Highs, Lows and In-Betweens

Wow. So much to say. Is any of it important? Maybe.

June and I went two laps around Rice yesterday - it was a good run. It's nice to run with someone my own speed, since usually I run alone. Our first mile was 10:53, and it just went downhill from there, but at least we got one really mile in (time-wise) and totalled 6 miles.

Today was another Kenyan Night, with it being a time-trial. The mile loop was hard - it was on grass and dirt with many small hills and two steep hills that made my calves scream in agony. Sean said that we should expect to run 30-60 seconds slower on this course than on the street. I was hoping for a 12:30 finish. I finished in 11:24! Of course, I was very tired towards the end, but I managed to pull through! I felt so good after the whole workout that I went a slow lap around Memorial when I finished. Today's mileage total: 5.25 miles. I've already run more miles this week (in three days, nonetheless) than I have last week. This week I hope to get in a total of 30 miles, which is 16 more miles I have to do. I'm doing 6 tomorrow and 6 on Sunday (each with June) and I was planning on a long run on Saturday, so it looks like I'll get in more than my mileage goal this week, which makes me happy.

So much has been going on emotionally that I need the running to keep me sane or to keep me from doing things that I'll regret.

I went to my grandfather's funeral today. Afterwards, my mom and I discussed what we personally want and don't want at our funeral. Neither of us want scriptures. Neither of us want a Baptist preacher. Neither of us want an open casket. Neither of us want a long ceremony. Hell, I want to be cremated. I do realize this is a rather morbid topic on this blog, but death does it to a person.

I've been to more than my fair share of funerals. There was a 5-year span when I went to 13 funerals. I have very little family members left, and very few family friends from my childhood. On my 21st birthday, Hermann Hospital Life Flight crashed and killed all three on board - people I've known since I was a little girl (my father was a Flight Nurse). I went to two of their funerals (in one week). I've lost both grandmothers and my father in the span of 3 years. I've been to a funeral on the anniversary of my father's funeral. A friend of mine was murdered in New Orleans on the anniversary of my father's death. After my grandfather died, I jockingly said, "Well, it's about time I went to another funeral; I haven't been to one in six months." I don't handle funerals well at all. I get anxiety attacks and just want to run away. The last thing I want to do is hug people I haven't seen since a previous funeral, or people I haven't seen in a while, or people who are crying. I feel such a loss of what to do in those situations that I, as usual, run away, being my usual non-confrontational self. I know running away doesn't help problems, but I don't like to deal with problems head-on, so I run away, thinking that if I can't be found I can't be hurt. I don't want to be comforted, I don't want people to ask sadly, "How are you?" I don't want to see the bodies in the caskets (because let's face it, despite people saying, "He looks good", they never look good. They never look like they did when they were alive).

As I was sitting next to my mom in the first pew, I grew sad. My sadness wasn't necessarily over my grandfather's death, but it was more of a sadness of my life. If I was to die tomorrow, what would be said at my funeral? How many people would show up? Have I accomplished everything I want to do? When the preacher mentioned the death of my grandmother 12 years ago and how that the death of a long-time companion can slowly kill the remaining person, I grew sad because I don't have a long-term companion. I don't have and won't have what my grandparents had (they married young, and had kids by the time they were my age). What's wrong with me?

Luckily, my aunt noisily opened a large ziploc bag of hard mints and spent a great deal of time picking out mints and unwrapping them. That broke the disconsolate monotony of my thoughts and made me steal glances at other shocked family members. My brother-in-law was apalled, as was my mom. I just shook my head and tried to hide my smile. Sometimes tense situations, like funerals, make me laugh. I'm not being inappropriate, I just need an outlet for the stress and laughter just takes the lead. Also, the preacher messed up my grandfather's birthday and stressed a great deal about when my grandfather was "saved" as a young child. My super-religious aunt (the one loudly eating the mints during the service) asked that that little tidbit be stressed. My mom couldn't've cared less; she took charge of my grandmother's funeral, my aunt this one.

Although I might seem depressed, I'm better than I was earlier this week. Funerals bring back memories, memories that I'd rather not have. Luckily I started running last year. If I didn't have those endorphins coarsing through my veins, I don't know what I would do. Probably move into McDonald's or something worse. I'm probably also PMSing, which makes me more emotional anyways. Plus, tack on the stress of work/finals for good measure. It's no wonder I'm a temporary headcase.

I can't wait until the first day I have completely off. I'm going to Galveston beach with my journal. I think I'll write a book.