I’m sitting in the library under the pretense that I’m going to finish my financial accounting homework. After a rather harrowing drive to Cowles, during which I ended up stuck on Fleur with my foot to the floor and my car stubbornly refusing to move forward, I decided I’d rather take another stab at blogging.

I’ve been thinking about it for the last few weeks, wondering if I should scrap everything and start over. Maybe focus solely on running and leave personal stuff out of it. My rationale is that no one really cares about the annals of my personal life. One day, after reading several blogs authored by people I’ve never met and focused almost solely on their personal lives, I came to the conclusion that maybe I was being a little ridiculous. Why are they any more fascinating than I am? And regardless of who reads this, the main point is for me to take the opportunity to improve my writing, do something I love and work out my issues on paper…or screen…or whatever. (Disclaimer: I don’t in any way think I’m fascinating. I just don’t think I’m less fascinating than a lot of other people. There’s a difference.)

I’m not saying I’m going to jump right over to Facebook and add the link to my blog to my personal info. I’m not there yet. BUT, I will do my best to write consistently.

For now I’ll finish my financial accounting homework. (Side note: I finally know what my own personal hell would be. I won’t go into to details, but I will say it involves cash flow statements, balance sheets and percent of completion revenue calculations. Or more accurately, me sitting at a table creating cash flow statements and balance sheets based on the operating, financing and investing activities of a company who uses the percent of completion revenue recognition system. Is it even called a system?)

For those of you journalism majors wondering if you should get your MBA: consider how much you enjoy that little thing called “free time” before you dive head first into the world of graduate programs.

Ok, not really.  But you do feel a sense of community when you pass other runners on the road.  Like a mobile village, but the inhabitants move in opposite directions and live in all parts of the city/state/country you’re running in.  Most of the time, we don’t pay attention to those around us as we walk down the street.  Whether they’re busy on cell phones or just hurriedly moving from one place to the next – staring at the ground – the people we pass every day are pretty much meaningless to us.  If you stare at someone as you pass them, you might get a tight smile or, more likely, a dirty look.

It’s different when a runner encounters a runner.  At the very least you get a head nod and small smile.  An acknowledgement that the two of you are in this together, enduring the same pain, the same joy, the same experience.  Often times a person will wave, say hello and smile.  I’ve run down one side of a five-lane road and shared a wave and smile with a person running the opposite direction on the other side on more than one occasion.  (Side note: I cannot spell occasion.  Even as I just tried to type it, I included that extra ’s’, even though when I spelled it that way three seconds before in the previous sentence, my computer threw that little red line in my face and said, “No!  Spell it right this time!”  Anyway.)  Is it because people who run are just friendly people?  That only friendly people run, and grouchy people work at Subway?  I only say this because as a friend noted the other day, people who work at Subway are NEVER excited to be there.  NEVER.  Unlike Quizno’s where they’re always upbeat and willing to give you extra pickles with NO QUESTIONS ASKED.  Geez people, it’s just some pickles!  Anyway, this is not the point.

I think this is because running puts us on the same level.  Sure, the sport of running involves varying degrees of skill.  I, for instance, cannot run a 6-minute mile.  I can barely run a 7-minute mile!  However, I ran a marathon and I can almost get 4 miles in under 30 minutes.  Almost.  So my skill level is probably right in the f***ing middle…similar to the amount of tartar in Mitch Hedburg’s mouth.  But that’s not the point.  

The point is, no matter how fast or slow you are, how far you go or how often you run, as soon as you tie your shoes and hit the pavement, you become part of a collective group.  Running isn’t easy.  And if it is, you’re probably not pushing hard enough, but that’s another post entirely.  It certainly looks easy, doesn’t it?  It looks like walking, only faster.  One foot in front of the other, just like that.  Try telling yourself that for 26.2 miles.  I mean, let’s look at this mathematically.  The average person takes approximately 1173 steps when running a mile.  (I would like to note at this point that all of these “facts” were found on YahooAnswers, and thus, are grossly inaccurate.  Probably.)  So you tell yourself  30,732.6 “right…left…right…left…one foot in front of the other.”  Ok, not that many times, no one talks fast enough to say that with each and every step, but you get the point.  (At this point, I would also like to note that I have no idea who “you” are, since I’m pretty sure no one reads this.  Except Liz.  Thanks Liz!)  

Anyway, my whole second point is that running is not easy.  This is why a lot of people don’t do it.  This is why people think I’m crazy when I go run 10 miles for kicks.  When I run just 5 miles for kicks!  Because it is hard.  It takes a pretty special breed of crazy to say, “Hey, how about I run 12 miles today?  What, it’s 90 degrees outside?  I’ll get a tan!”  It’s a pretty intense assault on your body.  Terrible for the knees.  Awful for the joints.  You get sweaty.  No one wants to date the sweaty chick, let me tell you…that, I might add, is another post entirely.  Anyway, it’s definitely an awful experience if you focus on the negative.  But it’s also pretty cool when you cross the finish line in a race.  It doesn’t matter if it’s a 5K or a marathon, that sense of accomplishment is incredible.  AND, everyone is cheering for you!  Especially if you wear a shirt with your name on it…not that I’d know from personal experience or anything…

And while finishing a race is great, jogging past a fellow runner on the street, sharing a smile that says, “I know exactly how you feel right now” is a pretty special feeling.  The other day I drove down East MLK and saw TONS of people running.  It was 70 degrees and beautiful out, and I was absolutely longing to be out there.  Every person on the street was nodding or waving or saying hello and they all just looked so happy!  See!  See!  Running can be grueling, but it can be so rewarding!  I mean, honestly, what’s better than a smile from a stranger!  For no reason, other than the fact that you share a bond.  You’ll probably never know the names of 99% of people you run past.  You’ll never see 95% of them again.  But it’s like a whole new pal.  And better yet, it’s a pal that comes without all of the drama of having a friendship!  Don’t get me wrong, friendships are great.  In fact, I have many of them and I wouldn’t trade my friends for anything.  And granted, the low points of a friendship are what make the high points so amazing.  But this is a different kind of friendship.  It’s like one of the high peaks from one of your regular friendships, but it never slopes down and never goes flat.  It’s like a random high point in your life, with no low preceding or following.  Fleeting, yes.  But you still feel good.  How can you not?  You’re entire friendship is absolutely perfect, based singularly on that one smile, that one nod, that one wave.  How cool is that?

Seeing as this blog was originally supposed to function (partially) as an accountability tool for my training, I should probably actually write about running.  Yesterday was a pretty rough run.  Though the temps were only in the low-to-mid 20s, I was absolutely not going to run 8 miles on a treadmill again.  So it was off to Gray’s Lake to hit the pavement.  

I’ve done an 8-miler at Gray’s before, and it’s not nearly as exciting as it sounds.  Ok, let’s be honest, it doesn’t sound exciting at all.  It sounds awful.  Four times around a lake?  Yeah, not so much.  Although sucking fumes isn’t my idea of a good time, running downtown sounded a whole hell of a lot better than the alternative.  And even though it was only 25 degrees, the sun was out.  And I’d be running, and running makes you hot!  So the cold wasn’t going to be an issue.

False.  It was effing freezing.  I made the mistake of not taking into account the wind.  Or the fact that 25 degrees is 25 degrees, no matter how high in the sky the sun is.  Or how thick your hat is.  Even with gloves, my fingers froze.  The thought that I should invest in running tights that aren’t capris crossed my mind about 10 minutes in, when I lost all feeling in my ankles.  I layered up, but it didn’t make much of a difference.  I never really warmed up, never shook that “cold down to your bones” feeling.  Also, the cold is much more noticeable when you stop for five minutes to use the restroom in a cozy, warm coffee shop, and then step back outside.  It’s pretty cruel actually.  Any warmth I soaked up was ripped away by a huuuge gust of wind that blew past the moment I stepped back on the street.

However, some interesting things happened on this run.  I witnessed someone resisting arrest in the Starbucks on 10th St., so that was pretty entertaining.  I’m not entirely sure what she was being arrested for, as she didn’t appear to be A) drunk or B) shoplifting anything.  I learned that men in big trucks will honk at anyone in tight pants.  Even if that person is sweaty, red-faced and spitting while standing on the corner.  I suppose I should be flattered.  Unless, of course, I completely misunderstood the meaning of the honk and should thus be offended.  I’m going with the former, for my own selfish reasons.

The final interesting ridiculous thing to happen was my decision, and consequent inability, to run down MLK/Fleur to Gray’s Lake to finish out the 8 miles.  Impossible.  No sidewalk.  Mushy, cold grass.  So, in the freezing cold, windy weather, I ran a half-mile out of my way to get back to the lake while sticking to pavement.  In the grand scheme of things, a half-mile is really not a big deal.  Less than five minutes.  But it was 25 DEGREES.  25!  Anything more than necessary was so cruel, and the fact that I did it to myself was even worse.  How many times a week do I drive down MLK/Fleur?  Sometimes more than once a day!  How could I completely forget there’s no sidewalk?  I must be more distracted lately than I realized.

All in all, I’m impressed that I did it.  Will I never run outside when it’s below 30 again?  Probably.  Will I regret it the entire time I’m running?  Probably.  But now I know I can do it, I can handle more than I thought.  That’s probably the one thing I’ve learned about myself this month.  That things don’t go as planned and I can’t control everything, as much as I want to.  Life doesn’t make exceptions for you based on how you’re feeling or what you want.  It keeps trucking on, and you have to do the same.  It’s a shitty realization, but a legitimate one nonetheless.  I’m just glad February is over.  Here’s to March bringing good times and better luck!

Technology has always fascinated me.  It took months for me to figure out what happened to documents “erased” from the memory of our home computer.  My dad explained it over and over, but I just wasn’t catching on.  My friend Mike explained that the memory in the computer was like a collection of boxes.  When I erased something, the box was emptied and the next document saved filled that box.  ”But where do the contents of the box go when it’s emptied?”, I asked.  I don’t remember his response.  Come to think of it, he never really gave me one.  So I guess it’s taken me YEARS to figure out what happens to documents erased from my computer.  Great, there’ll be no sleeping tonight.  Of course, I could always try youTube.  Although the last time I used youTube as a learning device, I made a huge mess in the kitchen.  Turns out the 5-minute video of the foreign guy making a gourmet omelet is not an ideal starting point for someone who can’t make proper scrambled eggs.  Lesson learned.

Anyway, that’s not the point.  The point is that Facebook might be giving me a complex.  How is this associated with technology, you ask?  Well, somehow, Facebook places ads on my profile that seem suspiciously tailored to attract me.  It does this for everyone.  Because Drake is still my network, I see ads for selling books or Drake-related events.  Creepy side note: Gmail does this too, only it seems that they use keywords from your emails to create the sidebar ads that run on the right of the screen.  Rachel and I emailed back and forth this summer about our half and full marathon training, and suddenly ads for marathon training programs and races across the country showed up on the right of my screen.  Weeeird.  

Anyway, getting closer to my point.  What the hell are these “Celebrity Diets” and “How Does LC Stay Thin” ads doing on my page?  Is dieting listed under my activities?  Am I employed by a gym?  (Not anymore, thank GOD.)  Oh, I get it, my about me section must tout me as a self-conscious young lady who’s unhappy with her figure…but no!  Nothing on my profile suggests I’m looking for the perfect shortcut diet, the “acai-berry/no carb/high protein/low calorie/but hey, you can eat all the chocolate cake you want” surefire way to losing 20 pounds.  

The only conclusion I can come to?  I am a female.  I’m in my early 20’s.  I’ve just graduated college and entering the real world, looking for the perfect job and the perfect man.  So why not try to obsess over achieving the perfect body?  What better way to draw me in than to name the diet after the number one song on the charts!  If Britney can lose 15 pounds in two weeks, than I can, too!  And I should!

False.  These advertisements make me sad, but not for typical reasons.  Not just because some girl sees this every day and doubts her body, her looks and her worth.  But because someone else sees that girl, sees millions of girls just like her, and has no qualms about seizing her insecurities and sending subtle reminders that she isn’t pretty or thin enough.  Shame on those who use glossy magazines and clever advertisements to let her know that she could be skinnier, and thus, better.  

So it’s frustrating.  On Sunday, I ran and finished the Des Moines Marathon.  A marathon.  26.2 miles of one foot in front of the other, my feet connecting with the ground thousands of times.  My mind and my body started out as a team, confidently moving towards the finish line at a steady pace.  But my mind started to revolt, as if saying, “Um, what the hell are you doing?  I didn’t sign on for this.  My feet hurt.  Stop.  Stop!  Seriously, STOP!”  But I finished…HUGE accomplishment.  Something like 1% of Americans have ever completed a marathon.  And yet, sometimes I see those stupid ads and I think, man, I shouldn’t have had that ice cream today, or I should have spent a few extra minutes on the treadmill.  Seriously?  I ran a freaking marathon, I should be pigging out and getting a pedicure, stat.  

But it’s hard to balance.  And while this probably sounds like whining and I should get over it, it’s difficult.  Even after achieving such a huge goal, I still have some self-image demons to conquer.  But this blog is a benefit to me, helping me get my thoughts out in a cohesive manner, helping me sort out what I’m feeling and what is just complete rubbish.  So I’m not going to try the Womanizer Diet, or the LC Diet or the Supermodel Diet.  I’m going to take one day at a time and become comfortable with me.  So take that, lame low-budget Facebook marketers…and try spellchecking once in a while.

Peace out.

Wow, it’s been a long time since I’ve written something, or even visited my own blog.  Every once in a while I find myself deep in thought and tell myself I should be blogging about whatever is on my mind.  Then I think, “what if someone reads this and takes it the wrong way, or thinks I’m crazy or weird or any other terrible adjective.”  Of course, that thought is immediately followed by “no one reads your blog, you goof,” and the desire to write disappears. 

But today I learned something about myself, and I think it merits a blog post.  I’m not really sure where this came from, I spent the morning on the phone trying to figure out my bridesmaid dress debacle, and on the phone with Rachel.  As soon as I hung up, I walked around the house a few times trying to figure out what to do next.  That’s the thing about unemployment, or at least working nights like I do.  No one is around.  I’ve watched my shows already, I’m not in the mood for physical activity after yesterday’s hours of running and soccer, and the house is clean.  I need something to do, I’m not the sit still type.  Yet I can spend hours zoned out in front of the TV watching mindless shows on VH1 and MTV.  Seems like quite the contradiction, right?

What do we do when we’re bored and can find nothing to occupy our minds?  We daydream.  I’m certainly a daydreamer, though almost singularly in a vehicular setting.  It seems if I have the opportunity to do anything else, I do it.  Clean, run, bike, read, watch TV, whatever.  Why is that?  I enjoy daydreaming.  It allows me to take action, to say things I wouldn’t normally say, do things I wouldn’t normally do, without any threat of repercussions.  The world is my oyster, and I can do anything and go anywhere.  But inevitably, a little voice filters out from the back of my mind, armed with questions and criticisms.  Why don’t you do that?  Why would you want to say this?  Where did that come from?  Are you crazy?  That will never happen.  You’ll never get to that place.  You can’t do that. 

That voice sucks.  That voice is an asshole.   That voice brings up issues and questions that I’d rather not address.  And with those questions and issues comes realizations.  Today’s realization is particularly upsetting.  I’ve been looking for a job for several weeks now.  I’ve been rejected, gone on a few interviews and basically hoped and prayed that someone would see some potential in me.  I’m smart, right?  I went to a good school, I have experience, I’m organized, I’m hard-working.  I’m the perfect candidate, God’s gift to any and every employer in the continental United States (Alaska is quite chilly and I feel Hawaii would be quite distracting for me, so I’d like to avoid working in those places).  False.  I’m not the perfect candidate.  This is where reality kicks you in the teeth. 

As I was washing dishes, it hit me.  Someone is better than me.  (At this point I’d like to clarify that I do in fact know that I’m not the best at anything, but I’ve always operated under the impression that if I do things the right way and work hard, I’ll be rewarded accordingly.  Like with a job)  Not just someone, lotsof people are better.  More qualified.  More aggressive.  The ominous they, the collective group out to make me feel like shit and look like worse, is out to get me.  By working harder, being smarter, running faster, looking better.  My generation has been told we can be whatever we want, do what we want and be successful.  We were coddled.  And now we’re screwed.  Well, at least those of us who took years to realize that the aforementioned Is. Not. True.  The world isn’t fair, and just because a person worked hard, went to a good school and made all the “right” choices doesn’t mean they’ll be rewarded with the perfect job, the perfect guy, the perfect life.  No matter how great you are, someone will be better qualified, better looking, better for him, dressed better, whatever better.  It happens. 

Needless to say, this realization sucks something fierce.  I need to be confidant and optimistic right now, I need to believe that good things are coming my way, that I’m going to be fine.  At least, that’s what The Secret tells me.  Anything endorsed by Oprah is obviously true in all senses of the word and may as well have been written by God himself.  Anyway, rather than let this get me down, I’m going to use it to my advantage.  Take some time to really evaluate myself: my strengths, my weaknesses; the good, the bad, and the ugly.  Maybe next time I write I’ll have good news to report.  But at the very least, I’ll have gained a better knowledge of the world around me, and best of all, a better understanding of myself and who I want to be.

Peace out.

Today is my second official day of unemployment.  I was hoping it would be a success similar to yesterday.  I made it to the grocery store (though I had some minor setbacks), went for a run, got to the gym, caught up on my TiVoed shows and spent some time in the pool.  All in all, a good day.  I even learned a few things, but watching four and a half hours of the Discovery Channel generally yields at least some nugget of information I didn’t already know.  Following is a list of things I learned.

1.  Bear Grylls is certifiable.  The man made a “raft” out of branches and a bungee cord and tried to “sail” across a giant, ice-cold lake.  The quotes are necessary because the vessel resembled a bonfire pre-lighting and sail is most certainly not the verb I would use to describe his pathetic attempts to cross the lake, using a stick…yes, a stick…to paddle through 35 degree water.  I was rewarded when he took his shirt off, but that only lasted a few seconds and the image of his bare feet has been resolutely burned into my mind…over the image of his abs.

2.  The colossal squid has the largest eyes on the planet.  Approximately 10 inches in diameter.  That’s like a dinner plate, and the lens is larger than a golf ball.  It lives well below the point at which sunlight can no longer penetrate the water, so I guess it needs all the eye it can get.  On a more exciting note, the Colossal Squid is displayed at Te Papa museum in Wellington, New Zealand.  There’s something so satisfying about seeing a place on TV and shouting, “I’ve been there!!  I was right there where that girl is standing,” even if no one can hear you.

3.  The third and final thing I learned yesterday was that the new 90210 show sucks something awful.  It was predictable, wooden and cliche.  I will probably continue to watch it against my better judgement, because that English teacher Mr. Matthews is just so darn adorable.  Well, at least until Boston Legal comes back.

So after my exciting learning experience yesterday, I was hoping today would be equally educational.  This is not the case.  I’ve watched all my TiVoed shows, and shocker, there’s NOTHING good on television during the day.  I am bored.  I have absolutely no idea how anyone can just sit around all day.  The only thing I HAVE to do is run 9 miles, and study a little for the GMAT, but I’m trying to space those out to last the day.  And in case anyone was wondering, getting on facebook every half hour is not the same when you’re out of college. 

Despite the boredom, I’ve developed a reluctance to join the “real world.”  This might have something to do with the fact that the real world involves paying back student loans, insurance and potentially working at a job I’ll hate.  On the other hand, a little thought is floating around in the back of my head.  I love living with my folks, they’re fun, easy-going and we get along.  But I feel kind of like a failure.  I know I just wrapped up a great internship and a good job will come along, but that’s not the problem.  When I lived on my own, I was (mostly) providing for myself.  Cooking, cleaning up after myself, grocery shopping and maintaining a home.  Ok, not cooking, but whatever.  It felt good to know that I was supporting myself, physically if not financially.  Now I’m unemployed living in my parents house, still in my pajamas at 12:15 despite waking hours ago.  This is NOT what I envisioned upon graduating.  Though it might not last long, it’s definitely taught me a very important lesson.  No matter how hard I work or how much I try to do the ‘right’ thing, I won’t always get what I want.  I won’t always be successful and self-sustaining and free to do as I please.  It’s a sobering thought, but it’s the thought that will push me over the next several weeks to find a job and start a career, or at least take steps in that direction. 

Thus, this blog now serves as an accountability tool in two ways.  One, to make sure I keep running and training so I don’t look like a big fat quitter in front of the entire blogosphere.  And two, to make sure I actively search for opportunities, rather than sit around waiting for the Discovery Channel to call and inform me that I’m hosting my own adventure show…and Bear Grylls is my co-host.  Or that they’re putting me on Deadliest Catch.  I’m thinking either the Northwestern or the Time Bandit…

Peace out.

So I’m a fan of Man vs. Wild, and pretty much anything on the Discovery Channel.  But I’ve never seen an episode so cool as the Patagonia episode.  I was totally unfamiliar with the area, so I was shocked to discover Patagonia was in South America…especially after Bear parachuted onto an ice plain in sub-freezing temperatures.  In South America.

Watching this episode, hearing Bear pronounce glacier like ‘glase-i-er’ (sooo sexy, by the way) brought me right back to New Zealand and climbing the Franz Josef glacier.  So if the job search doesn’t work out, I think I’m going to hightail it back to NZ and beginning a life of exploration and adventure.  I’ll start at the Fjordlands, hit the Fox Glacier and see where life takes me.  Sounds fabulous.

Peace out.

Wednesday is a difficult day.  So close to the weekend, yet so far.  Three days of getting up early and schlepping to work.  Three days of hitting the snooze button, staring blankly at the closet, and sitting in traffic.  Have you ever noticed how the traffic report is never right?  Lance Hildebrandt, I’m sure you’re a nice guy sitting in you Crown Vision traffic center, but can you try to be accurate at least once a season?  One of my biggest pet peeves is sitting at a dead stop at the Mid Rivers Mall Dr. exit and not hearing Mr. Hildebrandt mention traffic in the West-plex at all.  Is it implied that highway 70 is a disaster and thus not necessary to let us know?  Anyway, that’s not the point of this post.

In addition to being known as ‘hump day,’ thank you Lindsay, Wednesday is my semi-long distance-run day.  Today was nine miles.  Nine isn’t that bad.  I’m at the point now where anything less than 13 miles isn’t a big deal.  But I was tired today, so when I got home at quarter to seven, I was in no mood to run nine miles.  So I ate a big bowl of cereal.  And half a bag of Doritos.  Cool Ranch.  Gotta love ‘em.

Anyway, I have a goal for my runs under 13 miles, and that is to have my miles splits as close to nine minutes as possible.  It’s not that hot, so tonight should have been doable.  Except I had Doritos and cereal for dinner.  Wanting to vom makes running fast difficult. 

So I sang.  I was slightly miserable, still full from dinner (if you can really call it that), exhausted and dehydrated.  About three miles in my toes started to hurt and I was ready to call it quits.  Except you can’t call it quits when you’re three miles from home with no phone, but enough dignity to keep from running into the nearest store to ask to use the phone so your mom can come get you.  So I sang at the top of my lungs, to anything my iPod would give me.  Anyone driving down highway K or Mexico Road experienced the auditory assault that is me singing Guster, Neyo, Rihanna and the Foo Fighters while running full speed ahead on an empty stomach.  Glorious. 

Despite the fact that I’m no Kelly Clarkson on the best of days, the singing worked.  I flew through my run, coming in just under nine minutes, and actually enjoyed it.  So the next time your having a hard time finishing a work out, start belting out some tunes.  Those around you may not like it, but hey, maybe it’ll encourage them to run faster simply to get away from the racket.  Win-win situation!

So I’ve sat here for approximately five minutes, typing and deleting, typing and deleting.  For some reason, the first blog post holds such a stigma in my head.  If it sucks, my blog will fail.  I’m not entirely sure how a blog fails per se, but a lame first post will run this blog straight into the ground, I just know it.

So instead of trying to be witty, intelligent or progressive with my thoughts, I’ll just introduce myself.  I’m Kim.  I love to run and I’m training for a marathon.  I enjoy eating just as much as I enjoy running, especially pizza, chicken fingers and cinnamon rolls (breakfast of champions, right?).  The purpose of this blog is unknown.  It has no direction, no theme; it’s just a way for me to broadcast my thoughts to the world, and perhaps improve my writing skills in the process.  I hope you, whoever you are, enjoy reading.  Feel free to leave feedback, but please remember that I’m a Cancer and thus, sensitive in nature.  I also enjoy sunsets and long walks on the beach…kidding…sort of.

Peace out.