Not Being Dramatic

Final grade: A-

Well, that’s done. The longest 8 weeks ever. What’s that saying about challenging things change you? Or something like that. I don’t feel changed, but I most certainly was challenged! Within an inch of my life and sanity. And to think I may have the same professor the next 8 weeks. I won’t make it. I found myself spouting some grandiose BS for a majority of the course, even some that was so convincing I believed me for a second. But only for a second.

But – I am pleased to report that I have made a friend! Just one. Let’s not get carried away. His name is Mike and we are now official pen pals, if you will. He’s also a part of the same doctoral program, hence the friendship. If you’ll recall, my best friend, Sam, was also attending Liberty and we were expecting to graduate at the same time. However, life happens and she’s on an extended break while she underpromises and overdelivers in her work life; seriously, she can do anything so unselfishly that I’m both proud of her and also frustrated because she refuses to ask for help.

So, at this time, she’s focused on other things, and although I have never felt the need to replace her, I was in dire need of an ally to commiserate with regarding the loneliness and frustration of the program. And then Mike came along! If you’ll recall, I reached out to several classmates for help early on and it took awhile before anyone got back to me. I was very disappointed. His background is much different than mine but he appears to have experience with grant funding, budgeting, and several other things I’m clueless about so hopefully the tiny network I’m building will prove valuable.

I barely squeaked by with my A avg intact. It was brutal.

__________

I ask you –

Have you ever felt like a determinate length of time is somehow longer than normal?

Do you over promise? Be truthful!

Tell me the lowest grade you ever received.

(The post Not Being Dramatic first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

More Than We Realize

Finally completed the necessary x-rays to start the long process of making decisions re: me feets. One foot, two foots.

If only running was simply a hobby, or something I occasionally do for fun it would make this process seemingly easier. Instead, running is a way of life. It’s my way of clearing my head, making sense of life’s messiness, of putting the anxiety into focus, of leaving “me” behind for a few miles. I don’t run just to run; I run because I need it. The few months post-race circa December 2021 when I couldn’t run, when I thought I may never run again – difficult doesn’t begin to describe how I felt. Admittedly, there were moments of sheer panic and depression considering how I would navigate life without running shoes. It’s not the shoes that make the runner, it’s the getting out the door, breathing in one last time, then pushing forward. It’s the arm swing, the sound and feel of my feet hitting the pavement, the eventual exhaustion that signals a good run. It’s so much more than the word “run”.

Surrounded by kindness

In other news, I have a tough time making the decision to meter myself, in running, life, conversations, everything. Occasionally I remember to ask permission prior to forgiveness but it’s not often. Also, it’s comical when someone thanks me for my patience. Because I am not patient. Not even a little bit. I put on a show but inside I am an anxious mess of restlessness. Zero patience. I demand efficiency in all aspects. Patient? Not this girl. But thank you for believing I am.

_________________________

I ask you –

What helps clear your head?

Do you consider yourself patient?

Tell me about a recent kind act in your life!

(The post More Than We Realize first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

They Beckon Me

A small voice calls to me from my sleep. Do you want coffee, Kel? Doesn’t matter that it’s 2am, 5am, mid-afternoon. I always answer yes. Short of labeling it an addiction, coffee is comfort. It’s my siren song.

In a vain attempt at creating coffee shop-worthy drinks, I made my own cold brew. Not half bad. However, the espresso beans were a bit past their shelf life so it turned out somewhat bitter. I still drank it. Then I ordered new beans.

Chicka D’s, of course

Also, I had a small issue with remembering to complete my fasted blood work so I was forced to reschedule which resulted in a nearly lunchtime appointment. Fasted. Starving. Not in a great overall mood. That particular day called for a third caffeinated beverage, mainly as a reward for not harming anyone.

I don’t know how some people do it. How do they survive without these magical beans? I never want to find out.

________________________

I ask you –

How much coffee do you drink per day?

Does the need for coffee ever wake you up?

Tell me about the last time you forgot an important appointment!

(The post They Beckon Me first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

Love Notes

Surely in the last 4 yrs of Running on Fumes I have mentioned my sweet great aunt, my daughter’s namesake, the woman who taught me that life is for giving. But, if you’re new here, allow me to introduce her once again.

It’s very difficult for her to hear on the phone so occasionally I break out the pen and paper and send her a love note. At 96, her ears may not be what they once were but her sight is adequate. She is love epitomized into one small woman with the most beautiful laugh and a smile that lights up the entire world.

She’s a God-fearing woman with a heart of genuine gold. I try to be a woman she is proud of, an incredible mom like she filled that role for me, and an overall good person. And her deep baritone singing voice? Well, nothing I do could ever come close.

Sure, this post is short today but there’s so much meaning behind it. Call the person, send them a love note, tell them how much they are missed. It’s not for you. It’s for them.

________________

I ask you –

Do you have a special person in your life?

How is your singing voice?

Tell me the last time you sent someone a personal letter or note!

(The post Love Notes first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

Just Now Noticing

I’ve been hesitant to mention it on here but a comment from someone recently instigated some reflection. Many of my most loyal readers know I’ve been exclusively keto since January. If you’re a loyal reader and missed it somehow, well now you know. There’s been a few instances of falling off the wagon (namely, my birthday and Mother’s Day). For the most part, however, no big tumbles. I won’t lie and say I didn’t want to lose weight, but my primary motivation was to lessen the amount of relentless migraines. I have kept an eye on the scale for posterity yet it was just a tool.

So imagine my surprise when I did the calculation and realized I’d lost nearly 25 lbs. Sure, I noticed the difference in how my clothing fit and I did end up buying a smaller size a few months ago but I really can’t see the weight loss on myself. The biggest bonus is realizing I haven’t had a migraine requiring medication since May. That’s 3 months ago. And it was just a few days after Mother’s Day which is when I ate about 6 Crumbl cookies because I like to celebrate super hard. Genius.

consistently running

Nearly any amount of refined sugar and flour now causes a headache so I avoid it at all costs. Even when I think I want something sweet – and cravings do still happen – I manage with sugar alternatives or coffee, etc. For the weight loss portion, I try not to give it too much power because I know how susceptible I am to a disordered eating mindset. Really, I’m proud of how I’ve managed to continue running and working out – sometimes twice daily – yay laundry.

It almost shocks me the weight I use at the gym: something I thought I’d never work up to and never have before. I genuinely feel strong. Now, it’s nothing compared to others but, thankfully, I’m not like anyone else. I’ve never been able to maintain weight loss while also continuing to work out so this is new territory. It doesn’t hurt that I literally have an entire workout facility, two actually, at my fingertips. Sure, some days get away from me and sometimes I don’t give it my entirety but I’m still there doing it and it’s something to be proud of.

Alas, occasionally I do miss the sweet stuff but it’s just not worth it.

_______________________________________

I ask you –

Have you ever associated an ailment with a food source?

Are you someone who generally notices things quickly or does it take some time?

Tell me something you’re proud of!

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

This May Not Be For Everyone

Disclaimer: this post may not be for everyone but, as I’m uber inclusive, read at your own peril.

It amazes me every single month how far removed I am from understanding my body. I get the basics, the ins and outs, the birds and the bees, all that. But somehow after having a monthly cycle for nearly 3 decades – 3 whole decades! – I still can’t get it right. I either “forget” it’s almost that time and am entirely unprepared OR I suddenly can’t calculate how often I’ll need to go to the restroom. And, my personal favorite, is when my body does this stupid switcharoo crap, like oh you should probably change your tampon around the hour 4 mark, then the next time it should have been hour 1 and I had zero warning. So there I am – bleeding out in the bathroom, trying not to pass out, frantically using every last brain cell to navigate how to make it to the shower or a change of clothes or bed…just so we can do this again in a few hours. This is really so much fun.

Let’s not forget how truly exciting it is to pee on your tampon string because they make that thing so short. Then it’s gross and wet and your clothes are wet and I’m just angry by this point. Additionally, have a micro dose of labor-like cramps. Because a week per month couldn’t be complete without those. The best part about the whole ordeal is no matter how many weeks between cycles, somehow blessedly I forget how terrible it is until the next one creeps up on me. Supplies!

Anyone remember when mini described tampons as running sticks? What about when, without warning, she tried to pull my tampon string out of me, then giggled like the 2 yr old she was? I do remember these events well. Now, I just keep telling her we’ll talk soon, avoiding a conversation I can only imagine will go something like this…”You mean, like every month? WHY?”

I sure hope other women out there are doing it right, never forgetting, enjoying pain-free periods, with dry tampons and a clockwork cycle. But, if not, you’ve come to the right place. Because I suck at being female. And lucky for all of you I have the ability to write about the trials of a monthly period on my famously infamous public platform.

_____________________

I ask you –

No catchy questions this time unless you have something enlightening to add here.

(The post This May Not Be For Everyone first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

Inner Circle

Unwilling to traverse nearly 4 years of blog posts to find where I’ve surely mentioned this before, let’s just pretend I haven’t and this is new information, ok?

Along the way, several instances of people whom I know – mainly, work with – have addressed me as Kel. And it makes me want to scream. You see, Kel is a very private name, like a term of endearment. It’s reserved for those closest to me, who have seen me on my best days and my worst, who know me. Kel is how I refer to myself. She’s special. She’s the voice I write in when you see something in italics. She’s Kel. The persona that most people see at work is decidedly not Kel – not until she speaks out of turn, gets loud, stands up, and/or becomes very authoritative. That’s Kel.

So, somehow, when I hear someone call me Kel who doesn’t know me like that, I cringe. And mumble under my breath. Indeed I love my name; however, it’s presumptuous to think anyone can call me Kel. One must ask for permission, to be invited into my realm of colors…or at least acknowledge that I’m very private about many things and maybe my internal voice is one of them!

Among other things that irk me are the removable pads inside sports bras. Just why? It’s nice to ensure everything is thoroughly clean; however, the amount of time I spend procrastinating putting them back inside the bra pockets is ridiculous. In terms of efficiency, it ranks last! Someone mentioned placing a few stitches around the seam so they wouldn’t come out. But then I examined my favorite run bras and they don’t even have the modesty pad. Which prompts another thought – what do I care about modesty? Have you read my blog?! I’m about as immodest as it gets. If you see my nipples when I’m out running, then you’re obviously searching for something to complain about. Modesty can shove it.

And I think that’s where those pads are destined: shoved in the garbage can.

__________________________

I ask you –

Have you ever had a taste of humble pie?

Do you like fried green tomatoes?

Rumor has it there will be a photo shoot with mini and cows!

(The post Inner Circle first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

Dollars & Sense

I’ve determined unless you’re an absolutely complete moron, then money can literally buy anything you want, including a doctoral degree. Maybe not a doctoral degree for an actual medical doctor but definitely one like I’m getting. Really. Because if the way some of my classmates write is any indication of their ability to form coherent sentences and be decent human beings, then money must be the reason they’ve made it this far. Sorry not sorry. Here I am stressing a dissertation I don’t even have to begin for another year and they’re writing like a sixth grader. Spoiler: we’ll probably all walk the stage at the same time which proves my suspicion that money can buy a degree.

You know what else money can buy? Pizza! And it makes me happy, too.

Money can also buy replacement body parts, especially when Spare Parts still hasn’t come through on the slightly used knees. Mine are starting to look and feel like I either make a living in the red light district or this volleyball hobby is getting the best of me. They’re so bruised I’ve been afraid to wear shorts to work lest someone question my evening habits or tell me I’m too old to play sports. Cue the daughter jokes again.

our most recent photo together

Lastly, speaking of jokes, it’s impolite to stare at someone in a public setting, then loudly proclaim, “Oh good, I found the other one!” as if twins are an unheard of phenomenon. We are not a scavenger hunt. I really don’t understand the fascination. Parts and I don’t even look that much alike! And, I know of at least one other set of twins (identical) who also work on the installation. Maybe they have better luck than Parts and I.

And by luck I mean people don’t stare like they’re a circus act. Or at least say hello first!

__________________________

I ask you –

Have you ever had a taste of humble pie?

Do you like fried green tomatoes?

Rumor has it there will be a photo shoot with mini and cows!

Do you think money can buy anything?

On a scale of 1 to you’re insane if you don’t love it, how much do you like pizza?

Please share your advice or comeback phrases for the shock & awe twin encounters!

This is My Face

It’s official. No matter what I do, I give off mom vibes. To my coworkers, Spare Parts, and everyone else I’m around.

For example, Parts tells everyone I’m her mom and they believe her. She’s the oldest twin! Even prior to this – which is how the whole story got started – a coworker I knew had met Parts and asked if she knew me, then proceeded to ask Parts if I was her mother. FFS.

we’re not related at all

Example #2: my coworker/best friend/wingwoman McK and I went to a presentation. Someone whom I knew asked me if McK was my daughter. At first, I thought they had heard the stories of Parts. Oh no, they were serious.

CMSgt Bass and McK, my other daughter (apparently)

Example #3: the same wingwoman and I went to an appointment for her. Unfortunately, McK had a bout of laryngitis so I did the speaking for her since she could only whisper. As they took her to the back, the nurses asked did she want her mother to come? McK kindly declined but I HEARD IT ALL!

Soon I’ll be accepting suggestions for plastic surgery and a Botox provider. But maybe it’s not my face. Maybe it’s my attitude, the way I take charge and speak first. If that’s the case, then I’m doomed to forever be everyone’s mom.

Seriously, though, these expensive facial products are clearly not helping. Lies!

________________

I ask you –

Have you ever been mistaken for someone’s parent?

Do you think some people just give off a certain aura?

Now taking suggestions for plastic surgery. I need your input, please!

(The post This is My Face first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)

So Much in My Head

It’s fascinating to me when artists switch genres. It’s even more interesting to me when the period of time between hits is so extensive that many people don’t even remember they once had a hit.

For example –

Dallas Smith, Canadian lead singer of Default, recently released a country song. I never really know what prompts people to change music styles, but I guess music is music so it doesn’t matter. I will continue listening anyway.

Channeling my inner Anna Kendrick. …who some say I resemble which I take as an absolutely amazing compliment. Hello. Have you seen her? Come on! Or else they’re referring to my wild sense of humor and sarcasm which I still take as a compliment. Because she’s hilarious! To my point, it turns out not everyone has an inner monologue. I’m shocked, too. You know, the Jiminy Cricket inside your head that tells you ridiculous things, but also serves as your conscience. Right, some people have silence in their head. It’s very hard to believe.

I know for sure I have at least 3 competing voices in my head at all times. A dueling dialogue, if you will. A brain battle. A war of humor, curse words, and complete nonsense. Shall I continue? When asked, someone stated the lack of a monologue is why men can’t always answer the question “What are you thinking about?” If you ask me this question and I answer “nothing”, I’m obviously lying. My brain literally never stops. The record is always turning. And there’s no telling who inside is actually speaking. But, guaranteed, it’s someone.

Now that I sound like a real whackadoo, I shall finish this post and return to whatever else I was thinking about the whole time. Probably coffee. Or this paper that’s due.

__________________________

I ask you –

Do you have a monologue, dialogue, or something else?

Has anyone ever told you that you resemble someone? If so, who?

Name some other artists that switched genres.

(The post So Much in My Head first appeared here at Running on Fumes.)