With My Own Two Feet: June, July

JUNE
Rock 'n' Roll San Diego (San Diego, CA) - 13.1 miles

Like many race series, the Rock 'n' Roll series offers bonus medals - they call them Heavy Medals - if you do more than one race in a calendar year.  So when searching for a June race, I was drawn to the Rock 'n' Roll San Diego because not only would it mean another half, it would also mean earning the Rock Encore medal.  This race was also significant because in addition to AJ, Anthony and Schultzy, we ran it with Allison's dad and step-dad.  There were so many things I avoided doing earlier in life because I was afraid that the other people doing it would judge me for my lack of ability.  So even though I knew I'd be the slowest runner and everyone would be waiting for me at the finish line, I wasn't afraid to line up at that start line, knowing that I would cross the finish line in my own time with my head held high.

JULY
Costume Party Run (San Diego, CA) - 13.1 miles

By July, I was halfway done with my year of running.  Even though I was only 50% of the way through, it already felt like a big accomplishment because I was already registered for most of my remaining races, which meant completing my year goal seemed actually doable.  But the July race held way more significance than just starting off the second half of the year.

The previous July, I had only just started regularly running, so when my annual week with Kayla came around, I was excited that she and Amanda agreed to running a 5k with me.  As a kid, we did a lot of great things as a family, but exercising wasn't one of them.  So to be running 3.1 miles with my niece - my godchild - was more than I ever expected in my life.  The Costume Party Run boasts that its finishers are awarded with the largest medal around: a six-inch diameter disco ball.  But at the end, I was awarded with so much more.

As we lined up at the start line, we had a plan.  AJ was going to stick with Amanda; Philip was going to stick with Kayla; and Anthony and I were going to stick with Jenna.  We'd start together, but as our paces created natural gaps in the group, we wanted to make sure that the girls were never alone.  I was so proud of my Mander; she had been training regularly and was excited to take on her first half marathon.  I knew she was going to lead the pack and outpace me with ease.  I was excited to get to run the race with Jenna.  I knew she was the most nervous about the race, but regardless of how many alternate plans I came up with for things for us to do while the rest of the group ran the race, she was determined to do it.  I love my niece, so getting to know her friends means a lot to me.  No better way to make a lasting memory than to spend three hours running together.  We laughed; we complained; we ran; we walked.  But most importantly, we finished.  Again, I was so proud of Miss Jenna.

But it was the duo in the middle of our pack - my little brother and my niece - that carried me through this race.  The love I have for my brother and niece is overwhelming.  I have spent my whole life being a protective big sister and the past 16 years being a protective aunt.  Even during times when I struggled with my lowest bouts of self esteem, I knew I was good at being a sister and an aunt.  And to watch these two people who I love so much - a father/daughter team who had been through so much together - add another 13.1 miles to their journey in life side-by-side, I was overcome.  I was so proud and so happy and so envious and so full of love.  How many teenage girls get to run her first half marathon with her close friends and family, and especially, paced with her father?  And the truth is, I was even really proud of myself because here I was promoting health and wellness with my niece and her friends.  At their age, I never hoped I would be an adult who would do such a thing for the next generation.  At their age, I never hoped I would be proud of myself.  All of these emotions, pride, happiness, excitement and, most of all love, carried me through the streets of San Diego and across that finish where I was greeted with sweaty hugs and pink, flushed faces of people I love so dearly.  And that is a prize that no medal, no matter how big, can ever beat.

With My Own Two Feet: March, April, May

MARCH
Rockin' Shamrock Race (Santa Monica, CA) - 3.1 miles

After doing two halfs and two 10ks in two months, March felt like the right time to slow down a little.  As the old saying goes, this was a marathon, not a sprint!  And when I started looking around for options, I came across a local company that conducts weekly races in Santa Monica and Long Beach.  Rocket Racing Productions is run by Mark & Michelle, and they host low key, inexpensive races on a regular basis.  And even better, finishers still all get a medal (because clearly one of the few reasons I run is for the bling!)  So I registered for the Rockin' Shamrock Race and showed up not knowing what to expect.  Michelle greeted all runners at check in, which consists of her crossing your name off of the list and handing you a bib.  Once it's show time, Mark calls everyone over to the start line that he chalked that morning.  He explains where the chalked turnaround point is before blowing the whistle, and then just like that, we were off.  Running down the strand past the Santa Monica Pier with the ocean breeze against your face is an incredible way to start the morning.  There are few people out and about, so you have plenty of time to take in the sights of the mountains against the sounds of the ocean mixed with the smell of the salt air.  And as I approached the finish line, there was Mark with a camera and a stopwatch.  For the first time, I started to think about how fulfilling it must be on the other side - creating an opportunity for folks to run and be healthy.  I knew then that this wouldn't be my last Rocket Racing run!

APRIL
Rock 'n' Roll San Francisco (San Francisco, CA) - 13.1 miles

My first half was part of the Rock 'n' Roll series and when I got the email announcing that Rock 'n' Roll was merging with the TransAmerica half to do it's inaugural Rock 'n' Roll San Francisco Race, there was no way I could pass it  up.  How many times would I have the opportunity to run over the Golden Gate Bridge?  The race coincided with Steffie and Allison's birthdays, so it even gave us a chance to plan a bigger weekend of fun in the Bay area.  I convinced Steffie that registering her for her first half marathon was the perfect birthday gift (probably an equally genius idea to when she convinced me to hike down a mountain without proper shoes), and quickly all details fell into place.  Two nights before we hopped on the plane, things got even more exciting when a few more friends decided to drive up and join the fun.  But when eight people go to San Francisco and only four of them are running 13.1 miles, chances are, it won't all be about running.

While the Rock 'n' Roll San Fran was only my third half, it was the first time I realized how bold I had become in my approach to running.  Unlike the previous two halfs, I hadn't trained as diligently.  And with every glass of wine that was poured at dinner the night before the race, the less sleep I committed myself to getting.  When the four runners of the group finally peeled themselves away (mainly because I was falling asleep at the table) and returned to the hotel, it was close to 2 a.m.  Only four hours until we had to be up and ready to run.  And when that alarm went off, I couldn't believe how tired I felt.  Fortunately the crisp San Francisco air quickly woke me up and as we waited at the start line, I started to get excited about how beautiful this course was bound to be.  Unlike any of my other races, this time I had a running partner.  Steffie and I were going to run the race together.  Up that first hill and through the winding streets, we made our way toward the bridge.  We stopped to take pictures and soaked in the memories.  And when we crossed the finish line together, I knew we had accomplished more than 13.1 miles.  How can you truly measure a memory like that?  After a delicious brunch and a rewarding shower, we were back on the streets of San Francisco to finish our day of sight seeing, almost as if the race were just another thing someone does on a Sunday morning.

MAY

Thunder Blast Run (Santa Monica, CA) - 3.1 miles

May.  Five months into my year-long challenge.  With a number of big races still to come, this seemed like another good time to take it easy and run a 5k.  So I turned back to my new local favorites and checked out what Rocket Racing Productions had to offer.  The course for the Thunder Blast Run was identical to that of the Rockin' Shamrock, and I welcomed the familiarity of it.  I laughed at myself while running because I couldn't remember when I had become a person to whom running 3.1 miles was taking it easy.

With My Own Two Feet: February

FEBRUARY
Live Ultimate (Santa Monica, CA) - 6.2 miles
Ragnar Del Sol (Wittenburg, AZ - Tempe, AZ) - 4.6 miles, 5.7 miles, 5.5 miles

With the first month of my running challenge complete, I entered February with excited anticipation.  February meant that in addition to checking off the second month of my goal, it was time to tackle what seemed like the craziest of my runs: a Ragnar Relay.  But before Ragnar began, I had another finish line to cross.

In an effort to train for Ragnar, I registered for the Live Ultimate Run in Santa Monica.  We gathered at the start line by the ocean and when the buzzer sounded, we were off.  The course was fairly similar to the Christmas Run we had done in December, so with every bend in the road and slope of the course, I had an idea of what to expect.  This gave my mind time to wander.  I kept wondering where the name Live Ultimate came from, thinking that the first word was līv as in "this taping is live."  What I now know is that the word is actually lĭv, as in the opposite of die.  The idea behind the race series is to promote living your best life being passionate about health, balance and well-being.  As I crossed the finish line, I was doing just that.

Usually as the end of February nears, I am busy wondering how I will spend my birthday and what turning a year older will mean.  This year, I had an even bigger task to ponder: participating in my first Ragnar Relay.  I had first heard of Ragnar the previous fall when AJ and Anthony completed the Ragnar Napa Valley.  When they returned, they immediately said, "We have to do this!"  Anthony had already discovered that the Del Sol race was over our birthday weekend and both were convinced this is how we should celebrate.  I wasn't so sure.  Single races were one thing.  Creating a team of 12, sleeping in vans and running three legs over the course of 34 hours seemed like an insurmountable task.  At that time, I hadn't even run my first half marathon; how did we know I'd be able to do a Ragnar?  But fueled by a new confidence and knowing that I had the support of amazing friends (and truthfully excited for something to plan!), I agreed.

Creating a team.  Reserving vans.  Understanding the rules.  There was so much to do.  But if I was going on a crazy running adventure, the first thing I was sure of is that I wanted my brother by my side.  Fortunately, he's never one to turn down a good time (and maybe more fortunately, this actually sounded like a good time to him), he was easy to convince.  Quickly, the team fell in place, and I had fun creating a blog to keep us informed each step of the way.

It's hard to fully explain how much fun it is to do a Ragnar because every detail you share just makes it sound more and more crazy.  Sleeping in a van.  Running three times in 34 hours, including in the middle of the night.  Not showering.  Sharing a sweaty slap bracelet.  And you have to pay to do it?!?!  What could be more appealing?  And as I took off on my first leg, I still wasn't sure what I had gotten myself into.  Unlike other races, this isn't just about me.  If I needed to walk, it meant holding up our next runner.  If I was grumpy or tired, there was no where to hide but the next row of the van.  This was a true blend of individual and team effort.  But as I was chugging along that first leg, and I turned the corner to see my van and teammates cheering me on, my heart swelled with love.  It gave me energy.  And when I got to the exchange where I got to pass the slap bracelet on to Elyse - Elyse, with whom I had come so far - from supervisor/supervisee to friends to family; from Massachusetts to California; from two girls from Jersey unsure of their worth in the world to two women in California learning just how great we are.  As I slapped the bracelet on her wrist (and slapped her ass for good measure), off she went!  And the first person standing there to congratulate me was my brother.  The kid who spent his childhood teasing and tormenting me.  The kid who I often told that the reason mom and dad didn't have a third kid was because they had perfection, tried again and got him.  The kid who became the guy of whom I was most protective.  The guy who became the man who is one of my greatest friends.  There he was to give me a big hug and kiss.  I never felt so full of pride.

Hours later, the entire team stood at the finish line waiting for our 12th and final runner: Steffie.  As she turned the corner to come over the bridge, less than half a mile from where we were waiting for her, I broke into a smile thinking about how lucky I was to be running not only with my brother, but with one of my cousins.  Steffie and I are far enough apart in age that growing up, we didn't spend a lot of time with each other.  I was working at UMass full-time before she and I even had our first Briana/Steffie-only memory.  I had driven up to Vermont to join the family for a weekend, and finding ourselves stuck at the top of a mountain with over an hour wait to take the tram back down, somehow Steffie convinced me to hike down with her.  I was in flip flops; she was in fashion sneakers.  Neither of us were truly prepared for the adventure.  In a true Steffie stroke of genius, she decided our best effort was to each wear one sneaker so that we had proper traction on the way down.  And each time one of us slipped or slid down part of the mountain, we laughed that we ever thought those shoes had any traction whatsoever.  And when we made it to the bottom, I remember thinking that this was the first time I had ever spent any alone time with her.  And now here we were, ten years later, both living in California and having already piled up many memories that were just ours.  And we were more than cousins, we were friends.  The team formed a tunnel for her to run through before we followed her over the finish line, and again I was overwhelmed by the love.  How lucky was I to be able to share this memory with so many people I loved?  We spent that night celebrating with food, drinks, laughter and games.  We shared all of the new memories we had made along the way: the kills, the spills, the songs, the legs, the sounds that haunted our night runs, the moments we thought we might not finish.  We were already planning when we could Ragnar again.

 

With My Own Two Feet

Typically, I shy away from making New Year's resolutions.  These always seem to be lofty commitments you try to make that you end up ditching before Groundhog's Day comes to pass.  But as 2012 came to a close, I had an idea that was too tempting to pass up, so instead of a resolution, I made a goal for 2013.  And more than a goal, it was a promise to myself.  I committed to running a race a month in 2013, and though there were a few times I questioned why I set out to do such a crazy thing, I am happy to report that as of this past Sunday, my goal is complete.

The closer I got to that final finish line, the more I thought about the meaning this year has had.  Each race, no matter how short or long, held significance because it meant I was one step closer to achieving something major in my life.  Each race, each mile, each step had its own meaning.  And the biggest meaning of all, I did it all by myself.  Everything I ever told myself I couldn't do...wasn't capable of...shattered the second I crossed that final finish line.  Because while I had a lot of support along the way, there was only one person who could physically complete this task:  Me.  I did it.  With my own two feet.

JANUARY
New Year's Race (Los Angeles, CA) - 13.1 miles
Coastal Walk/Run (Los Angeles, CA) - 6.2 miles

I entered the new year with a little bit of confidence in my step.  I had embraced my first ever half marathon in October of 2012 and did it in an impressive time, given my lack of running history.  So when I lined up at the start line for the Inaugural New Year's Race, I was pretty confident that I'd be able to at least match that time.  Yes, it was night time and yes, it was a bit chillier, but how hard could it be to shave at least one second off of my last result?  By mile 3, I knew I had mistaken confidence for cockiness.  As the pain in the left ball of my foot sharpened, I wondered how far I'd be able to push it.  And by mile 6, after rounding the bases of Dodger Stadium, I wasn't sure if I could run any longer.  And while walking wouldn't typically be so bad, the 9 p.m. start time meant that it was getting late and cold.  My body was shivering and my muscles were cramping.  If this is how I felt in my first race of the year, how was I ever going to accomplish this lofty goal?  This is exactly why I didn't make resolutions; they were always impossible to keep.  With two miles to go, just when my crankiness was at it's highest, there was AJ at the sidelines.  He had finished the race much earlier and, thanks to the beauty of text messaging, knew I was struggling.  He jumped onto the course and ran by my side.  And what did I do?  I told him to leave.  I told him I didn't want to talk, and I was too cranky to hear his positive support.  He smiled at me, reminded me I could do it and quietly made his way back to the finish line so that he could be there when I crossed.  Even as he walked away, his words stuck with me.  Just having him at my side for those few minutes meant so much because my crankiness was no match for his love and support.  I took a deep breath, and I chugged along.  I let go of the anger I was having toward my own body for not being strong enough, and I started to remind myself that I had plenty of strength just by being on the course.  I reminded myself that my finishing time didn't matter.  What mattered was finishing.  So I crossed that finish line a full 30 minutes slower than my previous half, and I let AJ put his arms around me in a congratulatory hug.  I felt the warmth of Anthony's smile when he, too, embraced me.  And as discouraged as I felt, I knew I wasn't ready to give up on this goal.

It was only a few weeks later that I found myself lined up at the next starting line.  This time, it was in the rain.  It rains so infrequently in Los Angeles that when it does, you have to expect that it will happen when you have something you need to do outside.  But this race, while smaller than the New Year's Race, had it's own significance.  This is the race that opened my eyes to running.  It was only one year before that Yas had asked if I wanted to join her team for the Coastal Walk/Run as a fundraiser for her job's philanthropy.  I kindly reminded her I didn't run, and she told me I could walk it.  "My parents are going to walk it.  They typically even cheat by cutting down a path that leads them straight to the finish line."  Since I adore Yas and her parents, and since many of my friends were doing it, I figured I had nothing to lose.  So one year later, even though I had already accomplished my January race, I couldn't not participate in the run that started it all.  And since I was training for future races, I took the plunge and registered for the 10k option.  It rained the entire race, but as I neared the finish line, I couldn't help but think of the me that had crossed this same finish line one year earlier.  I had come so far, and yet this was still just the beginning.  So I finished and joined my friends to continue our singing and laughing in the rain.  And in that moment, I knew it was going to be quite the year.

For Love

In one month, I'm doing something crazy; I'm running a 200-mile relay race.  The Ragnar Del Sol team recently sent a post out to all runners asking, "Why I Run?"  Those with the best stories may just get featured in the race magazine.  And while being featured in a magazine doesn't actually make the list of why I run, self reflection and making meaning of experiences is right up my alley, so I thought I'd give it a shot.  So, here is why I run:

January 1, 2012.  I had never run more than a mile at one time in my more than three decades of life.  Most of those runs were in high school when my gym teacher was clocking me for the Presidential Fitness tests, and I was consistently one of the last to finish.  Health, wellness, weight.  These were all things I struggled with from childhood to adulthood.  In March 2010, I decided to start a journey into a healthier life.  Slowly, but surely, I began to lose weight, and with every pound I lost, I also lost a little bit of the fear I had of exercise.  I would find myself crossing the threshold into the rec center at work and climbing onto the bike or the elliptical with a little more confidence each time.  I'd get on the treadmill and start to walk, sometimes even cranking up the pace to run for a minute or two at at time.  I specifically remember the day that I ran for 15 minutes straight.  I couldn't believe I had it in me.

So on January 1, 2012, a year and a half into my wellness journey and 100 pounds lighter, a friend asked me if I wanted to join her team for a local 5k for charity.  I laughed and told her that I don't run, and she assured me that there was no pressure to finish it quickly.  She said I could even walk it.  Not wanting to miss out on a fun morning with my friends for a good cause, I signed up knowing that I could easily walk 3.1 miles.  I began doing more runs at the gym to prepare, all the while knowing that I would walk most of this race.  And on the morning of the 5k, I started to run.  And around two and a half miles, I felt tired, so started to walk.  I took three steps when I thought to myself, "Briana, you're almost there.  You can do this."  And I did.  I picked up the pace and started running again.  And I haven't stopped.  That was January 28, 2012.

On January 5, 2013, I ran my second half marathon.  This is the first race of a year that I've dedicated to running, with the main event being Ragnar Del Sol, which takes place four days before my birthday.  I've gathered my closest friends and family members to congregate in Arizona for a weekend of running to celebrate how far I've made it and how much further I can go.  Because when I run, I feel free.  I feel free of the weight that held me back for so long.  I feel free of the insecurities that stopped me from taking on many adventures.  And I feel free of boring workouts where I am staring at the same TV or spot on the wall too long.  I run because it heightens my love for the people in my life who are sharing this experience with me.  It heightens my love for being outside as I get to watch the world as I pass through it rather than it passing me by.  It heightens my love for myself because with every run, every step, I am reminded of what I can accomplish if I just keep putting one foot in front of the other.  And anything that can fill your heart with that much love is worth running toward.

100 Pounds Later

I've been staring at this screen...staring at this keyboard...for days...even for weeks, trying to find the words to express what I'm feeling right now.  There is so much happening in my life currently, so much that I want to talk about and process, but I know that I can't let this moment go by without giving it the reflection and the credit that it deserves.  Two and a half years ago, I started on a journey to find a better and healthier version of myself, and today, I can sit here and state that I am officially 100 pounds lighter than the day that I started.  Actually, in fairness, I am a 102 pounds lighter...but who's counting!  It's such a big achievement, but as I said, I'm having a hard time finding the words to express what this means to me.  Usually, I'm able to find a creative and articulate way of stringing together words to tell the story of my emotions, but instead, today, I am going to let myself babble my way through this.

Weight.  For as long as I can remember, weight has been a major issue in my life.  As a child, I spent a lot of time thinking about the concept of "baby fat" and wondering when mine would melt away.  As a teenager, I shrunk behind each extra pound, and felt more and more "broken" because somehow I couldn't overcome being heavy.  Food provided comfort for every mean thing another kid said to me or every time I felt sad.  Both of those things happened frequently, so food became my only comfort.  It was safe.  It never made me feel badly about who I was.  And it helped fill the void of being lonely and having no self-esteem.  As a young adult, in college and in my early twenties, these trends continued.  But they were compounded with life stresses, like choosing graduate school, writing papers, the loss of friends, paying bills.  And through all of this, I was drowning in a sea of no self confidence or self worth.  Not to mention, for a person who was fairly successful academically, I was completely uneducated about my own body and wellness, and how so many factors are connected.  So all of this, combined with a few health issues that exasperated the issue resulted in me being a fat kid...both physically and mentally.

What does it mean to be fat physically and mentally?  Well, physically, it's quite obvious.  I was overweight.  I've been 5'4" since the sixth grade (that's 1990 for all of you out there who weren't even born then!  Yikes!)  But as my height stayed the same, my weight continued to grow.  I was carrying around way too much weight for my frame.  So, physically, I was fat.  But being fat mentally is a whole different thing.  It's a part of your identity.  I've been fat for so long, that it's difficult for me to think of myself any other way.  Even today, 102 pounds lighter & 34 years wiser, my trainer called me skinny and I cringed.  Skinny?  Me?  Not possible.  I'm a fat kid.  I'm a kid who sat in the Ralph's parking lot crying last night because of other life things, who ended up walking into the store to buy cookies.  And yes, while I bought Newman-O's instead of Oreo's (organic, whole foods), and I only ate three of them instead of a whole sleeve, I still turned to food when my emotions were saddest.  102 pounds later, I am still mentally a fat kid.  I've come a far way, but many of the things that led me to being fat still linger in my mind.  They are still a part of my identity; a part that will take a lifetime to change.

And change isn't an easy thing to come by.  I've had many people ask me over the past two and a half years, as I've slowly but surely made this change in my life, "how have you done it?"  And the simplest answer I have for them is, "It's been a lot of hard work."  Because it has.  And the work hasn't been just about eating and exercise (though that is a big part of it), but it's also been the work on the inside of me as well.  As I tell my students and staff all of the time, I am one of the  most openly private people around.  That means while I am not likely to tell you every detail of my life, I am pretty open about sharing the overview of my struggles and triumphs.  Part of that is therapy.  Therapy is a part of my life.  A permanent part.  It took me 26 years to get myself to swallow my pride and overcome the taboo from society to get myself to a counselor.  And while my journey into therapy could be a whole other reflection, I would be remiss if I didn't mention it here because it has been a big part of the work that I've done in losing the weight and getting healthy.  It has been the exercise and adjustment to my diet for the mental fat kid, not the physical the fat kid.  It has been key in helping me get to a point where I can come face-to-face with my fears, and be strong enough to sit down and share these thoughts with all of you.

Let's be clear, fear is a big part of this.  I can feel the fear all the way to the tips of my fingers as I type these words.  I keep asking myself, "Am I really going to share this?  Can I really put myself out there like this?"  And, thanks to years of therapy, I am able to ask myself, "What am I so afraid of?"  I'm terrified to admit out loud that I am a fat kid.  I've made plenty of jokes at my own expense over the years, but in typical fashion, those jokes were meant to deflect attention.  To send a message to the world, "Yea, I know I'm fat.  You don't have to make the joke; I'll do it for you."  So to actually put it out there to the universe in a serious way feels very vulnerable.  It's like taking my guard down and letting folks see the real me.  And I'm afraid of failure.  It took me two and a half years to lose this weight, but I've previously lost weight before (never this much, but at least part of the weight).  And each time, I put it back on.  So, admitting to my world that I've lost the weight makes me terrified of swallowing these words in the future if I should put the weight back on.  I'm not planning on doing that, and I do believe that this time is different for many reasons, but the fear is still there.  What if I fail?  What if I really am a permanently fat kid?  What does that say about me?

But fear be damned!  As terrified as I am, I have promised myself to make this reflection public because if I've learned anything over the years it's that if we share our stories openly and authentically then we help each other out in ways we can never imagine.  I work my butt of on a daily basis in my job, and the best feedback that I get from my staff and my students is that I have helped them just by being genuinely me.  I remember the first time a student told me that; I think I laughed.  How could I have helped them just by being me?  Me?  I'm a mess!  But the truth is, it's owning my mess and owning my journey through life, and this realness apparently has more impact on the people with whom I work than any program or learning outcome I could ever develop.  Because of this, I look fear in the face, and I know sharing my path is important.  Maybe it's the reason I'm here.

I also think it's important to share my story because there are a lot of people who have helped me along the way.  And I truly believe in giving thanks to those in your life.  Over the past few weeks, as each pound has melted away, I knew this day was coming.  And as I started to think about all of the people who have helped me, I became overwhelmed and humbled.  There are some people, like my family, who I could detail how each day they were by my side helping me along.  And there are some people who would be shocked if I reached out to them to thank them because they might not even recognize that they helped me along the way.  Maybe it was a smile of encouragement or a compliment on a bad day.  But whatever it was, however small that gesture might have seemed to them, to me it has made a world of difference.  And while I could probably not capture every person and every gesture, the ones that come to mind are important to me to recognize.  So, to each of you, big or small, thank you.  From the bottom of my heart, I am so thankful to each of you.

But I can't wrap up without directly thanking two people who every day go above and beyond to be a support in my life.  The first is my best friend.  He is more than a friend; he is my family - like a brother.  He has been there for me at my worst and at my best.  He holds my hand when I am crying and comforts me when I am sad.  He challenges me when I am pouting.  He has cared for me when I am sick and fought with me when I am mad.  Besides my actual brother, there is no one else in the world that I can have fun with and fight with with such unconditional love.  Every day, I am reminded how lucky I am that life brought him to me.  I am a handful and yet he still is by my side.  He truly has taught me what friendship is about.  The second person is my mom.  There's no one in my life who doesn't know what my mom means to me.  This is a woman who is literally my heart.  There was never one day of our life together that she didn't demonstrate to me what it means to love whole-heartedly and live life to its fullest.  And regardless of how amazing she was, as her daughter, I know there were times when I was a pain in the ass.  There was no one I fought more with or took my bad days out on more than my mom.  And there was no one I called more to share my triumphs and happiness with than my mom.  Even this morning, when I got off the scale, I reached for the phone.  There is nothing else I wanted more in the world than to hear her voice and tell her about this milestone.  To her, I will forever be thankful for so many things, and especially helping me through becoming healthy.

So, what have I learned through these 100 pounds?  If I had to sum it up, I'd say that I've learned that I'm worth it.  And that I am so thankful to have people in my life who think I'm worth it, too.

Doctor's Orders

Today I had my one month post-op appointment at the surgeons' office.  As suspected, my iron is low, my protein is low, I'm dehydrated and they are concerned.  I was expecting all of this news, so none of it was a shock; however, what I wasn't expecting is another delay in my full-time return to work.  Don't get me wrong, if they think I need to heal, then I'm all for healing.  But that doesn't stop me from worrying.  So, now I am currently worried about the following:

Sick Days:  Somehow, even when I am out on medical leave, I still need to take sick days.  I am only taking partial days because the government covers 55% of my work, while I have to take the other 45% as sick time.  However, I still believe that I am inching close to being out of days, and the last thing I want to do is dip into my vacation time, which seems like a terrible policy to have in place.  I'm not sure what is going to happen, but hopefully will at least have a clearer picture come Monday when I talk again with the woman in payroll.

Retribution:  While I know that my supervisor has a good heart, she often lets her own anxieties get in the way of her management abilities.  I meet with her on Monday, and I'm just waiting for her to tell me all of the things she isn't going to let me do because of my sick time this semester.  I've preemptively chatted with HR about this, and I've learned that she can't do that (hold me accountable for protected time off), but that doesn't mean it will be an easy argument.  I hate anticipating these hurdles and psyching myself up for them.  It doesn't make coming to work, when it's already a struggle, any easier.

My Staff:  I can't help but feel like I've abandoned them.  And truth is, there's nothing I can do about it.  Once upon a time, I would have had enough faith in myself and in their confidence in me to know that they didn't feel abandoned, but after the past year or so, so many things have changed that I can't help but feel like a slacker boss.  It's breaking my heart.

So, instead of just focusing on being on the mend, I spend a good deal of time stressing about these things, and more.  And I'm pretty sure, this isn't what the doctor ordered.

Observations from Bed

Day two in bed.  Unlike yesterday, I made it out of bed before 5:30 in the evening, which must say something about my increased health.  But I am still a continuous mess of congestion and sneezing.  But I spent enough time in bed today to know that a lot of the rest of the country was also home from work.  However, instead of nursing a cold, they were observing Veterans' Day.  It's definitely an adjustment working at a place that doesn't observe Veterans' Day or Columbus Day (or Presidents' Day, anymore).  In fact, it can downright suck sometimes, but I suppose it's nice that we get the week between Christmas and New Years off and even a long weekend for Easter.  So, you win some and you lose some, right?

Full of It

Today, I spent all day in bed.  Thanks to a brutal cold that has involved over a week of coughing, chest congestion and a sore throat, last night I got almost no sleep.  Because yesterday, the non-stop sneezing began.  Followed by nasal congestion that prevented me from breathing through the nose, no matter how many tissues I went through.  So, when my alarm went off this morning, and I rolled over to see that I was swimming in tissues from a rough night of fighting with my nose, I knew there was no way I was getting out of bed.  Because I still couldn't breathe, I ended up laying here watching countless hours of Glee until I finally fell asleep and slept solidly until 5:30 pm.  Now, as I curl back up in bed, I do have some of my breathing back even as a fever creeps into my body.  So while I have no idea what tomorrow will bring for this endless parade of health issues, I do know one thing:

I have no idea how or why snot is produced.  And since I am very uninformed in this area of life, I have developed my own theory.  If I can pinpoint whatever produces snot, can't we just learn to remove that part of our bodies so we never have to deal with it again?  Clearly, I know that it can't be that easy, but when I am laying here in agony, breathing through my mouth and wishing I could get myself to fall asleep, the hope that this will one day be true is the only thing that can really get me through.

Civic Duties

After spending almost four weeks on the couch (well, not entirely on the couch, but close enough), today I stood up and did two very important things:  returned to the classroom and voted!

Originally, when I found out about the surgery, I was pretty adamant about missing as few classes as possible.  Teaching, even though not my full time job, is definitely one of the highlights of my week.  So, I figured, miss one class and be back on my feet for the second.  Boy was I wrong!  Two weeks went by, and I thought, "Fine.  What's an extra week?  I'll be back in week three."  Well, I wasn't.  But this week...week four...I did it!  I got out of bed, shuffled over to the classroom and was able to get through the class.  Granted, I did have some pain, particularly in the beginning, but it was so good to be there and engaged in the conversations with the students.  I missed it.  I missed them.  Sadly, it did not give me any more strength to consider returning to my real job, but it did give me a little hope.

Once finished in the classroom, I headed to the rec center, which also doubles as my local voting poll.  I climbed the stairs to the entrance, and after a brief mess up with the ballot (what can I say?  I've been medicated for weeks!), I served my country and voted.  And it felt great!  I hope the students makes it out and vote; do they even realize how important it is?

Now, I am home and exhausted.  It's amazing how a little movement can really just wipe me out.  So, the minute I hit send, I am going to close my eyes and do a little snoozing.  I need to fight this sore throat and cough before it blows up into something bigger.  That's the last thing I need!

Baby Steps

Today, I experienced two forms of baby steps:

The first was when I took my longest walk since my surgery. At a pace that even a tortoise could beat, I marched into the neighborhood and walked just under 1.4 miles. It took me 34 minutes, but I did it. Now, if only I could do this daily, my recovery might be that much more successful.

The second was when I signed up for two different Ed.D. information sessions. The thought has been creeping through my head more frequently in recent years, but over these past few weeks, as I've had plenty of time to sit around and think about my future, I think I've realized that the time is now. And if I want to make this happen for Fall 2011, I need to move. Hopefully a 23 minute mile is fast enough, because clearly that's all I can muster right now.

So, baby steps. Ironically, one of the things I can eat right now while I'm healing is baby food. Maybe this is all connected somehow!

Sunday Silence

After a long hiatus from blogging, I sit here in front of the screen and think about all of the thoughts going through my head that I'd like to pontificate about. And, like most times when my mind is moving faster than the world around me, I feel a little overwhelmed about where to begin. So why not begin right here? In this moment.

This feeling of so much to say, so little time is a big part of what has kept me away from the blog recently. The more days that past without doing a little writing, the more I had to say. And the more I had to say, the more time I knew it would take me to say it. And the more time I needed, the less time I felt like I had. So, this endless circle spiraled me into an imaginary wall that blocked my path to written reflection. And now, as I try to break down that wall, I'm trying to remind myself that sometimes you don't need to "go big or go home." Sometimes, you just need to go.

So here I am. Going. And it has been a busy few weeks...almost two months now. At work, I sometimes feel almost robotic. I have an endless to do list, which doesn't really overwhelm me, but I do feel like I have just enough time to get things done, but not as much time to give anything extra. This has been a theme for me over the last year and a half. In the beginning, I spent a lot of time feeling guilty for what I wasn't doing, rather than considering what I was doing. I have now tried shifting my perspective. And this has been fairly successful. I think I have grown to understand how my role has changed, which helps me understand why I have less time for some things and need to make more time for others.

The more difficult part of this has been trying to help my staff understand this shift without them feeling like I care any less about them. This is the hard part, and the part that most frequently leaves me pondering how I am letting them down. I've had great supervisors, and I've had bleh supervisors. The great ones are the ones who have supported me when I most needed it, challenged me when I needed a swift kick in the butt and cared about me the same throughout it all. They are the ones who helped me determine what I wanted to be like as a supervisor. Recently, I spend a lot of time worrying about how I'm not living up to my own standard.

But the bigger standard that I have trouble meeting is the one that I have set for myself personally. This is a journey that I know will be a lifetime battle for myself. And probably using the word battle isn't entirely fair to process. I believe in life as a journey, continuously exploring the world around you and your role in it. And sometimes that journey isn't about dueling it out (with yourself or others)...sometimes it's just a leisurely stroll. But either way, it is a journey, and one that I am actively pursuing.

These past few months have offered up a timeless tradition in my life: Something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue. While this is typically only applied to weddings, I think it is also a good fit for many of the things I've been focused on recently.

Something Old: What can I say? I'm like a broken record when it comes to relationships with friends. Sometimes I wonder if I cherish my friendships too much? Hold them to too high of a standard? Because so many times do I find myself feeling hurt or isolated from people I love. To me, relationships seem like a no-brainer. You care about someone? Then call them. Spend time together. Laugh. Talk. Share what's happening in your life. Listen to what's happening in theirs. Fight. Work it out. I realize that not everyone deals with people in the same manner, but I am still shocked when I find myself in a situation where someone I care about seems so distant, and I have no idea how that happened. Once upon a time, I would've fought to close the gap. Call. Write. Name what I'm feeling and perceiving so that we can put it all behind us. The problem is I have been burned too many times by people not willing to reach back. So I've become jaded. Tired. I feel like I shouldn't always have to be the bigger person. I was having part of this conversation with a friend yesterday, and he said, "Extend an olive branch." And my knee-jerk reaction was, "Why am I always the one extending especially when I'm not the one who put up the wall?" The logical side of me knows that is a silly counter argument since I believe in communication and friendship, so maybe that's why I need to be the extender. But the emotional side of me is tired. And maybe a little confused about who is worth fighting for.

Something New: While health has always been a concern in my life, 2010 has brought this to a new level. I have been exploring my own health in new ways for months and months now. I am in and out of doctors appointments, and trying to get myself in a place that will help me live a different kind of life. More energy. Less aches. This has been such a roller coaster of emotion...scary decisions, honest truths, relearning habits. And even as I type this, the unknown of it all seems terrifying. The other new part to this is my own ability to break down my walls and let others in to my fear. Somewhere along the line, I learned to never show others what I'm feeling in fear that I would push them away with my imperfections. Or that they wouldn't care, and then I'd feel more hurt. But I feel tremendously grateful for the few people who I have been able to truly and openly talk to about this whole process, and who have really been there for me in return. It's helped me learn a lot about the level to which others care about me.

Something Borrowed: I've had many a therapist tell me that I can't take on the world's problems, and while I have made major progress (*salutes* Major Progress!) in this arena, I don't think I will ever be able to feel nothing about what my loved ones are experiencing. And truthfully, I wouldn't want to. That is such a huge part of who I am and how I define my life. I care about others, and there's nothing I wouldn't do for the people I love. And truthfully, I don't see this as a bad thing. So, when my mom is feeling sick from the chemo or my dad is feeling left out of family news or Kayla is having problems with friends at school or AJ is worried about what's next or Elyse is freaking out about the quals or Yas is feeling overwhelmed with empathy...well, let's just say it's hard for me to not feel what they're feeling. And I mean truly feel that emotion. Fortunately, I've learned that I don't need to solve these problems because sometimes it's enough to just recognize what they're feeling and be there to listen when they need it. But these are still the borrowed journeys that I am privileged enough to walk.

Something Blue: My judicial assistant at UMass used to leave me notes above my monitor that said, "Beat the funk!" This always made me smile and helped when I was having those days or weeks when I just couldn't shake the blues...or the funk. The last week has been one of those weeks for me. And the majority of the time, I haven't been able to pinpoint the source of this "ugh," but last night, I do think I had a mini-epiphany that gave me some insight into the feeling. Regardless, I still have these periods when that negative feeling just crawls into the pit of my stomach and takes up residency until I can figure out a way to evict it. And feeling this way makes it so much easier for me to hide from the world.

So this sums up where my mind has been the past few weeks, and what has been building up to stand between me and the blog. Maybe now that I've finally broken through and done some typing, it'll be easier for me to remember that I don't need an "all or nothing" entry. Even just a random thought by Briana is good enough. Because if nothing else, sharing a few of the thoughts in my head really helps me enjoy the silence of an early Sunday morning more when there is less noise in my head.

Let the Healing Begin

I'm sitting in bed, but having troubles falling asleep. In a mere hours, the healing process for one of my loved ones begins. And though I've been told by everyone that everything is going to be okay, I can't help but worry. And I can't help but wish I could be there to offer my hand through the process. So while physically I am here, mentally, I am definitely not. I just don't know how I'm going to get through the next day, much less the next few months, if I can't find a way to calm my worries. But I know that I will eventually find the strength as long as the healing process does it's job.

And It All Goes Silent

Today, one of my biggest fears came true. And though I was told numerous times that "everything is going to be alright," it didn't make anything any easier. Right now, I feel numb. My eyes burn from crying. And my heart aches. Now, I'm just left with the hum...the hum of my head spinning and my emotions depleted. And though I can only hope that tomorrow I wake up and realize that this has all been a nightmare, I have to prepare myself for the likelihood that this is all real.

Full of It

Full of what? Snot! I have a head cold. And isn't it amazing when you can all of a sudden realize that the cold is coming. For me, it typically starts in the throat, and works its way up. Before I know it, I can literally feel the cold forming in my head. Tonight, I desperately needed to finish grading papers, but I had to do so while drugged up on Dayquil because my nose wouldn't stop running and my throat was quite scratchy. So, now I lay in bed waiting for the Nyquil to take hold so that I can try to get some sleep before another day in the office. Snot, beware! I'm on to you.

The Pain in my Head

So, I had a terrible migraine. The type that makes me want to just curl up in a ball and cry. At one point, I truly thought my brain was fighting to escape from my skull. So, now that my head is feeling better, I couldn't help but look up the formal definition of a migraine.

When I first entered "what is the definition of migraine," I scrolled right past the first few results and went straight to the extremely reliable source, Wikipedia! After glancing through everyone's favorite online reference site, I went back to check out a more reliable source: MedicineNet. Both sites confirmed what I already suspected; during a migraine, my head is literally exploding! Okay, well that might be a little dramatic, but the blood vessels in my brain are actually expanding. So it's not that far off.

Fortunately, the pain in my head has stopped. At least for now. Since I get frequent headaches and semi-frequent migraines, I know there is more pain around the corner, but at least right now, I feel hopeful for a pain-free sleep. And sometimes, that's all you can ask for.

new adventures to new regions

today...oh today...

i experienced a first today after having to have a medical procedure done. the procedure itself was not really a problem, but the day of prep yesterday was terrible. i am very thankful that it's over...for now. i am also very thankful that even though i am so far away from my family, i have amazing friends who take good care of me during times of need. i'm a lucky kid.

but, in more exciting news, my wanderlust was beginning to get the best of me. i could feel that itch that always starts when it's been a while since i've traveled anywhere. it's such a longing feeling that starts deep down until it creeps into my brain. i end up searching books, magazines and travel sites until i'm able to find a destination that speaks to me. well, luckily, right as this feeling was hitting it's peak, carmen and i stumbled upon an AMAZING airfare sale to australia. $740 round trip from lax to sydney. what?! that is ridiculous...almost to the point of unbelievable. that was one week ago tomorrow. i am happy to report that yesterday, we bought tickets, and now we are seven months away from leaving for an adventure we'll never forget. i can't believe it. i am so excited!

tired

so, i'm trying to stick to my commitment to write more frequently...but, i'm just so tired. my head has been hurting for over two days now, and it's really draining me. i had some tests done today, so hopefully we'll be closer to having some answers about my headaches/migraines, but until then, i'm just hoping for a pain-free weekend.