wore the whole trip and that has the best pockets (for the flight, it was hidden in my backpack since it's a "personal item" in itself) [Price: $15 - on sale, Boston Store RIP]
• My purse had my wallet, glasses/contacts case, regular camera, passport, Field Notes, and phones in it
• Waterproof hiking boots - which, despite the struggle to find a size for a discontinued style (Ahnu Sugarpine), were so worth it [Price on eBay: $100 - my second splurge item, but invaluable to my happiest on the trip, since I fucking hate wet socks]
• Hats - vital with the wind #becausebigears  [Price: $6 for two, thanks seasonal H&M clearance! I bought new ones because my others are a bit loose on my head and I was worried about wind - I was right]
• Snacks, sudoku, music, hairbrush and face wipes: aka stuff for the flight
• Inhaler, digi chargers, meds, tissues, hand sani, extra socks: aka my vitals
• A large reusable grocery bag - which was our trip snack bag and meant I could sprawl my shit out when we weren't hopping on planes
• One outfit, just in case
• Plain black long sleeve shirt 
• Black waterproof lightweight pants, that also button up to be capris [Price: $10 - Eddie Bauer outlet]
• In my carry-on bag 
• Various organization baggies (see above)
• Makeup bag and liquids bag
• Curling iron (from my study abroad days - thanks, France, for your two pronged European standard plugs!)
• Compression socks (#cuzim90), PJ shorts, panties, bras, gloves, etc.
• Tops:
• Light grey cable-knit sweater [Price: free* - Old Navy]
• Raspberry v-neck sweater [Price: free* - Old Navy]
• Cupio black, blue and white turtleneck - block colors [Price: $4 - Goodwill]
• Cupio black, blue and white turtleneck - zipzagging colors [Price: $10 - Boston Store. Yes, I found the same turtleneck in a slightly different pattern and I got it #noregrets]
• Maroon long sweater [Price: free* - Old Navy]
• Black with white stripes, 3/4 sleeve thin tunic 
• Plain grey v-neck t-shirt (worn for PJs, but not a "PJ shirt" - so I could wear it out as well)
• Bottoms:
• My standard pair of black jeans that I always wear
• A pair of black tights (with footies)
• Black activewear pants (Calvin Klein performance - a workout pant with butt pockets so I don't have to feel like I'm wearing legging as pants) [Price: $30 - way more than I'd normally spend on pants, but they were great for hiking]
• Pair of grey flats (that could be tossed if needed since I've had them forever, and they were only $3 originally lol)

So - why babble all that off?  Because that list encapsulates some of my fave packing tips:

1. Oh, yes, you can bring all that shit. Where there's a will, there's a way. Jenga that junk in there! (And that compression bag = life for me now!) Don't be afraid to go small,  having a carry-on only really is way easier, plus saves time / the annoyance of hauling stuff.
2. DON'T forget to budget for those "I need this for my trip" costs. Could I have gotten fewer sweaters? Sure. But, I'd have been miserable without those good hiking boots, and without that coat. And those two things, even though I got them on sale, just cost more. So, when you're budgeting for a trip, don't forget to factor those purchases in! 
3. Keep to a color palette so clothes can be easily intermixed. Notice all the black? Yeah, that just works always. (And, then you don't have any visible sweaty pits when hiking!)
4. Split your stuff up between your allotted bags. If one goes missing then, it's less detrimental. Always keep the most important stuff with your person if you can. And having more bag options means you can divvy stuff up differently as you're travelling (the ziploc that organized my snacks later kept my dirty socks from stankin' up my bag).

There's always a tipping point when packing for a trip where you have to decide: is this the stuff I actually need and am I could toting that crap around?? And that's when you have to dig deep, get rid of that fifth pair of pants, and say, "Not today, pack rat. Not. Today." Godspeed, travelers. Keep calm and carry... on...  (See what I did there???)

Where's my plane again?

Also, if you're thinking "I don't give a fuck about luggage, where's the adventure??" 

You can go check my other travel tips post (that's less luggage-centric), these Copenhagen highlights, or these play-by-play posts about our days in the Faroe Islands!

* Ready for some footnote inception?? Go see my footnote in my post about becoming debt-free to hear me rave like a lunatic about that Gap Card I have and love.  
** I added prices for things I bought new "for the trip" - I got a lot of great stuff that I'll use all the time, so, though the trip inspired the buys, I'm totally happy with the purchases! Another note: the weather in Copenhagen was set to be 70s and sunny, the Faroe Islands between 50 and 60 with the constant potential for rain/wind/mist - REALLY easy weather to pack for.... 

Cast off the Shackles of Yesterday

Here it is, a moment almost eight years in the making:
I am now officially debt free!

Kickin' off those financial chains (that have become an unfortunate fashion statement of my generation) and running forward toward the future! It took just shy of eight years, but my student loans and car loan are now fully paid, and I feel $45k+ lighter (ouch, my soul). Just in time for my personal goal of breaking free before my 30th! (Can I get a "fuck yeah"??)

BONJOUR! Welcome to your debt free life!

When it comes to debt, there are often feelings of "being behind" or comparing against others. But really, this isn't a race in which we compete against one another. It's a race for all of us to get to the other side as soon as we can. A struggle against the "man" and a bitchin' awful burden that we all need to help push each other through. AND a race we need to then convince each other to stay out of and never run again, so as not to have a Sisyphean debt situation that haunts us til we're old and crotchety. (Because interest rates make people crotchety!)

So, while some of these may be obvious, I've had enough friends who have said, exhausted, "I can't wait til I get there" that I've compiled a list of things I did over the years to chip away at that mountain. Some being things I wish I'd have always done - so that I could've paid off my shit even sooner. These aren't financial wizardry, but hey, whatever gets the job done!

• Spend like you're as poor as you were that first summer : When I first moved down to Milwaukee, I was making $30k a year and working 50+ hour weeks (#salaried). My student loans had kicked in in full force and I had long since burned through any savings over the years (from trying to pay for uni upfront). I was pretty damn poor. And... it was a fantastically fun summer. I had a good time, and no money. Baseline. I know that I can live on a little, and that means a lot. They always say to not ramp up your living expenses too much as you make more money over the years, and then you can save more. It's true. 
• Keep pushing : Speaking of that first job.... OH my goodness, negotiate!! If I had a time machine, I'd kill Hitler, hug my grandma, and tell my 22 year old self to not be such a weak tit pansy and negotiate on that first salary. Know your worth and push to get paid what you deserve. Because over time, you'll make percentage raises. And when you get a pay raise on dirt, you just get slightly more dirt. (And this isn't Waterworld.) Keep fighting for more. 
• Work smarter, not harder : Pay off your debt with the highest interest rates first. Period. If you have credit card debt, then you better be tossing every spare dime you have at that shit, because the APR will murder you in your sleep if you don't. 
• Make it work for you : If you do have to pay using credit, get a card that gives you some sort of perk. Whatever your fancy is: airline miles, cash back, etc.* AS LONG AS YOU PAY IT OFF RIGHT AWAY, it can help you save in other ways.
• Know when to hold 'em : IE know what you're willing to splurge on and what you're not. Gas money to go see family? 100% yes. A nicer pillow for my creaky neck (#cuzim90)? Yes, or I'll die -  and the pillow will save a chiropractor bill. That root canal? Well damn, sure. Getting my nails done? Ha, not unless you mean getting some polish from the dollar store and doing them myself. Getting a soda at dinner? Yeah, I could buy a whole liter for that same price. AKA some things are worth your money, and some things are just fluff that you can do without. I mean, I went without internet for three years in my twenties (no smartphone either, I went to the library). So. Much. Savings.  
• Buy thrifty : Thrift stores forever! For furniture, tchotchkes and literally 95% of my clothes. Especially in my early twenties, I owned very few things that weren't on their second life. (I had never spent more than $20 on a pair of pants until I was 28.) If you hate the idea of pre-owned goods: A) good luck in a post-apocalyptic future state and B) then at least get a bargain! Outlet stores and sales seasons for bargain goods. And haggle for everything else. (Did you know that some dentists will give you a discount if you pay in cash? Don't ask me how I know that. Just know that it can be worth it to ask them.)
• Save on housing : you don't have to have that fancy apartment with in-unit laundry right away. You can live in a cheap (but safe) "shithole" for a bit, or at least do without some luxuries to save some moola.
• Be thrifty : Have the same amount of fun, but spend less. 
• Hit up happy hour instead of buying drinks or food full price. And always, always have leftovers.** 
• Have a water between every drink on a night out to save your head and your wallet the hangover. 
• If you're making a meal, stretch it out - add more noodles to that sauce, tag on some bread so you get filled up faster and eat less of the more expensive stuff, don't always have meat with every meal, etc.*** Buy fruit in season, buy in bulk for the rest, and freeze what you can. That includes buying snacks in bulk and then putting them into your own little baggies (like a drug dealer - of Teddy Grahams). 
• Go to free local events. 
• Travel on foot instead of Ubering. 
• Make your own damn coffee at home. 
• Fix things instead of buying new things. DIY some shit. 
• You don't have to pay for a gym - there are plenty of free videos online.
• Laundry can be skimped a bit - change into lounge clothes as soon as you get home from work and that blazer can be worn again! Also, air dry as much stuff as you can.
• Unplug shit and shut off lights. Seriously, it does add up. And #SaveThePlanet.****
• Keep the beater car as long as you can : Not having a car loan is the best. It lets you pay off other stuff faster. Don't feel bad if you have a beater car. If it's safe and it runs, hold onto it. Even if the tape deck is busted. 
• Vacation cheaply : Don't nix travel, just be careful about it.
• Visit someone you know and can crash with. Then you can save SO much, and, bonus, you get to see people you care about. (Thank you friends, for your kindness and your couches over the years!) 
• If it's cheaper to drive/train/bus than to fly, give that a go. 
• Instead of eating out on your trip every meal, hop to a grocery store and make some sandwiches or grab some cereal. 
• Try a "staycation" and go someone closer to home - odds are there are some really cool places within a few hours of where you are, and day trips mean you get to sleep in your own bed at night! 
• If you're lucky enough to travel for work, piggy back a few days off the end of a work trip to take time for yourself to enjoy. 
• Buddy. System. Travelling together means splitting costs as well! 
• Ask for practical gifts : My favorite Christmas gifts for the last ten years: contact solution and Nyquil. These are expensive necessities that Santa brings me to save me money. Thanks, Santa!
• Keep chipping : Every little bit really does help. Holiday bonus? Birthday card cash from grandma? Random money you found in your books while moving? (Yeah, I have some depression era tendencies of not trusting banks. Fight me.) Just push it all towards that principal, man.  

So... hate the idea of budgeting? Yeah. We all do. Just, be conscious of your spending. Make little changes that help you chip away without feeling like you're deprived. And then, deprive yourself from time to time to ramp up the pay off. It's a tough fight but, you know what they say.... love, is a battlefield. And we love having things (like a college education and a car that runs in all the gears). So sometimes we need to take on debt and then fight it, to get the junk we love. The point is, that we all keep fighting, and that we make it to the other side. Because, man oh man, does that other side feel fantastic! 

I did it! Cheers to victory and a debt free future!

* I have a Gap card. It gives me Gap cash to spend at Gap, Old Navy, Banana Republic or Athleta. And I frickin' love it. Is it an "adult" choice? Probably not. But I've gotten almost $1000 in savings on clothes since I got it. What does that look like? $600 in gap cash and $400 worth of extra savings from being a card holder. That free card cash has bought me jeans, work outfits, swimsuits, a full suit for the beau, baby shower clothes, Christmas presents for my family, etc. Plus, since I get that shopping bug, what's better than FREE clothes??

** You know where I first became a "regular" in Milwaukee? The Bees.... As in, the Applebee's. Because it was walking distance from my apartment (no taxi fare or DUI ticket fee). They had a 2 for $20 dinner special where I could eat an app and a dessert with a friend and then take my full main meal home for leftovers. Add on a $2 long island (or two). And boom, I've spent less than $15 for dinner and drinks with a friend PLUS two meals worth of leftovers. I have no regrets about those nights at the Bees, and neither does my wallet. 

*** When I studied abroad, I spent every dime on travel. When it was a regular week at uni though, I ate like a weird homeless person. I'd haggle for potatoes and carrots from the gypsies at the market on Sunday, pick up a pack of 80 euro cent "hot dogs" from Li'dl (the Aldi's of France), buy a few baguettes and some wine, a box of noodles and some butter. My total cost for food for the week would be around 10 euros (a little over $15 at the time). Again, baseline. I know I can survive off that and not die of scurvy - so I can eat on the cheap if needed and make something out of nothing. I also lost a lot of weight. So. Bonus.
**** Also, you know where you can charge that cell phone for "free"? Pretty much anywhere but your home. The library. The coffee shop. The office. Those places all have a much bigger budget for their electric bill than you do probably... Just saying. 

Thanks, Mom

Moms are a special breed of badass. Not all mothers are the traditional kind, who've pushed a watermelon out of their vagina, some are ones who came into the role by other circumstances. The one thing all moms have in common: their unyielding (and often terrifying) love for their children and the fact that those children made them a little insane over the years.

And that, is why we love them. Because they love us, and they're just a bit unhinged from all the torture we put them through over the years. These are the women who were responsible for molding us into the people we became. And that just explains so much about each of us.

Stand by your ma.

As a quick little ode to the woman who bore me, I wanted to compile a list of some of the things she's taught me over the years....

• How not to cut bangs - because they shouldn't start at the back of the head (see my school photos from grades 1 through 4).
• You should never shower during a lightning storm, you might get zapped. (Sorry, ma, I did this just last night. Still alive.)
• "You've gotta suffer to be beautiful" - she said, combing endless knots out of my hair.
• Old country music is the best country music - get a buck for the box, put on "A White Sport Coat and a Pink Carnation," and see who your friends really are. Oldies, in general, are the way to go.
• If it starts raining while you’re mowing lawn, just kick it into rabbit gear and beeline for the garage (after you finish that last strip in the front of course). 
• How to pack your whole world into the trunk of a car. Seriously. She's a wizard at that shit. Must be because she's so good at puzzles in general. 
• I should always be thankful I didn’t have three brothers.
• Anything crazy thing I ever have done, probably pales in comparison to just one summer of my mom's youth. She listens to the stories about my shenanigans, and I can just tell she's thinking, "I can do ya one better...." 
• Handsomeness level should always be measured against a young Elvis. He was just SO handsome.
• How to squirrel clean - because in our small hometown, someone is bound to show up at any moment, and the only time you'll have to tidy up is from the time you see them drive up the street to the time they make it to the door. No time for real cleaning, only time for hiding. Squirrel away anything sitting out and worry about finding those nuts again later. 
• How to dye and perm hair at home. When I think of the money saved by my family over the years, it's insane.
• If the need should arise, I have childbearing hips. THANKS for those, ma. LOVE having those Shannon hips and thighs. 
• How to drive while blowing your nose and eating a hot dog - and then deciding it's time to pass someone on that two-lane highway, as well. 
• You should always look good when you go to the grocery store in case you meet the man of your dreams AND always wear clean underwear on a trip in case you get in an accident and have to go to the hospital. This was a double whammy from both mom and grandma - to the point that I don't even recall who said it more often. But, to this day, I've only worn sweatpants to the grocery store like twice ever. So. Point made.
• Old margarine containers really do make the best Tupperware.
• "Our friends called!" You know that scene in The Jerk when he's really excited about the new phone book? My mom gets excited in the same way when she gets home and there are messages on the answering machine. Never underestimate the joy of a voicemail. (That is, to anyone over  40. The rest of us hate voicemails.)
• Big is a great movie, definitely worth buying. Even if you accidentally buy it three or four times...
• Always keep a baseball bat handy - a wooden one specifically. That is our family weapon of choice. My mom has one by her bedside. I keep one in the trunk of my car. Because one never knows.
• No matter where you are, or what kind of trouble you might be in, she is always just a phone call away. Family isn't here to judge when you need help, and it's better to call than to struggle alone.

My ma has also taught me how to laugh long and loud. And, even though she's not one to cry during movies (and will always turn and go "ARE YOU CRYING??" just to call you out), she has no hesitation in laughing til the tears start flowing. I remember sitting at my college summer orientation, watching a comedy sketch with my mom by my side. She and I were both laughing so hard that we had started sobbing. With tears streaming down my face I sputtered, "MOM, quit making me laugh! Everyone is going to wonder why we're crying and... and I won't have any friends!!" At which point, she of course started cry-laughing harder. And as the stitch in my side grew and the looks from those seated near us became more alarmed, I knew that even if I didn't make a single friend (because I was that freak weeping girl), I'd always have one friend to laugh with. My mama.

Cheers to this woman, who gave me life and makes my heart smile.

My Life as an Accidental Spectathlete

I'm not what one might call "athletic." As a teen, when all my gal pals were picking which Spice Girl best represented them, Sporty Spice wasn't even in my top five. (Yes, I know there were only five. That's how unrelatable I found her, her tracksuits, and ridiculously high pony.) And yet somehow, I've found myself in a relationship with...  a runner.

I assure you, he was not a running man when we started dating, or else my love-being-lazy-Spidey-senses would've gone off. But, as is his way, when he decides to be passionate about something, he goes ALL in. Cue last spring, at which point he had run a total of three 5ks in his life, just for funsies, and was one of those guys who never went to the gym, but somehow stayed super skinny (due to willpower - that personality trait which continues to elude me). Then one day he woke up, and decided that running was his thing. (Very Forrest Gump of him.)

And here we are. A year later. Since that revelation, in 2017, he ticked off the following races (not to mention countless training hours):

• Nine 5ks
• Two 8ks
• One quarter marathon
• Three half marathons
• And one 1-miler burrito run (don't ask)

2018 is just over three months in, and he's already surpassed the 300 mile mark. Beyond practice, we've had four races so far: two 5ks, one 10k, and another half marathon. Of these 20 competitions: I've so far only missed three.* Which means that, despite my general inability to run properly, firm opinion that running should be reserved for snagging the last donut in the break room / fleeing if one's life is in danger (zombies), and overall confusion as to why anyone would put their body through that torture... I've accidentally become a Spectathlete.

Running down the dream....

Being a Spectathlete goes beyond just showing up. That shit's for pansies. That was me, once: wandering aimlessly, bringing way too much shit without having anything helpful, and basically being more of a burden than a help. But now, I'm a well-oiled machine. A mix between the cranky-old-man coach from Rocky, cheerleader, and psychotic mama bear. While he's prepping by putting on the miles, I'm preparing to be the ultimate support system.

So, what does an average race day look like for someone who is acting as beach mom, coach, caddie, chauffeur, dasher, doctor and documentarian, all in one?

PRE
The weeks leading up:

• Constantly check the weather. The worse the predicted conditions, the more annoying I am about convincing the beau that racing is awful and he should stop.
• Read and re-read the event website. Figure out the best place to stake out. Memorize parking and street closure details. (I also scope out what kind of food/rewards will be given, so I know what snacks I can expect to hijack.)

Finisher freebies: breakfast of champions!

The night before:

• Continuous commentary about weather conditions.
• Nail down wake-up time based on start time. Set backup alarms.
• Make sure attire is laid out and ready (last minute laundry, as needed). Add backup race gear into my backpack (extra socks, fresh sweatbands, windbreaker jacket, etc). 
• Carbo load. This is for me, not the beau. He carbo loads prior. This is just an excuse for me to eat more while I stress about him somehow injuring himself the next day. 

The morning of:

• Awake at ass crack of dawn / stupid early. Make sure the beau is up / showering.
• Hydrate and have a quick breakfast. Pack second breakfast (usually candy) to eat while standing along the trail, staring at all the runners sweating and panting. 
• Argue about how he should wear more clothes, it's cold out. Slather some sunscreen on his face and neck as he squirms away. Try to convince him to wear a hat, lose the battle, pack said hat just in case he changes his mind. 
• Add last minute stuff into beach mom backpack - typically just body glide. You know. For the nips. 
• Freak out that we're leaving late and rush out, with a spiked hot cocoa in hand. 
• Since my man's legs don't need to be doing any additional work, I put the pedal to the medal. Sometimes that means a quick drive to an easily accessible lot near the starting line. Other times, it means having left too late and being blocked at every turn by various event barricades and me shrieking, "I'M GOING TO GET YOU TO THIS RACE!" while taking evasive action. 
• Arrive at course. Convince beau to stay in the car as long as possible. 
• Once we're in the throng of people, it's time for pre-race stretches. Because he doesn't stretch on his own ever, in the minutes prior to the start, I force him to do some leg swings, toe taps, and some bring-it-around-towns.
• About 15 minutes before the start, he gets antsy and leaves me to go stand in the corral, pushing his way to be near the pacer of his choice. I go find a spot past the start line and take a zillion rapid click photos trying to capture him among the crowd as the race begins.

Cocoa, cocktails, and cowbells

DURING

• As soon as he's off. I'm out. If it's a long run, I'll hoof it to get food, or will walk about. If the weather is awful, I'll hop back to the car and read or write up my weekly to-do list. If it's a short run, I don't go far. 5ks are a quick ordeal, and I want to be there for the finish. 
• For the long runs, I prop myself up along the route, ready to give the beau a mid-race cheer, a quick kiss, fresh socks, that hat he swore he wouldn't want, a tissue, etc. This also means I'm in prime position to have him chuck his empty water bottle or a sweaty jacket at me, to lighten his load. (At which point, I typically fail to catch whatever he threw, and have to dash into the course to chase after said object.)
• Yes, I carry a cowbell. When I'm not frantically waving it, being a screaming fanatic, it dangles off my beach mom backpack and I sound like a lost, stray sheep.
• Despite my tendency to eat ice cream while spectating, I genuinely try to support all the runners, even if it's stupid early and in typically less-than-optimal conditions. I've learned to yell helpful things, like "Don't forget to breath!" or "There's a GIANT puddle a few yards up - veer left!" or "You're just behind the 8:30 pacer!"
• Depending where I was staked out, sometimes I need to drop into a dead sprint to make it to the finish line in time. Cutting the course and dodging between the crowd to get to that final victory moment. It's a tuck-and-run, speedy little ninja scenario.
• Near the finishing chute, I hold my ground among the proud spouses, moms, and various fan clans. We make small talk. Many of us have already spoken while hanging out along the route. All of us want to catch that final photo of our loved one crossing (or about to cross) that finish line. We need to be there to give that last hurrah and to mop up their sweaty foreheads as they clumsily put on their medal. I'll cut a bitch if they get in the way, even if we're new race-day-BFFs. Plus, sometimes someone pukes after they cross the finish, and who doesn't want to have a front row seat to that ridiculousness??

Keep it up, runners! I'll be right here, snacking.

POST

• As official record keeper, I immediately shove a camera in the beau's reddened face. Especially for the winter races he foolishly signed up for (IN WISCONSIN), I was sure to photograph his frozen misery as a future cautionary reference. And then whatever photo I take, I text to his mom. #BecauseMoms
• After I've consumed his freebie finisher snacks, and he's had his post-race beer (again, Wisconsin - every occasion ends with a beer), we head to the car. He regales the tales of his adventure, providing a play-by-play of every pace change and hill. We critique the group who hosted the event and compare notes about how well they did (or didn't do) with setup, course markers, etc. 
• Once home, the commentary continues, as my dearest man obsesses over the posted times of others in his age group. I make the occasional comment and offer suggestions. He showers and (after much training) hangs up his sweaty clothes. 
• Have you ever seen a runner's feet? Don't. If you have to, just be ready to play doctor and patch up some bloody toes.** Forcing a man to take care of his body is like trying to force broccoli on a toddler - they'll thank you later. 

And then he's back to normal. I force him to hydrate, and he consumes an entire day's worth of calories in one sitting. Life returns to its usual pace, and I get a full 24-hours without hearing the comment "I'm going to pop out for a quick run..."

And then it starts all over again. 

No, running is not something I'm good at. Per my doctor, "Some people just aren't meant to be runners, sweetie." And no, it's not even something I really comprehend as a choice of hobby. BUT, once a year, instead of taking on my usual role as a spectathlete, we run a 5k together. We​ don't run side-by-side like some couples, because in this arena, we're not equals. He excels, and I'm so proud of him. When we're in the same race, he high-fives me while coming back around (when I have yet to even hit the turn around point). And when I huff my way, red-faced across that finish line, he's right there, cheering me on. Because at some point in the past year, running went from being a solo activity, to being a team sport. And since then, we've been running down that dream... together. 

Teamwork makes the dream work...

* In case you're curious as to why, of the three I missed: one I was in Vegas for a bachelorette, another I was in NYC for work, and the last one I had a going away happy hour for a coworker who was departing to go write her novel (worth celebrating!). So. Valid ish reasons, in my opinion.
** Helpful hint for preventative foot help: medical paper tape is good, Body Glide is better.

30, Unmarried

No matter the age, people will always be pelted with "What's Next?" questions. As a species, we're obsessed with the future more than the present. People seem especially concerned when it comes to females pushing 30.

Maybe it's some archaic worry about women being the "weaker sex" and not being able to make it on their own. Or it's a genuine concern about needing breeders to carry on the genetic code. Or people just get nervous about independent women in general. Whatever it is, at around age 18 the questions begin... "When are you going to find a nice man and settle down?"*
(Disclaimer: I realize that men also get pestered. But it's usually much later, and without an air of concern. Unmarried men are just "bachelors" and it usually has more of a playboy connotation, instead of a reference to cat hoarding problem.)

Going through the twenties, these questions get more persistent. More urgent. As if the longer one goes without a spouse and/or baby, the more dangerous they are; like an unmarried woman is a ticking time bomb (IT'S PROBABLY YOUR BIOLOGICAL CLOCK - don't get me started). Eventually, your either single or paired up but unmarried. You get bucketed into the "spinster" category (because one is destined to be alone forever if they've not found the "right one" by age 30??) or get pegged as "being afraid of commitment" or "unable to lock it down." And that's when my soapbox gets pulled out.

Happily, almost four years ago now, I snagged a beau. Due to the longevity of our relationship and our general happiness, I've spent the last four years being plopped into the second aforementioned bucket. The concern over my blingless finger and empty womb from all manner of friend, family, and stranger, is alarming at best. The questions have increased exponentially over the years, to the point where I'm being asked almost daily about my marital status (or lack thereof).

Please, tell me more about your opinions on my love life.

So, since the questions are so frequent, I figured it was overdue to lay out some answers to that number one question I get asked: Why aren't you married yet?
(Disclaimer: approaching this as a heterosexual cis female, but that's not to say the lovely lesbian ladies and my trans sisters don't get the same type of shitty comments! Cheers, gals, we're all in this annoying boat together! In fact, y'all probably have it worse because you also have to elaborate on your identity as well. Double the fun.)

1. Did I miss a memo? Is there some sort of time limit I wasn't aware of? What is this, The Lobster? The "yet" always seems to indicate that I've somehow missed the boat off of bachelorette island. Or that I've done something wrong in not following a specific schedule. Eff that noise. As a couple, we're a "we," not a "you," and we'll make our own damn timeline, thankyaverymuch.
2. Because marriage isn't just a box to check. I'm not going to just get married because of some old-fashioned notion of success. Five years ago, I proudly vehement that marriage just wasn't in the cards. Now, sure, it's on the radar, but sorry, it's still not on my 'bucket list.' Marriage isn't required for happiness, in my book.
3. I hadn't found a man worth marrying. No offense to some of the nicer fellas I dated over the years. You were all lovely for various reasons, but we weren't right for each other. Among the nice guys and straight up dudders, I hadn't found one who I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Because I intend to live to a ripe old age, and most of you I'd have torn apart eventually, or you'd have driven me crazy. 
4. Forever is a long fucking time. Yeah, wedlock has always kind of terrified me. You're making a "lifelong commitment" to another human. A human of your choosing, too, so if you end up miserable it's kind of your own fault. That's a lot of pressure. Why would anyone want to rush that kind of decision? (Not to mention that planning a wedding in itself is an emotional and financial stressor.)
5. It wasn't a priority. Education, adventure, career, social life: those topped my priority list over the past decade. I was more focused on those than on getting my M-R-S. If Mr. Right showed up in the process of all that, it was an added bonus, but I wasn't out searching for him. Not all women are on some holy grail quest for marriage and babies (noble, as it is).
6. Get your shit together. I'm a big proponent of "love yourself or else how can you love someone else." And to be honest, I had quite a few bumpy years of anxiety and self-esteem issues that needed to be worked through before I could go open-armed to the world of men and say "Come at me, boys!" in any serious context. That also meant getting a grip on being an adult. If you don't act like a grown-ass-woman, how are you supposed to nail down a grown-ass-man? That meant tackling my debt, being self-sufficient, and making sure I could support myself overall before inviting in someone else. (Also, I couldn't even keep a plant alive, so how did that bode well for motherhood??)
7. It takes time. As a skittish, fiercely independent lady, I need to poke holes and figure out flaws. If I find red flags, I'm calling it. Life is short and I'm not going to waste effort dinking around. Finding a man, exposing his faults / deal-breakers, rejecting said man, and starting the cycle all over again - it just takes time.** 
8. Divorce sucks. I'm not about to jump into a commitment that isn't "easy" to get out of (see "skittish, fiercely independent" reference above). Divorce is messy and miserable and expensive. As a child of divorce, who has also witnessed several friends already go through the process, that's not really a path I feel like going down... ever. So again, not rushing down the aisle without putting in a lot of thought first. I'm all about building a good base (for drinking, relations, etc.).
9. Definition and gender role overload. Can't a gal just define herself for a bit? Does she have to be defined by her relationship to a man? Whoever I marry, they'll be the kind of man who accepts that I won't be defined only as "wife" or "mother." I can't be reduced to one or two elements. My twenties were all about establishing my actual identity, so it doesn't immediately get overwritten by a new title. That's how women lose themselves and wake up 18 years later, with a kid starting college, suddenly not knowing who they are as a person. And that is scary as hell. 

In a few short months, I'll officially have the ominous status of "30, Unmarried" - and I won't feel even the slightest bit bad about it. I'm entirely happy with the decisions I've made (good and bad) about my relationships with others and with myself. It hasn't always been rosy, there have been a few really low lows, but it always buoys back up again.

Maybe you're at the point like me, where marriage finally doesn't seem too horrifying, because you've got someone swell by your side. Or maybe you're reading the list above while sitting pants-less in your apartment, drinking a glass of wine, and thinking, "Preach, sister!" and a wedding just isn't on your to-do list. Or maybe you're somewhere else entirely. No matter what your relationship status, just remember that you get to define who you are, not someone else. So, kudos to all the happily married and engaged couples out there. Shout out to the singletons who are crushin' it at life just the same. And to those unmarried lovebirds, like me, you keep fucking chirping. Tweet tweet, mother fuckers. We're going to make it after all.

Can you?

* There are obviously several things wrong with this question. A) Nice man? Let's not discard the ladies as an option. B) Who says that just because one couples up, one has to settle down? C) WTFuck does settle down even mean? And why does one need a mate to do so? D) When I'm good and ready? Never? Are those optional answers? ... I have several questions about this question. 
** For those wondering about the beau... I've spent four years grilling this poor man, and trying to figure out what will drive him away, but here he is. Solid as a rock. I was happy to take the time to figure out what is or isn't right about us, together. Better to expose any deal-breakers now rather than later. That's why we also wanted to live together for awhile, to see that we were on the same page about running a household, finances, etc. And if we could like, not kill each other in the process. 

What's in a weekend?

Hello, friends. It's been awhile. With several dozen half finished posts lurking in the depths of the interwebs, and a lack of inspiration to wrap that shit up, I figured I'd just pop up a little highlight reel of this past weekend for ya. (I know, it feels like a cheat to me too, but I just miss y'all, and don't want you to think I've died somewhere.)

Mercifully, the winter months are fairly unscheduled and not crazy packed. This is my hibernation period to prep for my psychotic social butterflying of the warm months. So, what does a lazy winter weekend look like? 

Friday

Another day of crushing it in the office. And by crushing it, I mean, I hadn't gone grocery shopping in a week (we're trying to eat down our freezer) and refused to let myself go out for lunch (#walrus) so ended up eating the handful of Cocoa Puffs I found in my drawer, and almost an entire bag of jelly beans. Beyond food choices, it was end of quarter prep and frantic Friday scurrying to hit month end budgets. You know, the exciting life of a digital product manager. 

Post work, dashed home and tried on approximately thirty outfits while the beau gave helpful feedback like "You look pretty" and "Your butt looks nice." And off we went to his mom's boyfriend's retirement party. Luckily, at his mom's retirement shindig, I'd insisted on making friends with all the fabulous female lawyers, so while the beau was getting showed off by his ma, I had some boss ladies to wine and dine with. 

As the evening progressed, I also decided to join up for the March for Our Lives the next day. Upon returning home, I went to the closet with my rally poster tagboard, markers, and stencils. And I sighed a great sigh that protests are so commonplace. And then I got to work.

Retirement celebrations and getting out the soapbox.

Saturday

Since the beau was working, I rose with the sun and went to mall walk with my sister. Yes, we're basically 95 years old, and no, I don't care. After getting in five miles and a shit ton of chitchat, I sped my way back downtown and straight to the march. I intercepted the beau's ma and her friend and we worked our way to the starting point. There, we heard empowered young voices, eloquently demanding change. It was inspiring and terribly sad. I hope that by the time I have children, they won't have to be the protesters of tomorrow. I hope the world will quit sucking by then... I've always been a bit of an optimist.

So, per usual, if there's something to be angry about, and a chance to throw my voice into the hurling masses, count me in. I have opinions and love a peaceful protest. Thus, we marched. And just as we were about to hit the end of the march route, I gave some hugs and made a mad dash back to my car. I was already running late for brunch.

Brunch was a fabulous birthday celebration with some more powerhouse women in my life. Many cocktails, much merriment. Several incidents of flying potatoes and random egg sputtering about. Laughs were had by all. By the time one o'clock rolled around, I had already put on seven miles and my heart had grown three sizes (much like the Grinch, only, like, it had started out pretty full already). 

With a few hours before the beau's return, I quickly finished up rewatching West World. (Since I really don't watch TV unless we're both watching something, and he hates rewatching things, it takes weeks for me to wrap things up, so this had been a month-long undertaking.) When he got home, it was long run day (as he preps for his next half marathon, leading up to the NYC Marathon this fall), so I cleaned, worked out, and cooked up dinner. We watched an episode of The Office while we ate (working our way slowly through the series, which I've never seen) and I retired early to go read my book for book club. (You'll Grow Out of It by Jessi Klein - aka my inner monologue published under someone else's name.) 

Gun control, portion control, all the things. 

Sunday

Since I can't really sleep in anymore (thanks, daily 7am meetings for work), the day started with laundry at dawn. While waiting, I prepped tablescapes for Passover Seder, wrote a few letters, read, and updated our trip itinerary doc. Trip prep has been a big theme lately, even though we're a couple months out. We've got flights, hotels, and rental cars booked. I've got Copenhagen pretty well laid out, and a long list of stops for the Faroe Islands, now we just need to plot the best plan to see everything efficiently. 

After the beau was up and laundry was folded, we walked to a nearby microbrewery and grabbed breakfast burgers. It's member appreciation month for the Film Club we're in, so we snagged a discount, which was nice. Then it was on to grocery shopping, and a venture out to the suburbs for hiking boot shopping (again, trip prep). As the afternoon approached, I settled in for a nap and the beau hit up the streets for another run. 

I awoke sweaty and hangry, a deadly combo. The radiators had been blasting us all day, and with my stomach in revolt, I viciously chomped the heads off of animal crackers for an hour, while watching a documentary about amphetamines and America's ongoing prescription drug problem. (You know, something light.) Then it was back to the to-do list and exercise, while the beau tapped into the latest Jessica Jones. 

Reading by the morning light; burgers for life. 

And here I am, writing up this blog post as the weekend comes to a close. A nice chill weekend, with a fair amount of productivity, and I'm happy as a clam. Usually by this point in the winter, I'm a total mess of anxiety, and am borderline depressed, scratching at the walls to be free and living my best summer-social-life. But, oddly enough, right now, I'm just plain content. A little hanger, and some crankiness from time to time, sure. All in all though, the weather is decent, my taxes are done (with limited struggle), we have a vacation looming, and really, spring is almost sprung. So, cheers to only a few more weeks of chill weekends. Summer scramble, we're fucking coming for ya! *game face, on!*

No, thank you.

Time to let you in on a little pet peeve: I hate it when people try to change my mind about something. 

Sure, if I'm being unreasonable, or am not understanding the bigger picture, explain away. Tell my why I'm wrong, or making an incomplete decision. Give me a logical explanation and let's move forward. Happy to be enlightened. Wonderful. 

But when it comes to an ordinary decision, with no right or wrong answer, then just calm down and don't make an argument where there doesn't need to be one. More than anything, this bothers me in the service industry. If I'm being indecisive or have questions, then yes, I most definitely want feedback and help decision making. Else, nope. Don't push your agenda on me.

A case study....

Walk into a bar with friends. Everyone is still perusing the beer menu. Bartender asks what we want. Since no one else is ready, I step up and say, completely clear and confident, "Brand old fashioned, sweet. Thanks." 

Bartender smiles, "Did you want just a regular one or our version?"

I repeat, "Regular. Just a regular brandy old fashioned, sweet. Thanks."

She continues, "Oh well have you ever had ours before? It's really good."

Strained smile, "I'm sure it is. But no thanks. Just a regular one."

Undeterred, "Trust me on this, it's great though...."

Knowing that it's her job to upsell, and that "their version" is probably ten bucks instead of six, I politely say, "Okay, what's in your version that makes it special? Explain it. Sell it to me." This is something I often say to people who are too pushy with their wares: sell it to me. If you're a great salesperson, and your pitch is solid, I'll often buy it just out of respect for the trade. I know that being salesy in a genuine way is tough. I let them do their best. 

My offer in this case though was disingenuous. I knew what I wanted and I didn't care what she had to say, I just was looking for something to punch a hole in. She jumped on it and started explaining. Some local brandy, something fancy about the bitters, and (since their specialty is beer) a raspberry beer of some sort. I cut her off, "Oh yeah, yep, I'm sure people love that. I don't drink beer though, so... That's right out. Just a regular brandy old fashioned, please. Sweet." And I turn to see if the beau had selected his beer. 

Brandy. Sweet. Not asking for your first born.

Bartender laughs, "Well I mean, you won't hardly know it's a beer. It's more like a splash of raspberry liquor in it kind of." My eyebrows disappeared up into my hairline (Elrond style), and my clearly inauthentic smile was plastered on. She continued, "Listen, I'll make it for you, and if you don't like it, I'll make you a different one."

At this point, the friends have selected their beers, and are waiting to order, and I'm so internally pissed about being forced into this decision that all I say is, "Fine." Then, to be polite, I excused myself to the restroom while the others ordered, so I wouldn't literally bore a hole through her head with my rage eyes. In the bathroom, I quietly bitched to my friend. It sounded so irrational that I was mad about something so silly, so I just got over it and we went to go sit.

She brings the drink to our table and says, "Let me know what you think." 

Forcing my smile once more, I say, "I'm sure it's lovely. Thanks." And she proceeds to stand there. Waiting for me to drink it. I stared into the glass, thinking maybe I should just like, spaz out and spill it everywhere/drop it. I looked at the hazy ripple of raspberry beer, discoloring my desired drink, tainting it. I chanted a little mantra of "not my drink" in my mind, and took a sip. "That's fine, thanks." 

Bartender proceeds to tell my friends that they'll have to tell her later what I really think. Ha, ha ha. All the chuckles. 

Hours later, one of my friends says, "So, did you like that drink?" 

My internal response: "I fucking hated it."

My actual response, something like: "It wasn't what I wanted." 

It's a little sad, that for some things my breaking point is so far past the line it should be. I can have infinite patience and never snap. Then, for something little like this, I get all bothered. Really, this was probably just a manifestation of my own worries. Feeling like I don't have control and am not certain how to get what I want out of life. Sometimes, you tell life what you want, and it comes back and says, "Why not this instead?" And you look at what it's offering and it's not your pick. You have to decide if you just accept it, or stand up for yourself. You don't have to be rude. But maybe a firm "no, thank you" will suffice...

Yes. Thank you. I'll have what I ordered.
I am a woman of my own mind, thankyaverymuch.