My last blog post included a quotation from Oscar Wilde: "To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all." I've had many conversations in the last couple of months that have me thinking about what it means to live. I've been accused of having a serious case of FOMO (fear of missing out). I fight it. I argue, convinced I do not have a fear of missing fun things. However, 30 minutes later, talking to the same person, I lament not having lived. I WANT TO DO ALL OF THE THINGS! I say. 

     OK, so maybe that does sound a little like a fear of missing out. When I was in college, I didn't feel this way. I traveled. I studied abroad. But I went to bed early, always ate perfect, exercised, and had a rule to only drink twice a month. I didn't date anyone other than my high school boyfriend. After graduation, I had a minor panic--I hadn't made any of the stupid mistakes you're "supposed" to make in college. I was going to turn 24 and hadn't smoked anything, no drugs, never been hung over, never hooked up with a random guy in a bar, I'd never even given a guy my phone number. I felt like I hadn't lived. Luckily, my dear ConAgra friends helped me remedy most of these things. I gained 15 pounds I needed to gain. I didn't have a voice for 2 months from staying up too late. I had so much fun. Getting my master's degree and going to LA every six months drained my travel funds, but I set a goal of doing something new every week. I explored my city. I was single, had amazing friends, and took so much pleasure in all the stupid little things. I lived. 

     The next two years, however, put me in this weird place where I was totally and completely me--running, doing triathlons, writing, reading, with my family and my friends--but stunted. I was dating someone who was a great buddy, I never would have made it to as many Iowa basketball games without him or traveled for races, but no part of my human development was challenged. I was existing and had no idea I'd lost my obsession with living.

     The week my ex and I broke up, my, as my mom calls him, brother from another mother, Jason, told me about the time he got stabbed. Damn, I thought. That's living. I became rather obsessed with the thought of being stabbed. What leads up to that moment? What does it feel like? What happens afterward? I've backpacked across Europe, lived in Peru, ran 50 miles, but was quite convinced I haven't lived because I've never been stabbed. Wouldn't getting stabbed be a great story? A great adventure? Jason next told me about being shot at. Ughhhh, I thought. I've never experienced that either! Life is so short! How could I live enough lives to be me but still tap into the world of stabbings and shootings? 

     I've calmed down a little. I'm not going to seek out a stabbing, however, I'm not going to lose my obsession with trying to do ALL OF THE THINGS. I want to be a Yes Girl. I want to eat weird food and try new restaurants as soon as they open. I want to buy nerf guns and have a war in Target. I want to jump on a plane with my best bud and fly to Pittsburgh for the weekend. I want to run everywhere. I want to stay up late and watch movies and eat cheese and crackers with my friends. Call it FOMO if you like. I'm going to call it living. And hope I continue to do it until the end. 

"To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all."

-Oscar Wilde

I grew up going to church every Sunday. My mom talked about “The Feeling” she received from a good church sermon, but I never felt it. She said she felt full, alive. In school I was smart and studious, but I was also a jock. I was a bleeding heart liberal in small town Nebraska, a teen who found it easier to talk to adults than other kids, a girl who was told by peers she was going to hell because she was “too far gone to be saved.” In college I studied religion. I pulled parts I liked from different belief systems and created my own faith. I believe in a higher power, in the strength of positive thought, and that we all have purpose. Even with my certainty in what I believed, I still never had The Feeling.

Until I crossed finish line of my first race.

The run was a 10 miler that my dad signed me up for in college. I wish I could say I loved running from the first step. I didn’t. I was terrified—all that pressure on just me. When I crossed the finish line, however, something changed. Something clicked and I finally felt all of the different and weird pieces of me fall into place. The Feeling hit me in the chest, full force, because I had done something I thought was impossible. I’d found faith in myself. I felt alive.

I started ditching my ipod while running. I ran farther. I opened my eyes to the world around me and let Mother Nature surprise me. I opened my ears to the sound of my breath and marveled at the wonder of the human body. I’ve calmed my fears and rationalized my thoughts to beat of my heart and the sound of my shoes on the trail. I opened my soul to what I was being called to do. I’ve forgiven others and myself. I’ve made decisions on grad school across the country and buying a house. I’ve realized dreams of working for a nonprofit and rescuing a shelter dog.

When I signed up for my first 50 mile run, I realized I was not only different and weird, but also a little bit crazy and a little bit stupid. I had no idea what I was doing. I trained for Run Rabbit Run 50 mile (Steamboat Springs, CO) in Omaha, Nebraska. The longest run I did up to that point was a Labor Day weekend of four 17-mile days. I didn’t practice nutrition or know anything about taking salt or even wear proper trail shoes.

I hit the bottom of my darkest places around mile 35. I had the longest section (Long Lake to Mt. Werner 7 ish miles technical trail, mostly sneaky uphill) before my final descent. The sun was going down. I was cold. There were no other runners in sight. I was sure a bear would eat me. I wanted to lie down and die.  I talked to myself. I cried. I talked to God, my dead grandparents, and everyone off the mountain who I knew was praying for me to finish. I drew strength from myself, strength from the earth, and from the faith of everyone else who believed I could finish.

When I finally made it to Mount Werner, the aid station workers were my angels. I was afraid to start the last section (6.4 miles of switchbacks down Mt. Werner to the finish line). I had finally made it to people, could I really leave them? Could I really make it to the finish? My body was tired, but more than anything, my head’s negative thoughts were drowning out my heart’s will to finish. Two guys made it to the aid station while the volunteers tried to convince me to go on. Neither man had been able to run since mile 25, but they were going to finish even if they had to walk. Come with us, they said. I had friends. I was no longer alone. If they believed I could finish, I did too.

And I crossed that finish line.

I don’t discount religion, because I think we all find The Feeling in a different way. Running makes sense to me. It’s taught me more about the world and my place in it than any person or any book ever could. Running is the place where I’m most myself. The place where I’m most open to receive a call about my next move in life. Running is being alive and I plan to spend the rest of my days living.

My goal for 2016 is to run in 12 new places. I'm a third of the way through the year and have, not only 7 new places, but 5 states down running. I've gotten to hang with some of the best people in my life and combine four of my favorite things: running, friends, traveling, and eating (post run, duh.)

Arizona, Nevada, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania. May had me in Wisconsin (not pictured) and my running buddy and I totally killed it running back to back half marathons (placing 3rd and 4th one day and 2nd and 3rd the next) in two small towns in Nebraska.

The first weekend in May I got to check something off my bucket list and pace a marathon and help a friend finish a race. Being a personal trainer, I love helping people push and hit goals. I got to pace the Lincoln half marathon (meaning, if someone wanted to run the race in 1:50:00, they might have ran with me knowing that I would run a pace that would finish in that time), getting all of my little ducks to the finish line under their goal time, and then I went back out on the course and ran the last 5 miles of the full marathon with my friend Amy.