(to level set the crazy, though: in the past 16 days I’ve been in: Portland, DC, Baltimore, Ft. Worth, San Francisco, Birmingham, Milwaukee, and Raleigh, and next week will hit Orange County and Portland [again]. Whew.)

(I am always hesitant to complain — wait, actually, I’m NEVER hesitant to complain however I am cognizant that while I’m complaining, it does air on the side of douchebaggery. I think there is a certain type of personality that takes pride in being ohmygod so busy and in every exasperated sigh and complaint of “God, not this airport again” there is an element of bragging about how important we are as individuals that our very presence is required in person for a job to be done correctly. I get that this can come across, I really do. But I also get that like, 16 days of travel is tiring regardless, even though I am the exact type of personality to volunteer for this type of gig.)

But let’s not let this discussion of why one would complain interrupt me from actually complaining:

So, for what, 10 years? Southwest has been doing the open seating thing, where you board the plane in order you check in and take whatever seat you want. This is nowhere close to new procedure, and I dare say it is no more arbitrary than having the airline assign you a seat. (“But what of my first class option?” you ask. Yes, yes, I know. It is terrible back in steerage. But it’s also an $80 dollar ticket, so like, work with it.) But even though the open seating idea isn’t new, even though it has proven to actually be, in many cases, more efficient than airline assigned seats, there is still always that one guy that has to bitch loudly and frequently while lining up: “What are we, cattle? [LOUD SIGH]“

Dude. You bought the ticket. You knew it was Southwest, and you knew this was how they board. No one forced you to be here. Shut it, already.

Compare the open seating boarding procedure to my most recent experience boarding a United Airline flight:

There we all were, crushed in a mass, waiting to board. At the gateway there were two roped off lines next to each other for approaching the jetway: one on the left with a red carpet, one on the right with a black carpet. First Class was called to board, then Business Select, then Premier, then Global Something Something, then 1k… Etc. (United Airlines has clearly taken notes from the caste systems in India and Downton Abbey).

All these lovely people walked down the left side red carpeted path. When the gate agent finally got around to boarding us working class folk, we also proceeded down the left side path, following the example set by our First Class/Premier Exec/Global Something Something/1k betters. A line of probably 20 people had formed and walked down but before anyone was let through -I’m not even kidding you here-  the gate agent made everyone REVERSE DOWN THAT PATH,  MOVE ONE FOOT TO THE RIGHT, AND WALK UP ON THE BLACK – not red- CARPET. Like, he literally refused to take their ticket and let them by if they didn’t come up the side that was explicitly for non-elite members.

I mean, come on. The important people were already on the plane! They’d never know that we defiled their red carpet! We won’t tell, promise!  Just let us board in our herd of seating zones and thank our lucky stars we didn’t have to put up with the indignity of open seating. Whew.

I didn’t do it, but Reader: it was close.

“When you come home, be sure to check out the ski section of the garage.”

Please note: the ski section is next to the bike section which is adjacent to the work section which holds the power washing station, which can be seen from the MooseTheDog station, and is not to be confused with the car section.

What I’m saying is: this garage is larger than almost every apartment I have ever lived in.

At some point on that board someone asked people to list their favorite inspirational pictures. I had recently read an article in Runners World about Katherine Switzer, the first woman to register and run the Boston Marathon. At the time (1967), females were  not allowed to officially enter the race (running long distances was at that time not thought to be good for our, um, delicate systems), but Katherine had qualified and registered with a gender neutral name (K.V. Switzer – her first and middle initial), and lined up to run the race.

When a race official saw her on the race course with official numbers, he shouted “Get the hell out of my race and give me those numbers!” and attempted to physically remove her from the course.

The pictures of this incident are jaw dropping to me—the violence and anger present in trying to remove a female from the race course still gets my blood boiling. I remember reading this article and seeing this picture and thinking to myself how amazing it was for this woman to keep plodding along, one foot in front of another, almost oblivious to the world around her trying to tell her  “You can’t.”

A few weeks ago, I opened my Runners World Quote of the Day, and found again Katherine Switzer:

When I go to the Boston Marathon now, I have wet shoulders—women fall into my arms crying. They’re weeping for joy because running has changed their lives. They feel they can do anything.

-  Katherine Switzer

Goddamn if that’s not the truth. I started running because I was dealing with chronic illness and I felt that if I could keep moving it meant I was not sickly; I kept running (and triathloning and crossfitting) because the feeling I get when I’m doing those things makes me feel like I can do anything.

So there you go, kids. That’s my feel good running quote of the day for you. Keep sweating, etc.

This year we decided to high tech the shopping (well: “high tech”) and make Google Doc spreadsheets for each person. Each sheet has a desired item, a link if appropriate, and a column for who has purchased it. Everyone has access to these lists except the recipient. It’s working out well so far — things are added that we know people would like, and we can pick and choose from a host of things we might not considered. I like it. I like getting people gifts I know they’ll enjoy, and I like the community aspect of it. It’s been fun to collaborate with my sibling’s spouses about gifts and what is wanted.

Anyway, with regards to this, I asked Mike about my list, which prompted the following IM conversation:

 me:  How’s my list looking? need any ideas?
 Mike:  depends. do you want anything besides gift certificates to Lowes, a new cordless drill, and a radial arm saw?
 me:  … i do
 Mike:  really?
 me:  shocking, i know
 Mike:  feel free to send ideas, but I think you’ll really like the new drill.

From Twitter, today.

When I first saw this I actually misread it as “The ability to disagree with ANY question without being dismissed as a kill joy”, which is absolutely a function of having grown up with my brother, who has never let an opportunity for disagreement/debate pass him by without diving right in.

Whatever. Still funny.

I struggled all last spring and summer. I was getting back into shape thanks to Crossfit and better eating habits (turns out not traveling full time for work makes it easier to, you know, cook meals), but I was still missing my running groove. I didn’t feel happy when I ran; I felt tired. Every time out was just as hard as the time before. I couldn’t breathe. I had no energy. And it really bothered me, because generally, no matter what else is going on in life, running has been my quick and easy way of resetting, of feeling clean, of doing something nice for myself. Back in August, Mike and I discussed registering for Ironman Lake Placid, a race I’ve always wanted to do, and thought of it just exhausted me. How could I train for an Ironman if I couldn’t even go on a four mile run without needing a nap? (He registered, I didn’t. Anyone want to keep an Ironwidow company this spring??)

So, I put the Garmin away. It wasn’t doing me any mental favors to see my pace and HR and overall time on these miserable runs. I started just doing a shorter loop through the neighborhood, one that still included major hills but was just under 20 minutes to run. In my past life, I wouldn’t have bothered lacing up for a sub 20 minute run, but I figured it was better than nothing and the fact that it was all uphill made it still a worthy effort. I kept going to Crossfit. I went to track workouts with the Rocky Mountain Tri club but refused to keep track of my times. And after a few months I started bringing a watch back into play – not a Garmin, just a watch – still not ready to track distance or  heart rate, or any of the other obsessivey runnery things that I like to track, but just to baseline how much time I was out there.

Last week, my longer neighborhood loop– the one that took me about 35-38 minutes to run when we moved here– I ran in 28 minutes. My shorter neighborhood loop? I’m getting that done in about 14 minutes, not 20.  And these times are reflecting everything else – I finish running feeling energized,  the hills don’t slow me to a walk, I’m able to push up and over. I’m getting it back. Maybe it’s just getting used to the altitude, maybe it’s the increase in overall strength I’m getting from crossfit, maybe is the iron supplements I started taking for altitude related anemia (um, maybe it’s a lot that last one), but whatever it is: I feel like myself again.

And I’m ready to bring back the Garmin. I’m ready to start training again. And it feels so, so good.

Which in turn reminded me of the night I met Jack Johnson and told him I stole all his music:

My brother and some friends and I went to see Jack Johnson right when his “Brushfire Fairytales” was juuuuuuuuuuuuuust becoming big news. He was playing at a great but small bar in Arlington, VA (Whitlows on Wilson, for those who know/care.)

Given the small venue, the line to get in was insane. It was one in/one out by that point and we were totally kicking ourselves because my brother lives like three blocks away, and the only reason we didn’t get there earlier was because we were watching reruns of Seinfeld (our bad.) We had just gotten to the front of the line when the bouncer asked us “Hey, are you guys like, real fans? If so, leave one person in line and the rest of you go around to the parking lot.”  When we got back there, we found Jack Johnson playing an acoustic set (with his drummer on bongos) for everyone who couldn’t get in (the opening act was currently on stage.) (This is in no related to how I made a total jack(johnson) ass of myself, just kind of a cool part of that night. Well done, sir. Well done.)

Anyway, we finally did get in before the opening act ended, and my brother and I found ourselves standing next to Jack Johnson himself at the back bar. Super excited, we started going on and on and on about how much we LOVED Brushfire Fairytales. (It’s true! I loved that CD. LOVED IT!) I told Jack “My brother burned the disk for me, and now every time a friend of mine hears it they want a copy ,and we burn it for them, and it’s basically taking over my college campus!” and my brother chimed “Yeah, we’re burned it for like, everyone we know! Everyone loves it!” to which Jack replied: “Guys, that’s awesome. But it’d be even awesomer if you actually BOUGHT the CD. Just saying”

Doh. Good point, Jack. Our bad.

Look, I didn’t want to. I knew that I would likely enjoy the book – excerpts I’d read were funny and I enjoyed Bossypants enough to know that I’d likely dig Bossypants 2.0, but I just finished a memoir for book club and frankly I wasn’t really in a first-person-memoiry type place. So much so, in fact, that I picked up The Great Gatsby from the library to immerse myself in and yes I know The Great Gatsby is written in the first person but shut up that is not my point. I’m in the mood to get swept away by a story, not over identify with a lovely and funny but still unknown to me individual.

HOWEVER. THRWARTED. I completely won the library hold system contest by apparently being the first person to request this book. I am the FIRST PERSON in Douglas County to access to Mindy Kaling’s new book, and what am I supposed to do? Not read it? Come on, there are kids in Arapaho County who don’t even HAVE library hold systems, GOD.  So, I reluctantly put aside my Great Gatsby and dove into “Is Everybody Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns)”

(… I do understand my library system probably bought more than one copy and I’m not the literal only person in the county with this book. NOT THE POINT)

Of course, as predicted. I like it. It’s charming and funny and the section on Best Friends Rights and Responsibilities means I will likely be sending underlined and notes-in-margins versions to my close friends. But here’s the part when Mindy completely won me over: her quick little discussion about how ridiculous the John Cougar Mellencamp song “Jack and Diane” is:

 “I wish there was a song called “Nguyen and Ari”, a little ditty about a hardworking Vietnamese girl who helps her parents with the franchised Holiday Inn they run, and does homework in the lobby, and Ari, a hardworking Jewish boy who does volunteer work at his grandmother’s old-age home, and the they after school at the Princeton Review…

The chours of “Jack and Diane” is: Oh Yeah, life goes on, long after the thrill of living is gone. Are you kidding me? The thrill of living was high school?

Ok, Min. We can be friends (even though I copied from your book illegally and then stripped out the money portion of that section where you talk about how it’s ok to be quiet in high school and the wonderfulness of getting to spend time with ones family.) (And called your book Bossypants 2.0) (even though you already made that joke in the book already.) Because you know, my stepdaughter just started high school, and I love seeing her love it, going to Varsity Football games, getting involved in all the high schooley type stuff, and it’s easy for me to be so excited for her to be having this great experience, but you know it’s like that Indigo Girls song (what? We’re talking high school here, people. It’s excessively on-point for me to be quoting the Indigo Girls) – “I don’t want the things that mean the most to mean the things I miss.”

Anyway – I hadn’t thought much about it, but I did like the look at our nice little American idealized view of how high school is the best years of our life (“Glory Days”, anyone?) and how, actually, if you’re doing it right, that’s not it, not even close.

This in turn reminded me of my favorite part of The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan Didion’s memoir of the death of her husband and the year that followed. (Note: I did not much care for that book, which I think is more because I dislike memoirs, but regardless, when I say “my favorite moment” I do mean it was my favorite in the book but adjust your scale accordingly for how awesome I thought that moment was, exactly.) Anyway, the night of her husband’s death, Joan comes home from the hospital and finds her self smoothing out some crumpled dollar bills and placing them in her wallet, carefully, in an organized fashion, and she mentioned “I would like to think he would have thought I was handling things.”

Ooooooooof. Yes.  That just struck me as so sad, and so relatable, this idea of the roles we fall into in our relationships and then when that relationship – for whatever reason – isn’t anymore, our discovering that we can fill those other roles, and the pride we’d feel, the wanting that person to see us doing it, see us being ok, but of course, it’s too late. They’re gone. And that’s just the way things go, but man.

Kristen Armstrong -Lance’s ex – wrote an article for Runners World while she was mid-divorce from Lance. The article was about her training for her first marathon, and I have always remembered how she described what it meant for her to achieve this huge thing:

Last December, four days before my divorce from cyclist Lance Armstrong, I did something I never thought I could do. I ran my first marathon…

At mile 22 I could feel the rumblings of a revolution in my legs. By mile 24, I was getting cramps in my calves…I thought about Lance and his ability to withstand pain. And I thought that he might even be proud, and a little surprised, to see me hauling my tired body and toting my invisible pack of sadness over all those miles

Now, I know Mastering the Art Of Opening Mail is not the same as running a marathon, but the idea of what she is saying feels the same to me. It’s funny: I suspect if I were to suddenly become amazingly efficient with getting the mail and opening it right away and filing it and basically handling that one particular administrative aspect that I HATE, I would want my husband to acknowledge it, to be proud of me, to congratulate me. And I suspect he would instead — much like I would if he suddenly started changing the sheets on our bed with regularity — simply be like: ”finally.” And be confused as to why something that he just does without thinking is something that I feel is worth being thanked for.  Which is unfair, of course, because should I ever become proficient in those things that he is great at and I am not (and, to be clear: I don’t doubt I could be. I lived for many years opening my own mail and he lived for many years dealing with his own sheets) it would be because of the training I’ve gotten from our life together, and while being on top of the mail is a non-event for him, I would want him to see me handling it, and I would want him to be proud of me for it.

(I say this, of course, with the disclaimer that while of course we would manage just fine without each other, it’s one of the nice treats of life that we don’t have to. And hopefully never will.)