I do it, and I do it big. Here's to not forgetting about it.

Posts tagged ‘expectations’

Sweetly Sucking

I apologize if the title offends your sensibilities, but what is going to follow isn’t dirty. Unless you are the type to think that a sorry run is dirty. Then this is definitely NSFW.

I told y’all yesterday that I was going to run today. I had a conference session to attend at 7 am (okay fine, the session was breakfast, but it IS the most important meal session of the day) and would have had to be hitting the pavement by 5 to make it, in the dark, in an unfamiliar area. Nope. I bid my running shoes farewell until 6 PM.

As I was lacing up, I was tempering my expectations for the following reasons:

A. I am typically a morning runner on fresh feet.

B. The weather is starting to warm-up.

C. PMS is definitely not an acronym for Peak Maximum Speed.

I had run the same “day” on my app 10 days ago. I figured it wouldn’t be as good for the above listed reasons. Lemme tell you something. I was right. Damn right. My pace kept slowing, and slowing, and sloooowwwing. I checked my watch and you know how it goes. When you end up looking down and only one minute has passed since you last checked? Tough day.

A tough day is not a bad day! I showed up. I didn’t quit, even though I passed my hotel room with 20 minutes to go. I did take a walk break of about 30 seconds but I dug deep and ran faster when my app calmly asked. I stretched like a champ afterward.

Loving the journey, even when it sucks, is sweet!

The muzik teecher hoo whishes she sang gooder: Part One

Sic. Sic. Sic sic sic sic.

There was this one time I wrote about wishing I had a nicer voice so I could, like, totally wow Jesus with it in church each Sunday. I mean, why shouldn’t I be golden-throated? This music teacher has received thousands upon thousands of dollars worth of training over the course of her life. That means I should be able to sing any note in any song, regardless of whether I’ve heard it, immediately, amirite? Really, that’s the whole point of going to church – to prove that I’ve earned the Master of Music that puts a few extra bucks into my paycheck. Worship. Meh.

The music education that I’ve received not only entitles me to some rights (yes, my dislike of Justin Bieber means more than the average civilian’s) but also comes with some responsibility. No, I don’t have to sing perfectly in church, but you’re probably not going to see me there sporting a “Certified Music Teacher” t-shirt either. I understand that certain things are expected of me because I am a formally trained musician. Not only should I be skilled at playing instruments and singing, but I am also expected to be able to share that knowledge in a way that is most likely to encourage learning and retention. If there is a piano at a party and someone who took lessons for six months because mommy said starts playing heart and soul, they will get all the claps. If I sit down and do the same thing, I will get some funny looks. Why? Because more is expected of me. This is not something about which I should complain. The horrendous spelling in the title of this post should not come from a teacher of any kind. Why not? Because more is expected of me. It is my job to set an example. I embrace it and walk humbly.

I say the above to say that it puzzles me to read things to the effect that people seem to care more when civilians, regardless of alleged crime committed, are killed, than when law enforcement are killed. I will always be more upset when the police screw up than when a criminal (not saying those who have been killed are criminals!) does because guess what? That’s what criminals do. They commit crimes. They are doing their job and doing it well. A policeman killing someone wrongfully is always going to be more unjust because of the responsibility of the badge. The life of the criminal is not worth more, but the screw up of the cop is more significant. Why is this so difficult to understand? Don’t parents lecture older children more harshly because “they should know better?”

My heart breaks for the families of the two officers that were killed on duty in New York. My question – why aren’t more people upset that this dude killed his girlfriend as well? She didn’t swear to serve and protect so to hell with her? A lot of these jokers shouting “All Lives Matter” don’t seem to be too concerned with hers. Why are the people who chant this seem unperturbed by young black men being shot for absolutely nothing? Perhaps it’s like Animal Farm where the pigs eventually confess that while four legs are good, two legs are better…

Now THAT – is sick.


More than any other musician. Yeah, I said it.

More than any other musician. Yeah, I said it.

Peace, Expectations, and Ben and Jerry

As I dressed to go to the local Target recently, I threw on my shirt from St. Anthony’s. I frowned in the mirror. ‘This is something athletic people wear. What am I doing.’ Reminding myself that I had indeed completed the race, I sighed and went on my way.

Later that same week, I went to the doctor. As though the doctor isn’t the most miserable place in the world already, the nurse asked me to step on the scale. 164 pounds. Fantastic. 6 more pounds than it had been 4 days prior. Yes, it’s in the middle of the day when I’ve been eating and drinking water. Yes, I’m fully clothed. The thought of my needing to wear my Big Lady J clothes (which I am not quite confident enough to donate) still haunts me.

Every time I go to the gym, I look around and see all the fit people. Those assholes. People who regularly take the time out their of busy schedules to ensure that they keep their bodies nice both inside and out are to be admired, no? I often think to myself it would be nice to be in that club. You know, this one:


I’ve had a protein shake before. That’s something.

Apparently, there is this way I think I am supposed to look. Or a number I am supposed to weigh. The tricky bit is that it seems to be a moving target. The only rule is that wherever I am is not good enough. I’ve been unhappy at 135. I’ve been unhappy at 215. I’m tired, but I am not sure what I can do to find peace. Occasionally, my good friends Ben and Jerry help me along the way. They are as consistent as my always falling short.

I’m familiar with guidelines of 80/20 or even 90/10 (those are Broccoli to Ben and Jerry nutrition ratios). If it’s less than 100% I suck. Do I know what it would be like to attain 100%? I probably still wouldn’t be satisfied because something else would be wrong.

I feel as though my body taunts me. “I can tell you work out” is one of the most torturous things I hear. I don’t feel I deserve it, though it’s probably fair to say I’m one of those gym assholes people fairly dedicated to regularly working out. I feel guilty because I could and should be stronger, or faster, or better looking, or whatever. Super stupid alert: my guilt is compounded by my being black. I swear some people assume my people are all fast and strong. I Brahms better than I bench press, sorry!

Why the hell am I apologizing?

For one, Brahms is AWESOME. Perhaps more importantly, maybe what anyone thinks isn’t so – well, important. 3M is always talking up those 4 agreements. “Don’t take anything personally,” she says. But what about what I think of myself? And these bloody moving targets?

Maybe true peace lies in accepting where you are and being okay with needing to grow at the same time. That, or I’ll find it at the bottom of the next carton of Ben and Jerry’s. Either way is fine.

Confidence, My Foot.

If you’re a regular reader of my blog, you know I like to roll solo. If not, bring yourself up to speed here.

Heh. Speed. I don’t have that. I’m running with the 2:30 pace group tomorrow, just slightly behind my best
half-marathon time I ran in January. Coachie says I’m not allowed to run the hell out of this race as Augusta 70.3 is in only SEVENTY-ONE DAYS OMG and I shouldn’t risk injury. Can’t be mad at that. Plus, I’ve been sleeping in this:


Mm-hmm! My strassburg sock brings all the boys to the yard, y’all. Which brings us back to preferring to be alone LOL! Today, I was at the race expo with my cousin. She will be running the 5k. It’s perfect because I had a buddy that I don’t actually have to run with. Everyone wins. As we were walking around, she was lamenting that most racing paraphernalia was geared toward the half-marathon distance. “Some of us aren’t there yet!” She rightly protested. Granted, the race is part of the Rock N’Roll Marathon Series, but if you’re going to have a 5k, why not ensure that runners of that race feel like they are equals? My opinion is not really humble here, but if you’re going out there and doing your best, and the best at that moment in time is a 5k as opposed to a half-marathon, why should you get any less props? I can’t say I remember feeling that way myself prior to running longer distances, but that may be because I’m already so accustomed to feeling inadequate that lack of representation through running swag was the least of my concerns.

And indeed, I did find it odd that I didn’t feel odd at the expo myself. As exhibitors asked me if this was my first half and I said, “Nope,” it further cemented that I am one of these running people. Slow as I may be, whatever distance I cover.

Upon returning to the rest of my family, I met this cool guy who has been running a long time. He was complaining that he could never get his full marathon time under 3:30. Hahahahaha! I regret not telling him what my time goal is tomorrow for my half. I let my fear of inadequacy win, which makes me wonder if I REALLY believe deep down that my 5k running cousin deserves those accolades.

Nah. I know she does. I know I’m awesome too – for being willing to grow and challenge myself. I just have to learn to embrace it.


Tag Cloud