I had a great debate with one of my clients a few weeks ago about The American Dream. (Sorry, I know that link goes to Wikipedia, which is not a truly credible source, but that's about as perfect an explanation as you can get.) My client is a white, Catholic, heterosexual male who, while he whole-heartedly backs liberal politics, believes that The American Dream is alive and well and anyone can pull him or herself up by his or her bootstraps and reach their dreams.
     I'm not a pessimist. I'm a huge proponent of hard work and big goals. I wouldn't even consider myself a realist--I tend to live more in the world of dreams and idealism. However, I'm not blind and I am not naive. My client admires President Obama more than any other person in this country because Obama, like my client, worked his butt off to rise to the top. Both came from low income families, put themselves through school and one is now President and the other a self made millionaire. Both perfect examples of The American Dream--if you work hard enough, you can reach the top. I'd like to believe with every part of my being that he's right--we all have the same opportunities no matter our socioeconomic class, race, religion, sex, sexual orientation. But I can't buy into that. Yes, we all have the ability to dream the same dreams and have the same goals, but the schools in neighborhoods where tax payers are giving $5,000/household to taxes are getting far better services than schools in neighborhoods where homeowners are giving $1,500/household to taxes. Couple that with homes in which wealthy parents are home to help their kids with homework at night or hire tutors versus homes where parents are working multiple jobs to put food on the table, we're creating an even further gap between students and their educational opportunities.
     That's where we figured the biggest determinate of The America Dream lay: education. I'm going to go out on a limb and say we've all been told something to the effect of "if you can dream it, you can do it" at some point or another in our lives. I believe this. But just because I believe it doesn't mean it's not going to be far, far easier for one person than another to achieve a dream. Some people think something and it, seemly, magically comes true. Others work a million hours at something and they never reach their goal. Some people sit and dream and never act and never achieve. We're all different and on different paths. When I was small I used to sit and wonder why it was that I was born to my parents, why I grew up in Nebraska and not anywhere else in the world, and why, quite simply, I was born me and not anyone else. Identity. It's a strange thing.
     I stood there and argued with my client in the middle of the gym, both of us red in the face defending our positions--me saying those kids in my low-income, predominately African American neighborhood do not have the same opportunity that the kids in his, predominately white, upper middle class neighborhood do, him saying they do. Without even touching on the racism and/or sexism that can potentially separate individuals, we just talked access to education. We could at least agree on education being the golden key to realization of The American Dream. I was incredibly frustrated and annoyed and upset with myself that I couldn't articulate all the things I wanted to say. Plus my client is someone I love and admire and I didn't want to be arguing with him.
    When I went to bed that night and thought about our conversation, I tried to turn more inward. I did well in school. I enjoyed school. My parents saved well for my education, and I was incredibly lucky to use my writing to get scholarships. I have a masters degree that I worked hard for. I have a house, a dog, a car, and money to travel--that's The American Dream sans a family. I've done it, right? I'm never going to have a million dollars. I'm never going to be rich. But I'm very fortunate to live comfortably and maintain a standard of living that I enjoy. I'm not at all a money person or a career driven person and all of a sudden I've found myself in a situation that some people will chase their entire lives and never realize. How the hell did I get here? What made me so lucky to be born into this life?
    I know I can't feel guilty that I was born to parents who helped me with my schoolwork and pushed me to do well academically and saved for my college education. I know I worked hard for what I have even if I had help. But can I do something to help others reach their dreams? Abso-freaking-lutely. That's why I want to be a writer. That's why I'm a trainer--I want to help people realize their goals. This post is turning slightly narcissistic, and I apologize, but it's election time and we're forced to look at the American way of life with each political debate, speech, convention, and all the rest. I think my dream for America is coming to be more defined as wanting to live in a country where people care for one another rather than individuals working on their own crap and letting everyone else fend for themselves. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness seems too generic when we say that everyone has equal opportunity to life as such. I don't know what the solution is, but, regardless of whether or not we actually do have equal opportunity to the top of the ladder or not, I want to believe in a world where we're here to help each other realize our dreams and I don't think assuming everyone can figure it out themselves is the best place to start. Do something nice for someone today--share a little love. Make humanity and kindness the Reality rather than the Dream.
   
   

     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. 

Once upon a time there was this great show on TV called Boy Meets World that aired on Friday nights. The reruns might still be played on the Disney channel. I have no idea. Anywhosies, this show taught me a million things about life and growing up, but the most important thing I learned from this show is about friendship. If you have time, watch this whole episode here. It'll make you laugh. It might make you cry. It'll touch your heart. If you don't have time for the whole episode, watch this crappily recorded clip here 

"Lose  one friend, lose all friends, lose yourself." You'll fight with your friends. There are times when you'll have to make concessions in relationships. You'll have friends that move away and it'll feel like there's no time for phone calls or to meet up. Life is busy and the older you get and the more people who enter your life, the easier it'll be to let friendships slide. But try. Work at your relationships. Life is so much better with friends who've known you your whole life, friends who share your hobbies, and new friends who are fresh victims for your stories. If you've read my blog for a while, you know one of the things I most believe in is that it doesn't matter where you are or what you're doing, what matters most is who you're with.

     If you know me, you probably know that my mom is my hero. She's one of the best people I know and easily the biggest reason I'm a decent, functioning human being (it's my opinion that I'm decent, you may feel otherwise.)

     My mom has always given me the right balance of being a parent--teaching me rules, guidelines, manners, and morals--and letting me make my own mistakes and learn from doing stupid things. She's shown me what it takes to be a strong woman and do whatever it takes for those that you love. She's cheered for me when she enjoyed my passions (volleyball), when she's hated them (soccer), and when she just plain thinks I'm crazy (running). My mom is the greatest.

     Just when I think my mom couldn't get any better, she drops a new gem on me. I recently hosted Easter at my house--my first holiday as hostess--and while sitting out on the deck, my mom casually told us that she invented the mullet. Yep. The Mullet. My mom. My mom claims to be the originator of business in the front, party in the back.

This is what she would look like now, I'm sure, if she decided to bring back the trend:

My mom is far cooler than all others. 

When you grow up, you notice things about yourself and your world. Self awareness is a wicked cool thing. Some of it is total bull. Some self observances I've had this week:

1. I wake up from my afternoon nap and like to have chocolate milk for a snack. 

2. I'm running in Pittsburgh this weekend and well on my way to running in 12 new places in 2016. Goals. 

3. Jesus may be the reason for Easter, but the real modern miracle here is how much better chocolate bars taste in egg form. Thank God for Reese's eggs. 

4. I finally learned how to bridge with cards. I'd like to think maybe I'm an adult now, but comment 1 disproves this. 

5. I have no real qualifications for the thinks I love and the things I hate. Sometimes I just hate things because I do and I just love things because I do. Sometimes I have a shit-ton of opinions and can justify all of my feelings. I like to think this makes me interesting and unpredictable, not flighty and self-centered. 

6. Growing up is pretty freaking awesome. I think I get happier, more confident, and love myself more. Or that might just mean that growing older makes you care a whole lot less what other people think. So cheers to more naps, running, and chocolate. 

    There are few relationships in this world I value more than my running buddies. It’s hard to find someone to run with. For me, there are the simple matters of finding someone who runs my pace, is willing to run outside when it’s negative 20 or 90, and someone who I don’t mind sweating with and, potentially, doing the number 1 or 2 with. Then there’s the far more complex issue of finding someone that I’m willing to let into my most sacred time.

      For the last four years, I’ve been incredibly lucky to have my Wednesday morning run with my friend, and former boss, Lori who checks all of the aforementioned boxes. She’s fantastic. She’s even willing to water jog or stair climb or elliptical with me if I’m injured and can’t run. She’s talked me through family and boy drama. Our Wednesday runs kept her from completely losing it when her job started to get rough. When Lori switched jobs last summer, part of her work agreement was that she could keep running with me on Wednesdays. That, my friends, that is how valued a good running buddy is. I’m forever grateful I found her.

     It was hard for me to let my ex into my running life. Running is holy to me. It’s what makes me, me. Bur running with me is probably what made him like me—it’s when I’m in my element, at my best, worst, most honest, and most vulnerable. After we broke up, a friend who comes to my workout classes asked to run with me.

     Karyn is athletic and fun. The farthest she’d run in her life before our first run was seven miles. We started trail running on a Sunday. Eight miles at Hitchcock—easily the hardest place I’ve ever run on trail. We found out not only have we lived a very similar life of sports, divorced parents, awesome younger brothers, love of boating, and dudes, but we actually share a step sister. Crazy freaking small world. We ran together the next Sunday in snow and the following in zero degrees. Karyn bartends on Saturday nights, so each Sunday she was running on four hours of sleep. We went a little father each time out, celebrating how each run was the farthest Karyn had ever run.

     In January I was teaching a cycling class and someone asked me what races I was doing in 2016. I said the only thing I knew for sure was Run Rabbit because my mom already had the date down in her planner. Registration opened in one week, I told them. “What?” Karyn said. “That means I have one week to decide if I’m going to run 50 miles?!” I about peed myself. I had no idea she was thinking about running it with me.

     We ran thirteen miles the next Sunday. That night she signed up for Run Rabbit Run’s 50 mile. We started meeting for my Thursday runs too. When I hurt my back and was out for a week, she ran with Yadi.

     My most wonderful best friends who I run Run Rabbit with, Molly and Cade, moved to Stillwater Oklahoma last year. Stillwater had a 50K dirt road last weekend. Molly and Cade had asked me to come down for the run. I wanted to so badly, but it was the same weekend as the Big Ten basketball tournament. Sixteen days before the race, I changed my mind. Karyn and I signed up for the 50K. We ran ten miles one day and then 20 miles the next of the weekend we signed up. We were as ready as we were going to get.

     When we got to our Thursday run, Karyn’s knee was hurting. She went to the physical therapist and he said she had IT band syndrome. That hurts like a mofo. It’s treatable, but one of the most painful injuries I’ve had.

     We went to the race and just thought we’d see what happened. We ran hard the first 15 miles because we were afraid if we stopped or slowed Karyn wouldn’t be able to start again. After the turn around, Karyn was in a lot of pain. We slowed down. Cade caught up to us and gave us new life. At mile 25 Karyn and Cade told me to go on and finish fast. My running buddy crossed the finish line shortly after me, running over ten miles farther than the farthest she’s ever ran, with IT band syndrome, finishing a 50K in under 6 hours, and placing as the 3^rd female. I’m so proud of my friend.

      The greatest friends I’ve found have been the ones I can run with, bike with, do yoga with. The ones who I want to go out for breakfast and lunch and talk to for hours about anything under the sun. I hope that everyone has someone in her life as good a friend as my running buddies.