Yesterday, I found myself irrationally excited. Not just, as you might imagine, because it's finally starting to hit me that I am leaving in less than two months. Nope. I was also psyched for another reason.
MTV was airing a Laguna Beach marathon.
Yes, okay? Yes! I watch Laguna Freakin' Beach! Not obsessively, mind you. I mean, I'm not really a huge television fan to begin with; I only seek out Lost and The Amazing Race regularly and that's about it. Plus I always forget when it's on, so the only time I really see it is if I somehow catch an episode or two or five while flipping channels on a lazy day. (Although I did buy my roommate a very special Christmas gift last year so if I want to relive the drama of Kristen, LC and Stephen, I can. The Laguna Beach Season 1 DVD - the gift that keeps on giving.) Anyway, I could rationalize this all day, but I still have to admit this show completely sucks me in. I don't know why. It could be because it inspires fond memories of the days when Brenda, Brandon and friends made 90210 the most famous zipcode ever. Maybe I enjoy the mindless entertainment. Perhaps it's because the show is just so bad it is actually awesome. Whatever the reason, I am Laguna Beach's bitch.
Of course it is somewhat embarrassing to be spellbound by the lives of these incredibly obnoxious spoiled brats living in California. Nonetheless, I find myself utterly absorbed in all the shenanigans and expressing outrage as "the popular girls" shun Tessa or Alex dumps Rocky because he is a big fat jerk. I do not like him at all. Cameron is also a playa', but he is hot, so I find him a little less objectionable. They sure didn't have boys that looked like him when I was in high school. See what I mean? I'm telling you; it is really quite sad.
I am aware I am 31 years old, thank you. But I know many others my age who also share this guilty pleasure. I am not alone! So here's to you, Laguna Beach. You make me ever so grateful that I am no longer in high school while simultaneously wishing MTV aired in Bulgaria.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Thursday, October 19, 2006
How Far Will You Go To Make A Difference
I didn't want him to go.
Until recently, I had never been romantically involved with a guy longer than six weeks. While I thoroughly and enthusiastically engaged in dating, flirting and "hanging out", I had been unsuccessful in meeting someone who held my interest beyond these fun, but superficial activities. I preferred to keep things casual whilst secretly battling concerns that my perennial single-hood would eventually result in my becoming a “Cat Lady.” (Oh the horror!)
Then, in July of 2005, I met Ryan. We were each other's last date at Pre-Dating (a 6-minute version of the 8-minute phenomenon) and bonded over Illinois basketball and tales of living overseas. On our third date he told me earnestly, "I don't know if you can tell, but I really like you a lot." This was after I had belted out a most enthusiastic version of Pat Benetar's "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" at his friends' karaoke party. Those who know me well can attest that while I have a lot of passion… a recording career is definitely not in my future unless it involves getting the neighborhood dogs involved with some backup singing. Luckily my lack of musical talent was not a deal breaker. It was also after I discovered he drove… the hot… the sporty…the ghetto fabulous… 1990 Dodge Caravan. However I had already figured out that I really liked him a lot too. If I wasn’t yet pairing my first name with his last, I was, at the very least, dancing giddily around and going “Eeeeeeee!” Er, not out loud or in front of him or anything… just in my head… and… um… maybe in my bedroom when I was pretty sure there was no one else in the apartment. And actually, I'm not that impressed by flashy sports cars, so the van was pretty darn sexy, too.
Despite the promising start, it didn’t stop me from encouraging him to follow in my footsteps by joining the Peace Corps. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with his life… he liked travel… he was intrigued by international development… it seemed a good fit. After only dating for three months, I figured I likely wouldn’t be in the picture when he actually did join. Sure he was amazing and a heck of a lot of fun and really cute and smart and cool and we definitely had chemistry… but would it really last? Could it be I wasn’t destined for cats after all?
As it turns out not only did our relationship continue to grow, but I went and fell in love for the first time in my life. Then things got scary. First he had his interview. Then his nomination. And in May, six months after I said “Hey Ryan! Have you ever thought about joining the Peace Corps?,” he received his invitation for Business Development in Bulgaria. I’m not ashamed to admit I begged him not to go. I told him I would break up with him if he did; I absolutely wouldn’t do long distance. Was I being reasonable? Probably not, but all I could think was I had waited my entire life to find someone like him… and what was more I knew he felt the same way too. To throw it away seemed desperately unfair.
After much intense discussion and plenty of tears… clearly Ryan did decide to go to Bulgaria. Just as plainly, my vow to avoid the dreaded long distance relationship has been unsubstantiated. We both knew when we said our tearful goodbyes, it was really “see you later” as neither of us could imagine not having the other in our life. He left on August 4 and surprisingly, the very thing that I felt would be disastrous for our relationship has actually proved to be a tremendous turning point for us. I never would have imagined it would turn out this way… but here we are, stronger than ever.
Today, after two and a half months of training, Ryan swore in as an official volunteer and has moved to Stara Zagora, his town of placement. My initial opinions notwithstanding, I am so proud of him for stepping outside his comfort zone and trying to make a difference. He has an energy and wisdom that is rare and I feel so lucky to have him in my life. At the risk of waxing romantic (like I haven't already, right?), I love him so much and I am so excited to see what Bulgaria has in store for us!
Until recently, I had never been romantically involved with a guy longer than six weeks. While I thoroughly and enthusiastically engaged in dating, flirting and "hanging out", I had been unsuccessful in meeting someone who held my interest beyond these fun, but superficial activities. I preferred to keep things casual whilst secretly battling concerns that my perennial single-hood would eventually result in my becoming a “Cat Lady.” (Oh the horror!)
Then, in July of 2005, I met Ryan. We were each other's last date at Pre-Dating (a 6-minute version of the 8-minute phenomenon) and bonded over Illinois basketball and tales of living overseas. On our third date he told me earnestly, "I don't know if you can tell, but I really like you a lot." This was after I had belted out a most enthusiastic version of Pat Benetar's "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" at his friends' karaoke party. Those who know me well can attest that while I have a lot of passion… a recording career is definitely not in my future unless it involves getting the neighborhood dogs involved with some backup singing. Luckily my lack of musical talent was not a deal breaker. It was also after I discovered he drove… the hot… the sporty…the ghetto fabulous… 1990 Dodge Caravan. However I had already figured out that I really liked him a lot too. If I wasn’t yet pairing my first name with his last, I was, at the very least, dancing giddily around and going “Eeeeeeee!” Er, not out loud or in front of him or anything… just in my head… and… um… maybe in my bedroom when I was pretty sure there was no one else in the apartment. And actually, I'm not that impressed by flashy sports cars, so the van was pretty darn sexy, too.
Despite the promising start, it didn’t stop me from encouraging him to follow in my footsteps by joining the Peace Corps. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with his life… he liked travel… he was intrigued by international development… it seemed a good fit. After only dating for three months, I figured I likely wouldn’t be in the picture when he actually did join. Sure he was amazing and a heck of a lot of fun and really cute and smart and cool and we definitely had chemistry… but would it really last? Could it be I wasn’t destined for cats after all?
As it turns out not only did our relationship continue to grow, but I went and fell in love for the first time in my life. Then things got scary. First he had his interview. Then his nomination. And in May, six months after I said “Hey Ryan! Have you ever thought about joining the Peace Corps?,” he received his invitation for Business Development in Bulgaria. I’m not ashamed to admit I begged him not to go. I told him I would break up with him if he did; I absolutely wouldn’t do long distance. Was I being reasonable? Probably not, but all I could think was I had waited my entire life to find someone like him… and what was more I knew he felt the same way too. To throw it away seemed desperately unfair.
After much intense discussion and plenty of tears… clearly Ryan did decide to go to Bulgaria. Just as plainly, my vow to avoid the dreaded long distance relationship has been unsubstantiated. We both knew when we said our tearful goodbyes, it was really “see you later” as neither of us could imagine not having the other in our life. He left on August 4 and surprisingly, the very thing that I felt would be disastrous for our relationship has actually proved to be a tremendous turning point for us. I never would have imagined it would turn out this way… but here we are, stronger than ever.
Today, after two and a half months of training, Ryan swore in as an official volunteer and has moved to Stara Zagora, his town of placement. My initial opinions notwithstanding, I am so proud of him for stepping outside his comfort zone and trying to make a difference. He has an energy and wisdom that is rare and I feel so lucky to have him in my life. At the risk of waxing romantic (like I haven't already, right?), I love him so much and I am so excited to see what Bulgaria has in store for us!
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
I Owe It All to Charlie Sheen
With all of the excitement and planning invested in my move to Bulgaria I have kind of overlooked the fact that I am going to graduate in about a month with my Masters in Public Administration and a Graduate Certificate in Nonprofit Management. Luckily I am not so absorbed that I am forgetting to do homework or write papers or, like, go to class and stuff.
When I first went to college back in 1992, however, this was sort of a problem for me. For some reason I just couldn't grasp the concept that you probably needed to show up and take actual exams in order to pass. Instead I took a strong academic interest in a campus organization and tended to hang out there quite a bit in order to broaden my educational experience. (Okay, so the president of said organization was unreasonably hot and I took great pleasure in doing lots of giggling and occasionally throwing tootsie rolls at him. C'mon. I was 17. I had not yet learned that flirting involved more than flicking my hair over my shoulder, pouting a little and dressing in low cut tops and short skirts). Somehow I made it through my freshman year by the skin of my proverbial teeth. But sophomore year was my downfall when one day, while skipping class, I was presented with the opportunity to become a paid extra in a classic film (Major League II) whereupon I decided that I... yes I... was going to be an actress. Not just any old actress. A soap opera actress.
Heh.
Needless to say I dropped out of school to pursue my burgeoning acting career. I facilitated this process... by waiting tables at TGI Friday. How my parents made it through this time with their sanity intact is both a mystery and a miracle. The acting career, of course, never materialized and after two years of wearing red and white stripes and suspenders covered in "flair", I made the fortuitous decision to go back to school. Three years later I graduated Summa Cum Laude with a Bachelor of Arts in Social Work.
It took me some time to decide that I wanted an advanced degree, plus a little more navigational fine-tuning as to what, exactly, I wanted to do with my life. (And, truth be told, I'm still not sure). But once I made up my mind to do it, I embraced the idea whole-heartedly. I knew what I wanted to study and where I would go to do it. Although it has been tough at times, particularly when I was working two jobs and was literally at some place of employment or school 6 - 7 days out of the week, I can't believe it's almost over. Tonight I finished my final exam for my Capstone course and am left with one paper to tweak a bit and another to proofread... and that's it. I will be a graduate of the UCF MPA program. Wow.
During our orientation to UCF my friend (and fellow impending graduate) Garrett joked that the students would soon unite and, in "Old School" fashion, chant the mantra "Meag the Keg! Meag the Keg!" as I frolicked in the Reflecting Pond outside Millican Hall. I have thus far refrained from this shocking behavior as I am above such frivolities. After all, they simply do not befit a graduate student. No... No, I am waiting until after I graduate for that...
When I first went to college back in 1992, however, this was sort of a problem for me. For some reason I just couldn't grasp the concept that you probably needed to show up and take actual exams in order to pass. Instead I took a strong academic interest in a campus organization and tended to hang out there quite a bit in order to broaden my educational experience. (Okay, so the president of said organization was unreasonably hot and I took great pleasure in doing lots of giggling and occasionally throwing tootsie rolls at him. C'mon. I was 17. I had not yet learned that flirting involved more than flicking my hair over my shoulder, pouting a little and dressing in low cut tops and short skirts). Somehow I made it through my freshman year by the skin of my proverbial teeth. But sophomore year was my downfall when one day, while skipping class, I was presented with the opportunity to become a paid extra in a classic film (Major League II) whereupon I decided that I... yes I... was going to be an actress. Not just any old actress. A soap opera actress.
Heh.
Needless to say I dropped out of school to pursue my burgeoning acting career. I facilitated this process... by waiting tables at TGI Friday. How my parents made it through this time with their sanity intact is both a mystery and a miracle. The acting career, of course, never materialized and after two years of wearing red and white stripes and suspenders covered in "flair", I made the fortuitous decision to go back to school. Three years later I graduated Summa Cum Laude with a Bachelor of Arts in Social Work.
It took me some time to decide that I wanted an advanced degree, plus a little more navigational fine-tuning as to what, exactly, I wanted to do with my life. (And, truth be told, I'm still not sure). But once I made up my mind to do it, I embraced the idea whole-heartedly. I knew what I wanted to study and where I would go to do it. Although it has been tough at times, particularly when I was working two jobs and was literally at some place of employment or school 6 - 7 days out of the week, I can't believe it's almost over. Tonight I finished my final exam for my Capstone course and am left with one paper to tweak a bit and another to proofread... and that's it. I will be a graduate of the UCF MPA program. Wow.
During our orientation to UCF my friend (and fellow impending graduate) Garrett joked that the students would soon unite and, in "Old School" fashion, chant the mantra "Meag the Keg! Meag the Keg!" as I frolicked in the Reflecting Pond outside Millican Hall. I have thus far refrained from this shocking behavior as I am above such frivolities. After all, they simply do not befit a graduate student. No... No, I am waiting until after I graduate for that...
Sunday, October 15, 2006
The Packrat Chronicles
I have a lot of crap. I never really thought I was abnormal in this respect until some dear and thoughtful friends helped me move several years ago. I will never forget their faces as they stopped in my doorway, uttering various exclamations of horror and disbelief at the sheer mountains of stuff I have. I think a few of them may have even tried to run away. (To be fair, I am also a rotten packer, and felt it was satisfactory practice to hand over lamps, rolls of toilet paper, pillows, knick-knacks and towels sans box because the task of packing up everything simply proved to be too daunting. Plus you just have to unpack it all anyway, right? Why not skip that step?)
Anyway, it was my first realization that perhaps not everyone keeps a box full of the "good" fortunes they get from the cookies after Chinese dinners or old batteries in event they ever get around to recycling them. I guess I never really listened to my Dad's adage "When in doubt, throw it out". Or, rather, I did... I just honestly believed I needed it all! I mean, if there was a Packrats Anonymous, I definitely would be forced to join because I am a dedicated and passionate fan of clutter. More specifically:
Mom - the "Art of Belly Dancing", Silly Putty, decks of cards and miniature slinkies you put in our Christmas stockings every year just for fun? I still have most of them in my "junk drawer".
Kristin - that e-mail you sent almost seven years ago detailing our adventures at Busch Gardens, Williamsburg? It's in a binder in my bureau along with about 300 or so e-mails from various and sundry people over the years.
Ryan - the card shaped like a mug of beer you gave me last Valentines Day? You know... the one where you drew a little heart with an arrow on it and told me affectionately you like me better than... you guessed it... beer? Yep. Got that too. (No, you will never live this down... but as much as I tease, I do sleep with the panda bear every night... and rest assured he (and the card) will be joining me in BG.)
Dad - the letter you wrote me when I left for the Peace Corps talking about your experiences in Vietnam? Still gives me chills every time I read it.
While they do take up a lot of space, I must confess all of this stuff (and its ilk) make sense to me as they have strong sentimental value. I am positively mystified, though, by some of the junk that I have accumulated over the years.
Why oh why, for example, do I have 30-some beanie babies? I jumped enthusiastically into this craze back in 1998. I blame Tara and Geneva for this. They were thoroughly convinced they would ultimately be worth money and now I am the lucky owner of a bag full of multi-colored animals that are worth approximately $10 on E-bay.
Also, was it ever cool to collect pens? Because I have about 200 of them in a drawer. And it's not even like any of them write in a really fun color. Nope. Just tons of blue and black... and maybe a few red thrown in for variety... pens.
I have decks of cards and junk jewelry and purses and seashells and candles and lots and lots of books. I have over 300 CDs, Christmas cards I never sent from last year and a basket full of Mardi Gras beads (even though I have never been). I have VHS tapes and bottles of shampoo I tried but didn't like and old calendars and junk mail I was too lazy to rip up. I have Mickey Mouse themed stuff from my first WDW College Program back when I thought Mickey Mouse themed stuff was really awesome. I have shot glasses and 3 or 4 different nail clippers and a weird octopus looking thing that has wires sticking out of it that feels really good when you rub them on your head. (I got it at the mall at one of those kiosks if you want one too. If not, ignore them when they talk to you because once this thing touches your head, it's magic I tell you, magic!). I even have an old drivers' license where I am sporting 80's bangs.
It's amazing to me that I never sorted through any of this before... I just carted it from one place to the next. Now I will be going through all of it and either selling it to my friends for really low prices, donating it to Goodwill or (gasp!) throwing it away. Of course I will be keeping the pictures and journals and cards and such because memories like that really are priceless. Only those, my computer and my clothes will make the trip with me up to DC on December 14. And, at that point, I will have one week to sort through what remains and decide what I will stuff into exactly two suitcases and a carry-on to make the trip to Bulgaria.
I always thought it would be much harder than this to eliminate the clutter from my life, but instead I find it strangely liberating. And for those of you who are planning on coming to the Sale at my place next Saturday, I don't anticipate any tears of sorrow as I bid farewell to my possessions. However, if for some strange reason you find me clinging sadly to a black plastic trashbag, just tell me kindly (but firmly)... "Meag, put down the Beanie Babies and step away slowly!"
It's about time I did anyway.
Anyway, it was my first realization that perhaps not everyone keeps a box full of the "good" fortunes they get from the cookies after Chinese dinners or old batteries in event they ever get around to recycling them. I guess I never really listened to my Dad's adage "When in doubt, throw it out". Or, rather, I did... I just honestly believed I needed it all! I mean, if there was a Packrats Anonymous, I definitely would be forced to join because I am a dedicated and passionate fan of clutter. More specifically:
Mom - the "Art of Belly Dancing", Silly Putty, decks of cards and miniature slinkies you put in our Christmas stockings every year just for fun? I still have most of them in my "junk drawer".
Kristin - that e-mail you sent almost seven years ago detailing our adventures at Busch Gardens, Williamsburg? It's in a binder in my bureau along with about 300 or so e-mails from various and sundry people over the years.
Ryan - the card shaped like a mug of beer you gave me last Valentines Day? You know... the one where you drew a little heart with an arrow on it and told me affectionately you like me better than... you guessed it... beer? Yep. Got that too. (No, you will never live this down... but as much as I tease, I do sleep with the panda bear every night... and rest assured he (and the card) will be joining me in BG.)
Dad - the letter you wrote me when I left for the Peace Corps talking about your experiences in Vietnam? Still gives me chills every time I read it.
While they do take up a lot of space, I must confess all of this stuff (and its ilk) make sense to me as they have strong sentimental value. I am positively mystified, though, by some of the junk that I have accumulated over the years.
Why oh why, for example, do I have 30-some beanie babies? I jumped enthusiastically into this craze back in 1998. I blame Tara and Geneva for this. They were thoroughly convinced they would ultimately be worth money and now I am the lucky owner of a bag full of multi-colored animals that are worth approximately $10 on E-bay.
Also, was it ever cool to collect pens? Because I have about 200 of them in a drawer. And it's not even like any of them write in a really fun color. Nope. Just tons of blue and black... and maybe a few red thrown in for variety... pens.
I have decks of cards and junk jewelry and purses and seashells and candles and lots and lots of books. I have over 300 CDs, Christmas cards I never sent from last year and a basket full of Mardi Gras beads (even though I have never been). I have VHS tapes and bottles of shampoo I tried but didn't like and old calendars and junk mail I was too lazy to rip up. I have Mickey Mouse themed stuff from my first WDW College Program back when I thought Mickey Mouse themed stuff was really awesome. I have shot glasses and 3 or 4 different nail clippers and a weird octopus looking thing that has wires sticking out of it that feels really good when you rub them on your head. (I got it at the mall at one of those kiosks if you want one too. If not, ignore them when they talk to you because once this thing touches your head, it's magic I tell you, magic!). I even have an old drivers' license where I am sporting 80's bangs.
It's amazing to me that I never sorted through any of this before... I just carted it from one place to the next. Now I will be going through all of it and either selling it to my friends for really low prices, donating it to Goodwill or (gasp!) throwing it away. Of course I will be keeping the pictures and journals and cards and such because memories like that really are priceless. Only those, my computer and my clothes will make the trip with me up to DC on December 14. And, at that point, I will have one week to sort through what remains and decide what I will stuff into exactly two suitcases and a carry-on to make the trip to Bulgaria.
I always thought it would be much harder than this to eliminate the clutter from my life, but instead I find it strangely liberating. And for those of you who are planning on coming to the Sale at my place next Saturday, I don't anticipate any tears of sorrow as I bid farewell to my possessions. However, if for some strange reason you find me clinging sadly to a black plastic trashbag, just tell me kindly (but firmly)... "Meag, put down the Beanie Babies and step away slowly!"
It's about time I did anyway.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Pounding the Pavement
I will not be running the Disney Marathon this year. This really hit home today as I was trotting my way through the last mile of the Race for the Taste 10K
This January I will not be rising at the crack of dawn to stand huddled in the cold… (yes, Florida does get cold)... waiting breathlessly for the start of the race and wondering who, within the echelon of Disney, decided that the Port-a-Lets should be so very far from Corral F, because I have to pee again!
This January I will not be coming up with new and creative uses for “the F-word” and joyously throwing myself upon the volunteers around Mile 19 who have the lucky job of handing out little Dixie cups of beer.
This January I will not experience the miracles of Powerade, Body Glide, Bio Freeze, Tylenol 8-hour, Green Apple Power Gel and immersing my entire body, post race, into an ice cold swimming pool in hopes of fending off muscle soreness. I also will not, despite my best efforts, lose six of my ten toenails making pedicures and cute sandals a most entertaining experience for the next seven months.
No, this January I will not find myself running towards Spaceship Earth, hearing the crowd cheer and the music play and my heart pounding in my ears, realizing this is it... I have done it... I am finishing another 26.2 miles.
This January I will not unsuccessfully fight off tears as I cross the finish line. I will not offer a sweaty, heartfelt hug to the volunteer who places a medal over my head. I will not, as I stumble towards myriad friends and family, feel the most powerful exhilaration I have ever felt in my life or the realization that I am so lucky to have found this hobby and to be able to participate in this tremendously moving and heady experience.
Six years ago if you had asked me, "Hey Meag! Wanna run a marathon?" I would have had to spend a few minutes laughing hysterically. Once I regained the ability to breathe, I would have then cheerfully whacked you on the arm - you're so funny! - asking, “Do you smoke crack?” But after watching a few friends complete the Disney marathon in 2002, I decided that I wanted to do one too. I didn't really think about what goes into marathon running; it just sounded pretty cool. So I spent many months gaily informing people I was going to do the marathon. Yep! A marathon! I really was!
I didn't get nervous until the night before the marathon when it occurred to me that actually training might... just might... have been a good idea. Despite this shocking display of insensibility, in January 2003, after 7 hours of walking, trudging, limping... and wondering why in the hell I was doing this… I finished my first marathon. As hard as it was, it got me thinking of what I might be able to do if I put forth some effort into a training program. I had walked a marathon… could I now run one? There had been points where I genuinely contemplated sitting down on the side of the road and begging the Sag Wagon folks to please, for the love of God, pick me up and take me home already. Did I truly want to do this again?
As it turns out, I did.
Four years later, I have run (yes, run!) 5 marathons, 4 half-marathons, and over 25 smaller races. Hard to believe it, but the girl who came in last at every single freakin’ Field Day in elementary school, actually pays money to get up early, pin a race number to her shirt and put one foot in front of the other for up to 6 hours at a time. Sure, as a middle-of-the-packer, I will never qualify for Boston, but I love every second of it. (Well, almost every second of it. The toenail thing sort of sucks.)
But this January, I will not be running the Disney marathon.
Instead, I will be in Bulgaria. I bought my plane ticket today and am happy to report I will be departing from DC to Sofia on December 21. I’m incredibly excited and feel this will undoubtedly be one of the biggest and best adventures of my life. This January, I will be pounding a different sort of pavement as I job hunt in Bulgaria and attempt to create a new life for myself halfway around the world.
With my 2007 Disney marathon plans thus diverted, I now find myself contemplating running the first marathon – the original marathon next year. Anyone else up for Athens, 2007?
This January I will not be rising at the crack of dawn to stand huddled in the cold… (yes, Florida does get cold)... waiting breathlessly for the start of the race and wondering who, within the echelon of Disney, decided that the Port-a-Lets should be so very far from Corral F, because I have to pee again!
This January I will not be coming up with new and creative uses for “the F-word” and joyously throwing myself upon the volunteers around Mile 19 who have the lucky job of handing out little Dixie cups of beer.
This January I will not experience the miracles of Powerade, Body Glide, Bio Freeze, Tylenol 8-hour, Green Apple Power Gel and immersing my entire body, post race, into an ice cold swimming pool in hopes of fending off muscle soreness. I also will not, despite my best efforts, lose six of my ten toenails making pedicures and cute sandals a most entertaining experience for the next seven months.
No, this January I will not find myself running towards Spaceship Earth, hearing the crowd cheer and the music play and my heart pounding in my ears, realizing this is it... I have done it... I am finishing another 26.2 miles.
This January I will not unsuccessfully fight off tears as I cross the finish line. I will not offer a sweaty, heartfelt hug to the volunteer who places a medal over my head. I will not, as I stumble towards myriad friends and family, feel the most powerful exhilaration I have ever felt in my life or the realization that I am so lucky to have found this hobby and to be able to participate in this tremendously moving and heady experience.
Six years ago if you had asked me, "Hey Meag! Wanna run a marathon?" I would have had to spend a few minutes laughing hysterically. Once I regained the ability to breathe, I would have then cheerfully whacked you on the arm - you're so funny! - asking, “Do you smoke crack?” But after watching a few friends complete the Disney marathon in 2002, I decided that I wanted to do one too. I didn't really think about what goes into marathon running; it just sounded pretty cool. So I spent many months gaily informing people I was going to do the marathon. Yep! A marathon! I really was!
I didn't get nervous until the night before the marathon when it occurred to me that actually training might... just might... have been a good idea. Despite this shocking display of insensibility, in January 2003, after 7 hours of walking, trudging, limping... and wondering why in the hell I was doing this… I finished my first marathon. As hard as it was, it got me thinking of what I might be able to do if I put forth some effort into a training program. I had walked a marathon… could I now run one? There had been points where I genuinely contemplated sitting down on the side of the road and begging the Sag Wagon folks to please, for the love of God, pick me up and take me home already. Did I truly want to do this again?
As it turns out, I did.
Four years later, I have run (yes, run!) 5 marathons, 4 half-marathons, and over 25 smaller races. Hard to believe it, but the girl who came in last at every single freakin’ Field Day in elementary school, actually pays money to get up early, pin a race number to her shirt and put one foot in front of the other for up to 6 hours at a time. Sure, as a middle-of-the-packer, I will never qualify for Boston, but I love every second of it. (Well, almost every second of it. The toenail thing sort of sucks.)
But this January, I will not be running the Disney marathon.
Instead, I will be in Bulgaria. I bought my plane ticket today and am happy to report I will be departing from DC to Sofia on December 21. I’m incredibly excited and feel this will undoubtedly be one of the biggest and best adventures of my life. This January, I will be pounding a different sort of pavement as I job hunt in Bulgaria and attempt to create a new life for myself halfway around the world.
With my 2007 Disney marathon plans thus diverted, I now find myself contemplating running the first marathon – the original marathon next year. Anyone else up for Athens, 2007?
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
The Big Move
I am moving to Bulgaria in two months.
This freaks me out just a little bit because I do not actually, as of yet, have a job in Bulgaria. Or, for that matter, a place to live. So I guess really what I mean is I am going to Bulgaria with the hopes that I will find employment that allows me to pay rent and my bills and eat... and, in turn, the powers that be (i.e. the Bulgarian government) will let me remain there for longer than 90 days. I would also like to not live in a cardboard box on a corner somewhere, but aside from that I'm fairly easygoing with lodging. Oh wait. I would also prefer to skip the "Turkish Toilets," at least in my apartment. I am no Paris Hilton, but for the privacy of my own bathroom, I prefer the option to lounge if I so choose. Ahem.
A large part of me is completely overwhelmed with the amount of stuff I must accomplish between now and December... and numerous people have informed me that I am insane for selling all of my stuff and moving halfway across the world without any really promising prospects. (If I weren't me, I would probably call me crazy too). Nonetheless, I must admit most of what I feel is a loopy, giddy, holy CR*P! excitement.
So why Bulgaria, then? Well, I confess it's primarily because my boyfriend moved there to spend two years as a Volunteer with the Peace Corps. But I am not really "that girl" who follows her boyfriend to the ends of the earth. Or, I should say, I am not just that girl. In December I will have my Masters Degree in Public Administration and I would like to ultimately work in International Development. Although I spent five months in the Peace Corps myself... that experience ended far sooner than expected following a knee injury and I find myself now lacking (and longing for) overseas experience. So I'm doing this for me too.
It should be interesting to see how this pans out. Right now I expect to participate in a course that will provide me with CELTA training to Teach English as a Foreign Language in Sofia, the capital. Incidentally, this is also where I will probably look for a job. Much as I would like to find a place to live in Ryan's town of placement, this is unlikely. Besides, the three hour bus ride between his town and mine should provide endless entertainment and allow me to see more the the country that I'm hoping to call my home. From what I can tell it is truly a beautiful place with amazing and gracious people. (Ryan also tells me they have yummy tomatoes. Good stuff all around.)
The better question, then, is why not Bulgaria?
This freaks me out just a little bit because I do not actually, as of yet, have a job in Bulgaria. Or, for that matter, a place to live. So I guess really what I mean is I am going to Bulgaria with the hopes that I will find employment that allows me to pay rent and my bills and eat... and, in turn, the powers that be (i.e. the Bulgarian government) will let me remain there for longer than 90 days. I would also like to not live in a cardboard box on a corner somewhere, but aside from that I'm fairly easygoing with lodging. Oh wait. I would also prefer to skip the "Turkish Toilets," at least in my apartment. I am no Paris Hilton, but for the privacy of my own bathroom, I prefer the option to lounge if I so choose. Ahem.
A large part of me is completely overwhelmed with the amount of stuff I must accomplish between now and December... and numerous people have informed me that I am insane for selling all of my stuff and moving halfway across the world without any really promising prospects. (If I weren't me, I would probably call me crazy too). Nonetheless, I must admit most of what I feel is a loopy, giddy, holy CR*P! excitement.
So why Bulgaria, then? Well, I confess it's primarily because my boyfriend moved there to spend two years as a Volunteer with the Peace Corps. But I am not really "that girl" who follows her boyfriend to the ends of the earth. Or, I should say, I am not just that girl. In December I will have my Masters Degree in Public Administration and I would like to ultimately work in International Development. Although I spent five months in the Peace Corps myself... that experience ended far sooner than expected following a knee injury and I find myself now lacking (and longing for) overseas experience. So I'm doing this for me too.
It should be interesting to see how this pans out. Right now I expect to participate in a course that will provide me with CELTA training to Teach English as a Foreign Language in Sofia, the capital. Incidentally, this is also where I will probably look for a job. Much as I would like to find a place to live in Ryan's town of placement, this is unlikely. Besides, the three hour bus ride between his town and mine should provide endless entertainment and allow me to see more the the country that I'm hoping to call my home. From what I can tell it is truly a beautiful place with amazing and gracious people. (Ryan also tells me they have yummy tomatoes. Good stuff all around.)
The better question, then, is why not Bulgaria?
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