It’s all in the numbers

The amount of panic I feel when I’m told “the math doesn’t math” is both comical and terrifying. My head begins to scream ‘please don’t ask me!’ I like to believe I’m decent at math I am but not for fun or anything. I do the words. Not the numbers.

Imagine my mood after 2 days of number things. Crap mood, mental exhaustion, indescribable tiredness. And people really do this for a living? Whackadoo.

I like to imagine those are potato chips surrounding a laptop hahaha

The antiquated Air Force, and other branches I suspect, has done us no favors when data analysis is the actual future. I need numbers to justify decisions, to request funds, to build a business plan. The paper records we’re meticulously coveting? Not a useful format. So I spent days building templates for these paper numbers, to feed into a digital thing so I can perform trend analysis.

It was a huge undertaking. And my mood suffered immensely.

Interestingly, those who have a deep love or passion for numbers are considered methodical, even predictable. I don’t know if I completely buy into this; however, I will admit the numbers people should be very thankful it comes naturally to them. Because the rest of us? Well, I have a few new gray hairs.

_____________________

I ask you –

What are your thoughts on spreadsheets and Excel and numbers?

(The post It’s all in the numbers first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

Not that kind of pilot!

I’m constantly humbled by opportunities to share my PhD journey. And I’m even more thankful to the military for the opportunity to obtain it.

Every chance I get, I tell people what the military did for my education. I have a $200K degree I didn’t pay for (in the traditional sense). Sure, they also paid a whopping $500K for my specialized military training. I’m easily worth 3/4 of a million dollars in education which makes me a billboard of information. However, what good is information if the people who need it don’t have access to it?

Which leads me here –

A week learning and growing into a role I see as mine for the taking. Attending a pilot course is a lot of pressure! Every day was a new pivot to absorb information, analyze data, or learn about myself. From resilience to SWOT analysis to mission/vision statements, every tool is available to be successful.

I genuinely believe every flight chief, activity manager, or leader at the course was willing and open to learn new things. Yet willingness is a funny concept. Not haha funny. For the 18 of us there, there are an equal number who may be unwilling to change. Perhaps even unable to change. Don’t shoot the messenger.

Many installations run the gamut from well-organized to actually in serious trouble. I heard some horror stories. I also heard stories of kindness and care. That’s the organization I want to serve

___________________________

I ask you –

When was the last time a training poured into you?

(The post Not that kind of pilot! first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

Now What

The last few weeks have felt like a massive punt. A ginormous swipe left on everything. I don’t have time for this, for that, for any of these things. Delegate, relegate, and set a reminder to follow up. Frankly, it was overwhelming and disheartening. I couldn’t keep it together.

Thankfully, the tides turned. I was able to breathe again. Nothing felt crushing. Must be perimenopause. But did I really have to go through all that?!

Photo by Brett Jordan on Pexels.com

‘Tis the seasons, right? We become complacent in having it together, then we’re hit with a crushing wave of every little thing at once and we lose sight of the sky above our ocean. Fortunately, this is normal. Shrug. Last week, I leveraged connections for a senior leader panel and, as I listened/moderated/tried not to laugh too loudly, I realized (again) this is where I belong. Every decision, every consequence, every moment has led to this. No one’s path is the same. According to those leaders, even they hadn’t imagined this was where they would end up. Sure, they had goals. But when they met the goal, they looked around and asked “now what?” The same thought has been my season for a short time. I’m here…now what?

It seems this post has come together better than I expected. Now what. It can be a question, a statement, or an exclamatory response. Perhaps the way the punctuation is shaped indicates how we react. Tone tells a story. Be present now. Right now.

_____________________

I ask you –

What season are you in now…personally? Professionally?

What will you do with it?

(The post Now What first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

Moments of Resilience

Turns out I’m allergic to patterned carpet. Dramatic much, Kel. Obviously I’m not allergic. More like averse to it. The patterns are optical and often symmetrical enough to prompt a very dizzying effect. Hotels, classrooms, and educational training sites often utilize this type of carpet which really causes issues with my brain. Or equilibrium. You know what else causes all the sneezing? Beautiful, resilient, blooms, like these flowers. How can something so gorgeous create so many issues?!

CMSgt Fabrienne Burnett

This incredible woman made a few last minute stops on her way to retirement and I was so humbled to be a part of her waypoint. You see, she just returned from deployment in a war-torn, volatile area. Sure, she’s done her fair share of deployments but the emotion I felt in her presence was stained with exhaustion, and dare I say, an undercurrent of hurt. The sheer fact that she took it upon herself to say goodbye rather than fading into R&R without a rear view speaks volumes of her commitment. CMSgt Burnett is one of a kind. I’ve seen some good ones, but she is a great one. And to say she will be missed is an understatement. At a recent commander’s call, our commander asked for a raise of hands to indicate who knew or had been impacted by Chief. Nearly the entire room had a hand raised. As I looked around at the faces of those with their hands up, it was apparent the impression she had made. People were smiling. And that’s what people did when they saw her in her office, out and about, in their spaces. They smiled. She cared. And she will be missed.

All this to say, the empathic part of me accepted her emotions. As the day went on, I kept coming back to those emotions, visible in her eyes and the long hug – needing connection, stability, and a listening ear. The next day, I had grand plans to run, to do things, to be productive. Instead, I couldn’t find the energy. I knew if I didn’t sit with the emotions, my mind and body would eventually force me to do so. When it hits, there’s no pause button, no “please schedule a time…”. So I sat. I rested. I felt. This is the resilience we often speak of. The acknowledgement to ourselves we are strong, even when weak.

Even as the flowers are beautiful, they are equally resilient. If only my nose was the same.

________________

I ask you –

Have you someone in your life who embodies the core of resiliency?

(The post Moments of Resilience first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

I Sit Alone

I’ve started, restarted, paused, abandoned, and now wait for the finality of a draft post, titled The Day I Had Coffee with Her. Some time ago, there was a social media trend of the same title, basically stating what you would tell your younger self. A few posts that came across my feed were very deep, mentioning trauma and abuse, while some just shared encouraging memories. I jumped on the proverbial wagon, but I didn’t finish it. Yet.

In a way, this is my homage to the unfinished post.

I sit alone. And I am unafraid. Never lonely. Yet alone. Some events make me question myself. Some even bring back very tough memories or experiences. Some I thought I was over. Turns out I’m not. So I sit alone with the pain.

Even when the fear ebbs and wanes, I am unafraid. Fear is psychological and I am aware of my limitations, my weaknesses, my inability to turn away from feeling it. Fear is not failure. And words do not own me. So I protect me by sitting alone.

Those old patterns are tempting. Too easy to return to my old ways. But I know every curve in the road, every pothole waiting to derail me. Swerve. I sit alone, in the driver’s seat, in control.

It’s lonely at the top. When the decisions rest on my shoulders and hard news is hard on everyone. I sit alone, pondering how much easier it would have been to gloss over the truth, to abandon what must be said. I could invite others to sit with me. Yet the consequences are far too great. I sit alone out of self-respect.

I’m not sorry for choosing to sit alone, when the choice is mine. I’m not a failure for sitting alone when the choice is made for me. Sitting is an opportunity to rest. And no one knows me better than me. So I sit alone.

________________

I ask you –

Are you familiar with the “Coffee with Her” trend?

(The post I Sit Alone first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

Pirating the Big Easy

Quick trip to New Orleans, complete with a course of training. When in Rome…we do all the things the Orlians do. Or whatever they said.

So much coffee.

And cozy spots to chat.

And balconies.

A trip to restore the mind, body, and soul. Many conversations were had, and many will live in infamy. Alas, that’s what best friends are for.

________________

I ask you –

What does “when in Rome” mean to you?

(The post Pirating the Big Easy first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

You Can’t Handle the Truth

Someone shared the story of reconnecting with a loved one. As I know both parties, all I could think about was how naivete looks good on no one. If you want to look stupid, you are headed there quickly.

Reflection is the dumbest word. Overused, misunderstood, and all around ridiculous. Why do I want to reflect on anything? I have anxiety! Reflecting means going down the same path, reliving the same crap…an anxious person’s nightmare. No thanks. I’d rather relive other, more desirable trauma. At least then, I know how it ends.

Did you know cancer and heart disease are the leading causes of death across the globe? Not gun violence, contrary to popular belief. The media pushes terrorism and weapons-related incidents to a) trigger an emotional response and b) garner higher ratings which result in more economic perspectives to boost their bottom line. Also, it is easier to blame someone else for death and destruction than it is to follow a portion control plan and move your body. Naturally, society wants to point the finger toward another human, place, or thing as the culprit. But it’s really our own fault. It is your fault.

Forgive my sarcasm and poor humor. Truly, there are more examples of great connection stories than I give credit. And reflecting is probably great for the majority. Surely some have pre-disposed issues which do not respond to self-treatment. As for me? I’ll just remain critical.

_____________________

I ask you –

Care to add some truths to the list?

(The post You Can’t Handle the Truth first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

Where is the ball?

Disclaimer: I do not know anything about basketball. Zero. None.

A 3-day basketball tournament? Sounds a lot like nails on a chalkboard whilst watching Nascar. I have no desire, no motivation, and no tangible willingness for either. Could it be worse? Sure. But I’d rather not test the theory.

Insert basketball tournament. Oh yay. For weeks, I dreaded it. Not only was it difficult to coordinate, nearly impossible to understand, and fraught with issues way out of my control, I just didn’t wanna. Alas, the show must go on. Fitness stops for no one.

Nothing could have prepared me for the unity, the resiliency, the mental health priority which is basketball, but also sports in general. How narrow-minded of me to misunderstand what running is to me, another sport is to someone else. How I receive clarity and new ideas generation when my feet are pounding the pavement and my breath is rapidly entering/exiting my lungs…is the same for other athletes.

I have hundreds of photos of 11 teams, 125+ players, playing 70+ games over the entirety of the weekend. Here’s the real data: that’s 125+ players choosing their dreams, their sport, and themselves over suicide. That’s 125+ families whose son is going home. That’s 125+ service members returning to their unit/squadron/brigade. The military is 1%. And these 125 human beings still matter.

(L) Brittney and I.
(R) Fort Hood Phantom Warriors (champions) and Cannon AFB (runner up)

Check out this link to our interview with Mike. Forgive our humor, we were tired. Interview

Later, I received one of the most impactful emails I’ve ever read from someone outside my circle. Mike, the Commissioner and Founder of the MBA, recapped our time together with praise, inspiration, and humor. It brought tears to my eyes to be seen from an outsider’s perspective. Admittedly, it took me a few days to formulate a response and we all know I am rarely at a loss for words.

If you’d like more information about the MBA or to see what they’re doing in military and veteran’s lives, check out MBA.

________________________

I ask you –

What do you know about basketball? I just learned the purpose of a shot clock.

(The post Where is the ball? first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

2025 in Numbers

I cannot believe this is the final post of 2025. Absolutely insane. I’m reminded of this time last year, when I knew I would soon begin the research data portion of my PhD, both excited and terrified. What a ride. 2025 was amazing.

The word of the year was anew. Truly I encountered several new experiences and I feel I emerged anew. 2026’s word of the year is arise. Arise to age 40, arise to whatever calling I’m compelled to try, arise mentally and physically. Arise.

Rack & Stack

# of miles run – 321.1 (not bad considering I was injured Jan-early Mar)

# of average miles run – 6.21/week (post-recovery miles, too)

# of hours spent working out – 7 hrs, 48 mins/month (proud of this one!)

# of tries to complete a PhD – 1 (one and only 1!)

# of mental health appointments – 17 (some months were tough and required extra attention)

# of hours spent playing volleyball – 24 hrs, 35 mins (is this excessive?)

# of Team of the Quarter awards – 2 (that’s 50%!)

Final Thoughts

I make light of most situations, but 2025 was difficult. I’m incredibly blessed to be called Dr. However, it wasn’t an easy win. I was honored to be part of leading a winning team. Yet I struggled with my own feelings surrounding what I mistakenly thought was not good enough. I’ve learned some new tricks and I’ve tried to dismiss the outdated ones. All in all, twas a great year because I can say it is over and because a new one has arrived.

As have I. Arise.

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I ask you –

What is your word of the new year? Or resolution if you enjoy this?

(The post 2025 in Numbers first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

The Sword does not Negotiate

It operates according to function. It neither acts as a microphone nor as a microscope. It has one job. So what if we started living like the sword?

There is a cost, real or imagined, to every decision, every benchmark, every result. Often, we judge the things we must do according to the cost it will have on our life. But, like children, we twist the variables for our benefit. If the cost is low, we accept the circumstances. If cost is high, then we contextualize the variables according to what we desire for the end result. Basic principles.

When we embark on a path of revenge or vengeance, our entire lens is skewed to the end result. Hurt others. Often we contextualize the variables (see above) as righteous anger. For example, I’m protecting others, I’m doing as has been done to me, I am the victim. Please understand – you probably are the victim. But the cost is high. Peace is not cheap. Dare I say it is the most expensive part of life, in a global form. Time is almost the most expensive part of life, yet it is a personal value which might be considered the #1 most valuable asset a human can retain. Maybe this sounds conflicting. Maybe it is.

Photo by Markus Winkler on Pexels.com

The real question is are you seeking peace and purpose or thrill and chaos?

The moment has come for choosing a new word, or affirmation, in the next year. My team would insist I choose “No.”. A definitive period at the end of the only two-letter complete sentence in our language. It requires no explanation, no justification, no extra words. One period at its end. Another drain on my time? No. Another task to be accomplished without clear vision or goal? No. Another meeting disguised as necessary? No. Another person who trauma-dumps their entire life story on me? No. Another pointless discussion destined to morph into an argument. No.

I don’t want to check the temperature when I enter a room. I don’t want to scan it looking for a familiar face. I want the dynamic to change when I enter. I set the pace, I am the temperature to be checked, I make change. I refuse to negotiate when I hold the sword.

Be the thermostat. Not the thermometer.

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I ask you –

Which one are you and which do you desire to be?

(The post The Sword does not Negotiate first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)