Labor Day 2012.

I’m exceptionally great at throwing pity parties for myself. It’s not something I often brag about.

however I will brag about how badass I look in this picture.

 This weekend was absurd. And when I say absurd, I mean absolutely epic. And when I say epic, I mean that you probably don’t even want to know 75% of the things that were said/done/eaten/drank. Etc., etc., so on and so forth.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from these past few days.  Andrew and I had never been to Bethany Beach before; we booked the house through an online agency. I was placing our fate in some pictures and reviews that I had read online.

Damn I’m good.

I don’t feel the urge to write a novel on the weekend; that’s usually how I feel about weekends that are mind-blowing. I’ll just show you guys some of my favorite pictures; those are worth 1,000 words anyways, right?

 whose that strange girl with the glow-in-the-dark face paint and the shades on, in da club? no idea.

the crib.

clearly, that was my go-to face for the weekend.

And now, we arrive back to where we started. The pity party topic. This morning I dropped my wolf pack back off at BWI and said goodbye (once more) to three friends who I would easily consider sisters. No, I didn’t cry on my drive to work.

surfer girls

beach bums

I’m an incredibly emotional being; much more than your average bear. I’m well aware of this, so is my boyfriend. I can’t mask how I feel, ever, and I’m horrifically bad at acting like I’m OK when I’m not. It’s actually a quality that I like about myself, no joke.

There’s really no moral to this story, no point to this post than to half vent/half work through how I’m feeling, current state. I had a great weekend, with great, great people. I didn’t work out, I made poor life choices that I don’t regret, and I’m now getting sick because of them. I still don’t regret them. I refuse to fall into this cycle that has slowly been evolving over the past few months; being sad and feeling bad for myself, throwing a pity party until I arrive again to a weekend with friends/fun that cheers me up, being happy and then immediately falling off the deep end into sadness shortly after.

getting trolled.

I’m ending that cycle. Because that’s life; it’s always going to be hard, there’s always going to be ups and downs. There’s always going to be periods of sadness and loneliness, yet there will ALWAYS be something to look forward to. No matter what shape or size that may come in. Because as I found myself recently saying to a friend… there’s no joy without trials.

Bethany Beach, Labor Day, 2012.

Last but not least, I didn’t run this weekend... unless you count running into the waves full force, and crashing back onto the beach. I cranked out a sweaty 18 miles before we headed out of town on Friday, and haven’t laced up my shoes since.  I don’t feel bad; the ocean undoubtedly gave me a hard core workout all three days, as my abs are still sore. Not to mention the whip lash. However, I can’t help but point out that part of my sadness is likely due to the lack of running. Because running makes me happy, simply put. So I’m banking on my seven miles tonight for a quick lift of my spirits as well.

Thanks for listening. I can always count on you guys for that.

Cheers!

The Aftermath

I have trouble slowing down.

I’m typically not one for naps, and I almost constantly have a list of 10-15 things that I need to get done each day.

Not this past week.

The Rocky Mountains have a reputation for melting my heart. If I told you that while doing my 14 mile run last weekend in the heart of the mountains, that tears of joy welled up in my eyes…would you believe me?

Because that’s the truth. I’m pretty sure I had a half grin on my face most of the run, and I’m not ashamed to admit that. My lungs burning from the altitude, but my body slowly recalling why it is that I love this sport in the first place. Back in the place where my running love initially bloomed.

There’s just something about the mountains. Waking up not to an alarm, but to silence. Starting your day as slowly as you see fit, on the porch, coffee in hand, staring face to face with God’s beautiful creation.

I believe that nothing rivals that.

Not having an agenda, taking naps at will and getting more fresh mountain air than you could ever bargain for.  

Paddling down miles of Class 3 Rapids and not feeling fear, but a combination of exhaustion and elation. Finishing the day with sunburnt cheeks, and a cold beer in hand. Spending three plus hours hiking up to an elevation of over 12,000 feet and sucking air like it’s your job, yet standing in awe of the miles of mountains laid out before you at the top.

the three brothers, youngest to oldest by coincidence. And of course Lori :)

When I originally wrote this post, wrapped in a blanket on the front porch of the cabin, letting the coolness of the morning envelope me (something I had not felt in months) humming birds were zipping to and from the nearby flowers to grab some nectar. And I couldn’t hear anything but the faint sound of cars, and the chirping birds and chipmunks.

I would say that the week in general made me want to chirp along. Because it’s days like I just described, sacred places like that which remind me how necessary it is to slow down. To listen, to smile. To think, reflect and be so darn thankful.

me and my main man. 12,200 feet.

Yet as of now, it's a week later and I’m back on the East Coast. And I can say that I'm glad to be back. 9 days is a long time to travel, and although we made some awesome memories, I was more than ready to get back into a routine.

More thoughts later.  For now, Cheers!