Breaking up with the Cowtown and with "training"

I guess now I'm on what equates to the once-a-year blogging/journaling plan, and if anyone reads this, I would like to apologize for how badly it is written. It really is just a vomiting of thoughts and feelings I am trying to work out, and I am a better writer than this.

This is really more of a journal for me, but I'm going to post the link to Facebook in the hope that it may preemptively field some of me having to explain how and why I didn't do the Cowtown today. And if you're anything like me, the opportunity to read someone else's journal is always fascinating (hence why I've already watched the entire season of The Mortified Guide on Netflix).

So all day (and weekend) long, I've been pretending it doesn't exist. I am staying off social media today and for the next few days (except when I post this link) because although I am happy for my friends who did the race, I can't handle all of the proud/excited/happy finisher posts just yet. I guess if I were succeeding in this strategy of denial, though, I wouldn't feel the need to write this post. Anyway.....

Before I go into a bunch of dramatic personal issues, I will say that my final decision not to run at all (no 10k, no 5k - 0 miles) was a groin injury. I pulled my groin last year and must have reinjured it running long distances without strengthening and stretching it enough because all last week the pain woke me up in the middle of the night. So that was the deciding factor. But all of other stuff I'm about to talk about are issues that came to the surface throughout the whole training process, particularly after it started to go south. 

I have recently been struggling with some issues that I've dealt with for a long time, pretty much since I can remember. I won't go into deep detail on that here because this is so public, but if you've known me for a long time, you can probably guess what that is. This past week, I kind of reached a breaking point with that. I say this in relation to the Cowtown for a couple of reasons. First of all, the Cowtown had been causing me an immense amount of stress, and not just because it was my first half. This level of stress tends to trigger the issues. 

Let me back up for a second. The stress I'm talking about has to do with the derailing of my training at the worst possible time. Right before Christmas, we had just started to really increase our mileage and were up to 10 miles the weekend right before Christmas. Well, I got the flu over Christmas and missed the 11 and 12 mile runs (not to mention the shorter runs we were supposed to do during the week). Then, when we came back, I felt discouraged and mentally checked out WHILE we were scrambling to make up for lost time. I felt more out of shape than I had when we started back in September. During the last training run I went to (13 miles), I spent basically the whole thing containing the meltdown that had been rising to the surface for weeks. I watched all these people passing me (and yes, I know it's not about anyone else but you try being the very last one) and felt worse and worse and then my coach suggested that maybe in the future if I wanted to be involved in the Cowtown I should volunteer or do the 10k -- and if you're reading this, I know you didn't mean it how I took it (it's not you, it's me) -- and that kind of crushed me. What was I doing? This clearly wasn't for me... 

I know that's ridiculous. I know unfortunate things happened when my training had been going great. But if I really wanted to do it, really, and for the right reasons, I would've gotten over myself and gotten back on track. I think. I'm still processing it all, and part of me thinks I just took on too much my first year in a new job and I just reached a point where I needed everything to slow down. See? I told you. Word vomit. 

Today, I started thinking about why I wanted to do the Cowtown in the first place. I was thinking about all of the stress and trepidation, and, well, plain dread that I felt leading up to it before I made the decision to back out. That got me thinking about how I used to feel before swim meets. It's eerily similar. I had a coach once take me aside to talk to me about how my performance in races didn't match the effort/dedication/level of training I showed in practice. Bottom line: Sarah chokes in (athletic) competition. 

I kind of came to terms with this in swimming in my adult years. When I was still doing swim team, I flat out wouldn't participate when we did sets off the blocks simulating meets for "fun." It wasn't fun for me. Now, don't get me wrong; I love exercise. I love feeling powerful and strong and healthy. I love how much better I feel physically and mentally when I exercise regularly. I love the release. I just don't love trying to exercise better than other people. 

So, why did I want to do the Cowtown? It wasn't that I wanted to be competitive in any way. But it brought back those old choking feelings because it was such a big deal. Because being around all of those fantastic runners all the time made me feel terrible about myself (and I know that has nothing to do with them and everything to do with me). Because the main thing I've learned is that I don't really like training that much. 

See, I've always defined myself as a swimmer, an athlete. I'm not a natural athlete in any sense of the word, quite the opposite. But since I was a kid, I desperate wanted to be good at sports. And since I'm not good at sports, I kind of fell into a cycle of defining myself in a negative way: I'm the girl who does triathlons, competitive swimming, etc. But deep down, I know that I was last in my age group and I tell myself I don't care, but it sort of eats at me. Because that's how I define myself, and I'm not good. And then freshman year of high school, I lost a bunch of weight swimming at a time when body image was paramount. This began a dysfunctional line of thinking that continues to this day. If I'm not doing some kind of intense cardio workout regularly, I panic because obviously that means I'm going to get fat. 

That coupled with the aforementioned issues-that-shall-not-be-named have dug me deep into an unhealthy relationship with food and with exercise. Even today at the gym, I was thinking about how I could do some more reps (outside of the workout I was doing on my Nike app) to burn more calories. But I stopped myself from going down that panicky, obsessive path because that is trip I've taken over and over again. It only leads to burnout, self-loathing, and general unhappiness. 

I have to wonder if I got the idea of training for the Cowtown in my head because I thought such a high level of exercise would mean I didn't have to worry about diet and exercise; it would be covered.  And again, I defined myself as an athlete. So obviously, I had to do a half marathon. If those were my reasons, then I didn't do it for the right reasons anyway. 

I read an article about some actress I looked up to a few years ago (I don't remember who it was) who mentioned that these days, it's not enough to work out for yourself because you like it, you have to be out doing triathlons and running marathons. I've done triathlons and enjoyed them. But this quote resonated with me and I try to use it to remember that I am enough. Being health conscious and exercising for the above reasons I like it is enough. I don't have to prove anything to anybody. I'm trying really hard to get to the point where I believe and know that and don't have to repeat it to myself as I watch other people finish races and whatever. 

I did enjoy a lot of the training process. I'm so happy I met the people in my training group. I'm glad I tried it so I know what it's like. I'm glad I do know that I CAN run 13 miles (we did it in a training run), but I don't necessarily want to. 

As for the other stuff, coming to a breaking point (rock bottom?) at least gave me the opportunity to reset myself and decide to take steps toward a healthier approach. So for now, I am trying to just enjoy exercise, enjoy a healthy but not crazy way of eating, and just defining myself as Sarah who likes to exercise, cook, read, write, and travel, and is good at being a person. Period. 

the evolution of friendship

I have been thinking a lot lately about friendship. I have (or I should probably say had) been feeling for awhile a palpable sense of disappointment in some friendships that were and are very important to me, but because of, well, life, had kind of fallen by the wayside. Or so it seemed.

I'm sure everyone has experienced this in some form; you are really close with someone, usually because of some kind of shared circumstance. I'm thinking specifically of three different people who were on my best friend tier at different points in my life, but there are even more than this. In each of these cases, however, my friend and I came together because we were starting some kind of new adventure at the same time (grad school, teaching overseas, moving to a new city, etc.) and we kind of clung to each other. And in all of these cases, that was how we started spending a lot of time together, but a deep and real friendship blossomed. It takes more than being in the same place at the same time for someone to become a true partner in crime.

I have been in DFW for four years now. It's the longest I've lived anywhere since college. I've gone through a lot of personal changes since moving here. I've taken on a new career (twice), gone back to school, and most significantly, found the person I plan on spending the rest of my life with. Throughout these past few years, I've met a lot of people and made some good friends. But over the past few months, I've found myself missing some of those people who whom I was so close with back when I (really, we) were 20-something women flying solo, trying to navigate our lives.

I tend to internalize a lot. So as I'd been thinking about all this, I began to feel a sense of being left behind, like these people didn't want to be my friend anymore, like I was the only one who still wanted to be friends, or like I wasn't important to them anymore. It all made me really sad, and although I have a couple of new friends and even some really old ones who are a regular part of my current life and whom I consider to be on my best friend tier, I still missed those ladies. I was even having stress dreams about it - dreams where we would meet up and talk everything out and go back to being friends.

I had kind of resigned myself to the fact that as you go through your life, not every friend is meant to stay with you. Sometimes things just run their course, and it's no one's fault; people just constantly move in different directions. I still felt sad about and missed having these relationships, but I forced myself to think of the whole situation as getting older and dynamics changing (having more couple friends than single friends, for example). I was partly right. But soon, a few things would happen to change my outlook.

A couple of months ago one of these friends asked me (and a bunch of other people) to collaborate on a writing project. So we talked a little about that, and the other day I got a message from her telling me something funny about someone we went to college with. It felt good to receive that kind of message from her again.

Last weekend, one of the other friends I'm writing about messaged me needing some information from me and we ended up chatting for an hour or two. We even made plans to get together soon. I'm still waiting on the reconnection with Friend #3, but I know it will happen eventually. I was able to go to her birthday party a year ago, and I know it meant a lot to her that I made the trip. I'm still sad that we don't talk as much as we used to, but I know that we will never completely lose touch.

And that's what I've learned from all of this. Yes, we all move on, and people shift in and out of our daily, and sometimes yearly, interactions. But the ones who truly matter don't ever really go away. I imagine our friendships going forward will probably be catch up emails and text conversations every now and then, and meeting up when we're in the same area. They're different from how it used to be, of course, but that's how they've evolved, and it's the strength of the baseline connection that's allowed them to change but remain. I know I could call any of the three ladies mentioned in this story, or any of the ones not mentioned here, and they would make plans with me when and if they could. And if I really needed any of them, they would be there.

How do I know that? Because they already have been.

the latest existential crisis

I'm supposed to be doing homework, but I'm feeling a deep sense of ennui today.

I'm also having an overseas homesick day. My TEFL teacher in Prague warned us against "bad foreign days" where it's just really hard to be an expat, and those definitely happen, but I think once you spend any significant period of time as part of another culture, you're doomed to bad home-country days thereafter. Maybe it's just me.

This was all triggered by reading that a friend from college who also taught in Korea is going back. Her situation is extremely different from mine, although in some ways not. However, I've been stateside for almost four years, and I still have dreams (literally, like while sleeping) about going back. I still find myself planning how I would go about it and what I would do. Seeing that my friend is returning, indefinitely this time, made me insanely jealous.

The funny thing about it is--and if you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you will know--I was pretty miserable a lot of the time I was there. And part of me has to wonder if I'm just always wanting a redo. On the other hand, coming back and "being American" again gives you a hell of a sense of perspective, and it's that sense of perspective that I think allowed me to be as happy as I've been over the past four years. I always say that my experience in Korea was the hardest yet best thing I've ever done. It was hard, it was painful, it was exhausting, it was exhilarating, it was eye-opening, it was adventure. Reflecting on it after all this time seems redundant, but I don't know if I will ever shake the feeling that I need to be on the move. And I don't know if I can ever really let go of something that meant so much to me.

I still feel like an outsider. I hear people I know talking about things like home decor and landscaping, new cars and new houses. I couldn't care less about any of those things. Every time I hear these conversations, I think, "first world problems." Not that I've ever lived in the third world, and not that I want to, but it just seems like experiences are worth so much more than these weird status symbols (and I could write a separate essay on why I think materialism is not only an American problem), and, more than that, all of those things seem like they would build a prison that would just barricade me in and suffocate my freedom.

I don't know what the solution is. Obviously, I'm about to be a master of library science. I've started applying and interviewing for full-fledged librarian jobs. I'm excited about this (I think), but I also feel a deep sense of sadness as I wonder if my dreams of being a perpetual world traveler are dead, or at least out of reach. For the first few months after I came home from Korea, I was planning my escape. I felt incredibly trapped, disillusioned, and on the outside. On days like today, I feel like that again.

But...then there's the life I have now. And one of the hardest things for me is that you can never have it every which way. I'm totally staring at the fig tree in The Bell Jar, and I have been since I was 18. Happiness is a choice, and of course I have to decide to be happy. Even if I went back to Korea or somewhere else, I would have to make that choice. Today, I was sort of beside myself at work and on the drive home, and I wasn't sure how I could make everything that I want fit. But then I walked in my house and I saw my partner, and I couldn't help but smile. And I can't rationally reconcile it just yet, but I feel like it is going to be okay. Somehow I will find a balance. But it feels really good to have someone by your side.

Our plethoras of experience make us who we are. If I didn't have the weird mishmash of life choices that I have, I wouldn't be where I am or who I am, and I wouldn't know what I know (although there is always so much more to know!). And all of those experiences melt and coagulate, and you never know when or how they will serve you. I'm not ruling anything out.

How do you leave work problems at work?

Quick post tonight as I finally get sleepy at 1 a.m...

How do you keep your work problems at work and keep them from affecting your personal life? I really want to know. 

I've been trying so hard to do just that. I've been so down at work lately, so hopeless and unsure of my next move, which is of course really exhausting. I try to not let those feelings come home with me. I have such a good time in my non-work life. I have a lot going for me in that regard and I've found people and activities that make me really happy and at peace... but then, those work problems creep in. 

Sometimes, I let them in because I like to be proactive, almost to a fault, and have Plans A, B, and C mapped out in my mind before any shit hits the fan. But a lot of the time, it sneaks up on me and before I know it, I'm melting down over something insignificant and ultimately my mind ends up on the land mine that is my career right now and I cry even harder. 

I guess it's always there, in the deep recesses of my brain. That feeling that I've failed, that it hasn't gone the way it was supposed to go, that old "what the fuck am I going to do now" sensation. I know work isn't everything, it isn't even the most important thing, but I miss feeling confident and competent on the job. 

A lot of it isn't my fault, but it's still placed on my shoulders, and anyway, I don't want to get into all that right now.

So really, what I want to know is... how the fuck do I leave that negativity at work? Especially for those times I am caught unaware?

hyper sensitive to hyper anxious

I want to start off by saying that I plan on continuing my stories from school. That's a project I intend to see through (who knows what that means), but today I have something else on my mind.

About a year or so ago, I read an article on Huffington Post or somewhere about HSPs (highly sensitive people). I immediately identified with everything they said: feeling feelings more intensely than other people, reflecting on things more than other people, worrying about how other people feel, being overwhelmed in chaotic environments, the list goes on. That's me.

Most of the time, I like these qualities about myself. I like that I experience the world more deeply, I like that I have a high level of empathy, and I like that I'm intuitive and I try to really think things out. Most of the time, I find the high sensitivity to be a positive attribute. But lately, I have been feeling hyper sensitive to the point of hyper anxiety.

I have sort of on and off in my life had fears that everyone hates me, that I'm doing things wrong, that I've reacted poorly in a situation. These are all back in full force. I've often heard, "why are you so sensitive?" or "don't take it so personally" and almost every time, I didn't realize that I was. My initial reaction in those types of situations is to feel a sting, and then to feel worse, because I'm still doing it wrong by being too "sensitive."

I'm not even sure the above paragraph made sense.

Anyway, I bring all of this up to say that lately I've been thinking I've lost my confidence (a lot of this is work related.... and health/weight related) and I'm trying hard to get it back. I feel like everything I do makes me appear desperate or insecure, and I'm not.  I generally like myself, and I'm ok with who I am. Proud of it, even. Why have I been acting like I have no self esteem? Why do I always feel like I have to apologize for something? I get hung up on these little things that for some reason seem like the end of the world at the time. Now I've done it, I'll think. How could I have been so stupid? So careless?

I know I need to let this stuff go. But how do I train myself to do that?

It's no fun to be around somebody when you feel like you have to walk on eggshells. I'm afraid I'm becoming that person. I'm afraid those closest to me will be afraid to speak freely because I'll get my feelings hurt. I'm afraid I'm driving a wedge there by acting distant and wounded and even gloomy with the weight of this thing I just can't shake. I just want to be me. In fact, I just want to be. It sounds so nice to just not worry about any of this, or to not worry at all.

believing things will work out

Taking a break from the stories of school to try to straighten myself out.

Right now, I want to run away. I want to get in my car and drive. I want to buy a plane ticket and go... somewhere. This is not rational.

A week from now, I will be back at work. I am excited about the new school year, about regaining a sense of purpose, a routine, having somewhere to go and something to do every day. However, right now, this is clouded by my terror of the coming year.

Last year, I was nervous, sure, as a first year teacher. But I didn't really know what to be scared of. This year, I know. All of those experiences and all of the exhaustion and effort that went into last year create a fear in me that I can't do it all again. I got through the year, and I survived, but do I have another one in me? I can't fall back on being an unknowing first year teacher anymore. I'm supposed to know what I'm doing at this point.

I'm working hard on not letting this weight that I feel about going back to school color all other areas of my life. I've been thinking a lot about self-sabotage lately, and I've come to a place where I realize I'm doing that, but how do I get myself to stop? I read something earlier today that if you believe a relationship (or anything, really) will fail, it will, because you will find ways to prove to yourself that you were right. I've caught myself doing this; thinking how bad is this going to hurt, how am I going to pick up the pieces, I don't want to go through the heartbreak. I didn't realize that I was so walled in until 1.) the cracks in my armor were exposed at work (you can't help it as a teacher); and 2.) I started getting close to someone.

The article suggested believing the opposite - that it will succeed, because that is just as possible. I'm trying to convince myself of that, both in work and in my personal life. I want to believe it so badly, I want to get out of this cycle of protecting myself so hard that I doom things in the beginning because I'm afraid. It doesn't get me anywhere; I just end up miserable.

I've tried to communicate this, but I'm so bad at expressing myself not on paper that it just made me sound crazy and dramatic, which I HATE. So I'm letting it out here, and from now on going to operate on the belief that I will be successful and it will work out, both at work and personally. I am capable of this. And it will be worth it.

two sisters against the world

I'm going to deviate from my usual shocking/crazy storytelling for this one. I hope it will still be an entertaining story, but instead of telling you about some psycho kid or just crazy wild incident (don't worry, there are plenty more of those to come), I'm going to tell a tamer, yet sadder story that still fits into the theme of being totally out of my element.

About halfway through the year, Mrs. Campbell and I each acquired a new student on the same day. They were sisters, but not twins. I think they were about 11 months apart. Or maybe 13. Either way, Sandra (in my class) was in 3rd grade for the second time, and Jamie (Mrs. Campbell's homeroom) was a first time 3rd grader. Both girls were sweet, both participated in class, both were good students, although Sandra had a harder time with the academics. Sandra in particular, maybe because she was in my homeroom, became very attached to me pretty quickly. She always wanted to help me do "teacher stuff," and she always wanted to hug me and talk to me outside of class.

This did not mean that the girls were without their issues. Jamie, whom I had first thing in the morning, would often fall asleep in class to the point she could barely be woken up and then would drift off again almost immediately. Sandra's non-academic problems were that she was quick to fight, and although she made friends easily, she was almost always involved in girl drama and had a few enemies too. None of these qualities were really out of the ordinary for many of my students.

As a teacher, you bond with some students more than others. It just happens that way; looking back on last year, there are students I think I should've connected with more, but it just didn't happen or didn't come naturally for whatever reason. You can't expect to form special connections with everyone, in anything that you do. But I bring this up to say that I did connect with Jamie and Sandra, particularly Sandra. Maybe I felt like she needed me. She was one that actually allowed me to talk problems out with her and then would try to work on whatever the issue was. Jamie, on the other hand, would completely shut down when she was having a bad day.

The sisters were often late for school. One morning sometime in the spring, I was standing in my classroom doorway, as I usually did during the morning announcements as the students were still coming in, and Sandra rounded the corner at the top of the stairs and came marching down the hallway toward me, nearly out of breath.

She walked right up to me and said, "Ms. T, I have to talk to you."

I pulled her aside and said, "Ok, what's going on?"

She took a deep gulp of air. "This morning, my mom's friend punched me and my sister in our hearts." She pointed to the center of her chest.

"Slow down," I said. "Is your mom's friend staying with you?"

She nodded.

I'll be honest. I had no idea what to do. I know that, obviously, as a teacher, I am legally bound to report any suspected abuse to the appropriate authorities. But in the real world, sometimes it's hard to determine what the situation actually is - what the truth is. But I guess in these cases, that's not my job. A child discloses something to me; it needs to be properly investigated. Better safe than sorry.

So basically, I knew I had to report this, but I had never been told how to go about doing that. At this exact moment, the counselor walked by.

"Mrs. Adams," I said. "Can you come here for a minute?"

I asked Sandra to tell Mrs. Adams what she had told me. We were then able to get Jamie as her class was lining up in the hallway, and she told the same story Sandra had.

"So this lady's been staying at your house?" Mrs. Adams asked the girls. "Has she done things like this before?"

Both girls nodded.

"Why haven't you told your mom about this?" she asked.

The girls looked at each other. "We don't see our mom because she goes to work," Jamie said.

"Hmm," said Mrs. Adams. Now, I know this is at least partially untrue because both girls would often talk about their mother. Mama said this, Mama said that. Mama said we're going here or there after school today. But maybe she had gotten a new job, I don't know.

Mrs. Adams then escorted the girls downstairs to see the nurse, to talk to them further, and to call their mom.

During my planning time a couple of hours later, I learned that the mom had been contacted and said this was the first she'd heard that this was going on. Both girls had visited the nurse twice complaining of chest pain and seemed shaken up, causing the nurse to at least tell Mrs. Adams she was going to file a report herself. I asked Mrs. Adams if we both needed to report the incident, and she said it was up to me but that since I was the one Sandra chose to tell, it wouldn't be a bad idea. So I filed two separate reports, one on each girl.

This occurred on a Tuesday. That Thursday, both girls were absent from school. It wasn't uncommon for one of them to miss school, but for both of them to miss at the same time was unusual. I worried about them all day. I thought nothing good could be happening. Of course I wanted what was best for them, even if that meant them being removed from their mother. Anyone with a brain and half a soul knows that's the best solution sometimes. But it's a really hard thing to swallow when you're actually watching something like this happen, when you know the people involved. I never meant the girls' mom in person, and from my phone conversations with her, it seemed like her intentions were in the right place. But who knows? It's just hard to say, ok, the best thing is for these kids to be taken from their home and be put who knows where when you know that's not what they would choose for themselves.

Anyway, they weren't removed from their home. I don't know what happened when the situation was investigated. The girls were back at school the next day. Sandra seemed unusually quiet and subdued. When I asked her if everything was ok, she shook her head.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked.

She shook her head no.

I don't know if the girls put two and two together that we reported what they had told us to the authorities, and I hope that if they did, it doesn't discourage them from seeking help from adults when something is wrong. My relationship with the sisters didn't really change between then and the end of the year, but I did always try to keep a close eye on them after that and I still think about them often. It kind of seems like two sisters against the world.