2015: My Year in Review

Unpredictable. Unforeseen. WTF.

I'd actually probably take those two words and abbreviated phrase to describe my 2015. In reality any year in anyone's life can probably be described with those two words and abbreviated phrase, but I'm actually sitting down and thinking about it. Reflecting. Wondering. WTF.

The World Looks Like A Movie Always Playing

Perhaps it is my slightly askew outlook on life. Perhaps it is my film education and passion for movies. Perhaps it's just me. I truly do believe that "The World Looks Like A Movie Always Playing". Scenes. Events. Conversations. Daily Happenings. They are all plausible to be in a film played on a screen for viewing. They are in fact our lives playing out in front of us.

Running with the Lollipop Guild

I run. Therefore I am a runner. Anyone who runs is a runner. It doesn't matter if the person running can run a 2 hour marathon or a 6 hour marathon. Anyone who runs is a runner. I believe this. I have to believe this. I have to remind myself of this ... a lot. I run. Therefore I am a runner, but that doesn't make me a confident runner.

"It's Impossible, That's Sure."

"It's impossible, that's sure. So let's start working." - Philippe Petit

When I think of inspiration it comes from all over. I've mentioned before an album that has no real words speaks volumes to me. I previously wrote some inspiration comes from song, movie, and an Irishman who doesn't know me. It also comes from seeing others. Reading about others. Watching others. In addition to an Irishman who doesn't know me, there's a Frenchmen that people may not know. He may not be a household name. He may be entirely crazy. And his words, his actions, his passion, his honesty. They inspire me. He inspires me.

Scratching At the Surface Now

Living in the Midwest in the Triathlon world it's officially offseason. In fact coming up quick is the end of any running races outside as well. That being said I feel lost. I've spent this whole year doing one race after another and training for them. And now I'm lost. I have goals for 2016 and am sticking with them, but some of those goals are so far away the time will change again before I can achieve them.

My Runniversary

I remember in Junior High hating Wednesdays. It was nothing like in the movie Mean Girls where they all wore pink. In fact it had nothing to do with Mean Girls or anything like it. Well, especially given I graduated from Junior High in 1995. Mean Girls wasn't even close to being 'a thing'. In fact, I just thought about that movie as I was writing about Wednesdays while it being an actual Wednesday.

Big, Huge, Colorful, Awesome Announcement!

Those that know me know I'm not exactly shy. In fact sometimes I say I have no shame. I feel like it's a fine line and I walk it with grace and purpose ... not necessarily in that order.

My Dark Day

Everyone has what I call 'a dark day'. It's that day that something happened. Something has been left embedded in your mind. Maybe it was traumatic and albeit physical, mental, temporary, petty, it happened. Something happened that sticks with you. It could be the reaction to an event. It could be the loss of a loved one. It could have been life altering. Something happened. You can't take it back. You can't change it. It happened, it's a part of your life. You may not dwell, but you remember. You relive. It may define you. You may eventually evolve beyond it.

My dark day occurred on Wednesday, October 17, 2001. I even know the time; 8:51am. 

I even know what I was wearing that day. Grey New Balance gym shoes with superman blue and yellow N's on the side with woven laces of the same color. Knee high rainbow stripped toe socks. Jeans from Old Navy with pockets on the front. Black thermal long sleeved shirt with five buttons on the top. Superman blue tshirt with a metallic Superman emblem on it that the top was the night sky with stars that faded into fire at the bottom. I had an olive green fleece lined Carhartt hoodie on and zipped up. I had my forest green backpack with game board key chains that clanked as I walked and travel tickets attached from my adventures. My hair was short and in two small buns on the top of my head while the rest of my hair was spiked out in the back. I had 7 earrings in my left ear and 6 in my right.

I even know what I had for breakfast that day as I read the Daily Egyptain. One glass of 7-up. One glass of skim milk. A bowl of Lucky Charms with skim milk. Two pieces of white toast with butter. 

I even know what I did that morning before getting dressed for my day and having breakfast. I got up, ran the 2.2 mile loop around Campus Lake. 

I even know that I had a great day planned. My afternoon college classes were cancelled. I was going to go out adventuring to shoot rolls of film and develop them for my photography class. My camera and film were in my backpack. I was set for the day.

I know a lot for a day that happened 5,133 days ago. 

I should know a lot about that day: It changed my life.

I was in the crosswalk, crossing Lincoln Drive to go to my 9am Race in Media course at Lawson Hall. The sun was in his eyes. I was hit by a car that was speeding. What I don't remember about Wednesday, October 17, 2001 ... I don't remember the accident. My accident. I only know what witnesses said and what was in the Police Report. The Police Report that took me more than a decade to finally even look at.

I was struck on the left side, I flew up onto the hood, into the windshield, back onto the hood, through the windshield head first, back out of the windshield. I flew 30 feet, hit the ground, rolled. I remember waking up in the street surrounded by people and being asked my name. I could only answer my ID was in my bag which someone had turned into a pillow to support my head. I was asked which residence hall and room number I lived in. I whispered, "Felts, 118."

I heard the sirens, I knew they were for me. 

I was strategically placed in a neck brace and on a backboard, gently placed in the ambulance. The ride seemed to take forever. I felt sick. I told the EMT with me that I was going to be sick, he had to roll the backboard so I could throw up. That was the last time I ever ate Lucky Charms. I recall telling the EMT "Well, that was attractive." He said "I still love you." I cried.

I don't remember arriving at Carbondale Memorial Hospital. I don't remember being removed from the ambulance or being wheeled through the ER. I don't remember being transferred from the ambulance gurney to a hospital bed. I remember I was in a single room. I remember being given something for pain. I remember throwing up on myself. I remember being told that they had to cut my hoodie and shirts off of me. I cried. I remember saying I was going to throw up. I remember being rolled just in time.

I was put in a hospital gown as best as professionals could, but I was still in a neck brace and instead of being strapped to a backboard I was in place on a hospital bed. I remember the doctors trying to get my knee high toe socks off of me and asking me what they were.

I remember being asked my parents phone numbers since I was 6 hours away and my parents had to be alerted. I remember trying to rattle off their home and work numbers and at that time my dad had a cell phone for work. I remember not getting them right. I remember a nurse coming in with a phone eventually and my mom was on the other end of the phone. She was crying. I was crying. I couldn't talk.

I remember being asked what hurt. My head hurt. I had a headache. My face hurt. My shoulder hurt the most. My hips and butt hurt. My knees hurt. I was shivering. My voice trembled. I remember a flurry of doctors and nurses in and out. I vaguely remember their sympathetic looks and fake smiles. I remember nurses trying to remove my total of 13 earrings without moving my head.

I remember being told that I was going to be wheeled off for some tests and that they wouldn't take long. I remember having to be physically carried and moved from tables and put in place. I remember fighting the staff when they'd get me in place. I remember the pain and that being stuck in certain positions hurt. I remember crying.

I don't remember being wheeled back to my room in the ER. I do remember my friends Amy, Tiffany, and Paul showing up in my room. They came. They should have been in class. They were with me. I remember complaining that they took my socks off and my feet were cold. I remember Tiffany and Paul trying to get them back on and having issues with my knee high toe socks. I remember they said they had to leave. I remember Paul kissed my forehead before he left, and Tiffany said "Bye, Lori-choo". I was alone.

I remember a doctor coming in and telling me he knew why my shoulder hurt. My clavicle was broken in two places, and they weren't standard breaks, they were reversed. I remember not even knowing what my clavicle was. I remember being told that my head hurt because I fractured my left temporal and they were concerned because I had a blood clot on the second layer of my brain. I remember being told that meant I had sustained a Traumatic Brain Injury and that the next few days were critical and that I would suffer from short term memory loss. I remember them saying there was a chip in my tailbone, my knees had some damage, and it would later be found out that my hips were cracked too. I remember being taken out of the neck brace and loosened and able to slightly move on my bed. I remember a group of staff coming in, lifting me up and putting me in a crazy contraption that they said would help my clavicle. It was at that time I learned it was my collarbone they kept talking about. I remember the contraption being pulled tight and it was even more difficult to breath than it had been prior. I remember my left arm being placed in a sling to hold my arm in place. I didn't know at the time but all of my diagnosis' would lead to another diagnosis of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. In fact, the doctor's probably knew at that time it would happen as long as I beat the Traumatic Brain Injury; I can't fault them for sparing me the details.

I remember spending more time in the ER as they waited for a room, the room that would be my room in the ICU. I remember a nurse, I don't remember her name. She kept coming in and staying with me. I remember her coming in and cleaning up my face. I thought she was cooling me off, wiping away my tears. I remember after she did something and then she wiped my face again and it stung. It hurt.

I remember being told my room was ready and staff from the ICU floor came to get me. The nurse who was with me in the ER begged them to let her help escort me up. She came with, she said she didn't have to, but she wanted to. I remember crying and thanking her.

I remember less once I got settled into the ICU for observation and care. I remember the RA of my floor in Felts Hall, Ryan J. Smith and the second floor RA, Betsy, coming to see me and bringing me a giant flower balloon. I remember being most concerned that I was going to be in the Daily Egyptian and I asked Ryan to keep them for me. Shortly after they left I remember Amy, Tiffany, Paul, and this time Jamie coming to see me. They brought me a monkey that they had wrapped gauze around its head and put it in a sling and flowers. I still have the monkey wrapped to this day. They stayed for a while and I remember they decided to start calling me "Crack head." I remember it made me laugh. I remember after they left my parents and sister made it to me. They hadn't seen me in a few weeks, and they were seeing me in the ICU after being a pedestrian hit by a speeding car.

I remember that night I laid in the ICU. I remember no amount of medication kept me from crying. I remember having to get help to get in or out of my bed. I remember not sleeping. I remember not being comfortable. I remember it being impossible to get comfortable. I remember the beep, the continuous beep of my monitors chirping. I remember armed police standing outside my room ocassionally looking in because apparently there was an inmate in the room next to me.

I remember early the next morning asking for a mirror to put my contacts in for the day. I remember being convinced it would help me feel better. I remember crying. I remember realizing the day prior that the nurse in the ER wasn't cooling my face, but pulling glass from my face. I remember realizing why it stung. I remember what I looked like. Pale. Dried blood. Cuts. Hair everywhere. Crazy clavicle brace and sling. Bumps. Bruises.

I remember when I was released from the ICU I was voted Miss Congeniality. I remember nothing that I did that would have awarded me this title.

It's been fourteen years since I never made it to my 9am class. It's been 14 years of wondering. It's been 14 years of confusion. It's the anniversary of my dark day. The day that changed me both physically and mentally. The day that changed my family mentally. The day that changed my circle of friends literally.

It's taken me 14 years to recall and share that day from my point of view. I remember the flurry of the ER and and tests, or at least think I do. I haven't entirely evolved. I may never entirely evolve. It's a process. It will always be a process. I have good days and bad days. I'm starting to have far more good days than bad days.

I've had ten surgeries. I have a 6" scar on right knee and nerve damage that has removed feeling in part of my leg. I have headaches on one side of my head that although I've never had my head hit with a baseball bat, it's how I imagine my head would feel if it were hit with a baseball bat. My clavicle sticks out. I still pull pieces of glass out of my face with tweezers. I still have to have pieces of glass cut out of me if they are too large for me to pull out. My body will forever more continue to push the foreign particles of glass out.

My memory and the function of it that I have now is freakish. It's crisp. I can recall details from years ago. The minor details no one else may have noticed in the first place, I can recall years later. I obsess over details to a fault. I'm afraid I'll forget. I'm afraid I won't remember. I strive for perfection to a fault, I feel inadequate if I do even the slightest thing wrong. I'm extremely critical on myself. I set higher expectations for myself that others do. I struggle to prove something to others. To myself.

I react differently in situations than others, sometimes I'm extremely blunt, non-sugar coated. Try as I might to work on it, I can't change my reactions, it's as if I am numb to sympathy in some cases and overly sympathetic in others. There is no balance.

When I meet new people it may never come up in conversation of my accident. I keep quiet about it. I don't want to see 'the look'. I know as much as it sounds crazy to tell my tale that hearing it is also crazy and no one knows how to react. When I tell my story I've seen the looks of sadness, bewilderment, sympathy. They all make sense to me. I've heard the phrase "I would have never known." In part that's how I want it. I continue to defy odds and prove to others and myself that my accident did not define me. When people do find out of my story and say that they are sorry, I look at them with bewilderment and very bluntly say "Why, it's not your fault." When I respond like that I know it takes the party on the other side aback, but for me it's so much progress. A statement so small which confuses those hearing it, is so progressive for me to state.

Despite this being my dark day, something of a tradition does exist. I do recall the day vividly with question. For a few days prior, during, and after I become a bit quiet, a little unmotivated. What also exists is flowers. Every year on the anniversary of my accident (or day before if it's on a weekend), my parents send me flowers. It sounds selfish, but I anticipate them and look forward to them. My accident did not just affect me, but them too. My flowers came yesterday to me at work while I was out on lunch. I came into them and I smiled while my eyes welled up. I knew without even opening the card that it would simply say "Smile! Love, Mom and Dad"; it does every year. As well, every year, no matter the florist they spell my last name wrong. It's become a bit of a game to me to see how badly botched it gets. The best that remains is still Ghobton.

My 2015 bouquet of flowers

If evolution from something like this exists this past year has been my most evolutionary. After my 9 knee surgeries I was told I would never run again. I believed the professionals. They may still be right, who knows what ACTUAL damage I'm doing to my body. But for a girl who had last run comfortably 5,133 days ago today ... this same girl who has done three half marathons this year alone, in addition to two sprint distance triathlons, numerous 5k's, and the training that goes along with each. I'd like to be advantageous and predict that I'm going to be ok. Then again with my Traumatic Brain Injury I didn't get psychic abilities, so I'll just have to continue to evolve as best as I can and see what year 15 post-accident brings me.

A Day in the Life of A Volunteer

I've made mention before that races cannot be done without volunteers and spectators. Those two groups of people are their own version of athletes. They may not be competing on the course, but they are on the course. They are cheering. They are handing out cups of water, Gatorade, or whatever is offered. They are spilling things on themselves. Well, that's mostly the volunteers, but nonetheless some spectators may as well.

Running on Lake Shore Drive

Somewhere along the line in 2015 I completely lost my way ... in a good way, don't worry. I started with the goal to complete a 5k on January 1 and an Indoor Triathlon on January 3. After those two events I thought my year long goal, the "Look at me, Look what I did" goal would be to complete a half marathon. The furthest out half marathon that held the possibility of decent weather was the Chicago Half Marathon. I set my eyes on it, but wasn't quite sure back in January if I wanted to really put it out there, sign up, and say "I'm going to do a half marathon."

Seriously, I lost my way.

A Day in the Life of A Spectator

I've yet to be involved in a race where I didn't race with someone I knew or have someone cheering for me. Spectators are a breed of their own. Some hold ridiculous signs, like in triathlon "Smile if you Peed in Your Wetsuit". Just know in triathlon, there's a lot of smiling when people see that sign. Or in the Half Marathon's I've ran, the sign that says "Push here for star power" and someone has taken the time to draw a symbol. Every single one of those I pass if I can, I push. It helps, ever so slightly I get my star power just like Mario in any of the Super Mario Brothers games.

The Chicago Triathlon ... It Happened

The days leading up to the Chicago Triathlon found me acting giddy. I was excited. I remembered the feelings I had after completing Esprit de She in June and I wanted to feel those feelings again. I wanted Will to be able to experience those feelings for the first time. And the best part of all of it for me was that we were going to experience it together. The day prior to the event we had to go to the expo and get our race packets, our bibs, our bracelets, get body marked, and we later then racked our bikes in transition. The expo was exciting, there were a lot of vendors to talk to and look at all things triathlon related.

A Letter To the Person I Was A Year Ago

Dear Self One Year Ago,

We meet again. In fact we've been together and more in tune and balanced with one another this past year than ever before. And when I say "we've" I refer to me as I am now and me as I was a year ago. One year. Three hundred and sixty-five days. Fifty-two weeks. Twelve months. 8,760 hours. 525,000 minutes. 31,536,000 seconds. Self, I have so much to tell you.

Revving Up the OCR

In triathlon there are three major components: Swim. Bike. Run. It seems pretty obvious, no? The most obvious for the bike portion is you need a bike. While I have seen people out on Cruisers with wicker baskets right alongside competitors with several thousand dollar Triathlon specific bikes, I fall somewhere in between. I ride a bike. It's not my bike. The bike is on loan. The bike gets the job done. The bike has been sworn at. The bike has been mocked. Combined the bike and I get the job done. Period. Thanks, OCR.

It's Not A Rant ... It's A Reality

A friend recently shared 10 Things Not to Say to A Triathlete. I'm still new to the culture, the sport, the community, the whole process. What I will say is that despite my only being into Triathlon for 8 months now, in that 8 months I've heard things. I've heard things, I've rolled my eyes, I've tried to defend, and then I just think "Yeah, no I am wasting my time here."

The Kindness of Strangers

I lived in the South for a decade or so. Now we're not talking deep south where I said "Well, bless your heart", but then again I thought of saying that a couple of times when I came across people. We are talking South in the sense that people knew I wasn't from around there. In fact, having had stints in Orlando, Florida, Carbondale, Illinois, Marion, Illinois, and Durham, North Carolina ... one very important thing I learned is that I have a Chicago accent. And just as soon as I figure out what that actually is ... I'll get back to ya'll on it. See what I did there, huh? Bless my heart, right?

Re-Committing

Don't let the title fool you. I've not fallen on the wayside, lost my way, or given up. In fact, I can pretty proudly say just the opposite: I've stayed on track and then some.

This re-commitment goes back to the beginning; or near the beginning, but definitely the beginning of this year for sure. The first race I trained for was the Commitment Day 5k on January 1st of this year. Will and I ran side by side, him finishing one second ahead of me; literally.

Taking OWS One Wave At A Time

As I've mentioned before, growing up I never really did more than step foot into Lake Michigan; literally. Now as I continue on my unexpected journey I've survived twice of not only stepping foot into Lake Michigan, but also putting my face in, breathing air out, and swimming through Lake Michigan.

I Got My Rear In Gear

Family isn't necessarily defined by blood. It's defined by choice, by your heart and feelings. Growing up I was not fortunate enough to have cousins nearby, in fact my cousins all lived more than a dozen hours away. We'd visit in the summer on vacation for a week or so, but that part of my family with Aunts, Uncles, and Cousins were in a different state, in a different region. I was fortunate to grow up with an extended family that filled the void.

Rockin' and Rollin' for 69,168 Feet

I did it. I ran my second half marathon. That's a strange statement for someone who never thought she'd run one, let alone two. Huh, I ran my second half marathon; 13.1 miles; 69,168 feet. I am a two-time half marathoner.

I'm Getting Ready to Rock ('N' Roll) ... But ... This Is More of A Thank You

I do believe I can pretty confidently say I'm a child from the 80's. Well, I say that, but if you factor in my high admiration of the 90's alternative and grunge phase, I can pretty confidently say I'm a child from the 80's and 90's.

I was born in 1981. So really, it was the late 80's when I, like may others my age loved New Kids on the Block. It also should go without saying, but I'll say it anyway, that the line "Nobody puts Baby in a corner" resonates a bit more with my generation than others; we take that very seriously.

Literally, Open

A pretty big part of Triathlon is Open Water Swim (OWS). I've read about it. I've seen photos of it. I've wondered about it. I can't avoid it, I have to do it.

When I did my Sprint Triathlon in Naperville, the swim was in a man made pool/beach/quarry. AKA: a very bizarre place to swim. It wasn't quite a pool like a pool you're thinking of. It wasn't quite a beach like a beach you're thinking of; it did have sand. And when I think of a quarry I don't think "Gosh, I'd like to go swim in there!" Also, let's not forget that when myself and fellow athletes got to the shallow end, we literally had to stand up, walk around until the next lane was deep enough to swim in again. It was odd.

I TRI'd to TRI and I DID

It's now been a little over 96 hours since I ran across the finish line at the Esprit de She Sprint Triathlon in Naperville, Illinois. Ninety-six hours of mixed emotions, excitement, reflection, and moving on in life. As much as I want to live in the moment quite possibly forever, I have to prepare to have my next moment.

The day before my triathlon I had to pick up my packet, get marked, go to the race expo, and a race course talk. I wasn't nervous, I wasn't anxious, I was excited and I wanted to GOOOOOOO! Poor Will, what a guy, seriously. I had overtaken our second bedroom with all of my stuff laid out in event use order and in most cases with multiples in case there was some freak accident.

Running In A Sea Of Pink

Everyone is on some type of journey. Whether it be a journey of education, profession, living life to the fullest, health, figuring life out, or fighting for your life.

I don't actually know Megan Bugg. In fact if it weren't for social media, I wouldn't know Megan Bugg, her story, her battle, learn about her family, her community, see photos. Megan doesn't know who I am. But I'm part of Team Megan.

It's Not You ... It's Me

When I was a Senior in High School, nearing the end of the Alternative and Grunge era in music, a little band named Lit had the hit song "My Own Worst Enemy". It's a catchy tune. In fact, I'm humming it in my head now. Furthermore during the Rock Band craze I do believe it was an option. I recall this because Rock Band had the edited song version, which was impossible to follow with the edited lyrics when I knew the real lyrics. I digress.

As It Turns Out I Love Gibberish and Noise

The year 2002 was a pretty monumental year for me from beginning to end.

I began my year still recovering from my accident and going back to as normal of a life as I could. A life that was not like mine prior, a life that would never be the same. A life that would continue to change for me.

2002 marked my first surgery after my accident; some left knee interior clean up. 

2002 marked my second surgery after my accident, a torn right ACL. Both surgeries would lead to 7 others following them respectively.

2002 marked the year new suite mates moved in at college and despite one of their moms thinking my sister was me and urging her daughter to be friends with my sister rather than me (her suite mate) … life long friendships formed.

2002 marked a year where I met a guy through a mutual friend and we shortly thereafter began to date for several years. It wasn't meant to be.

2002 marked the year I had my left tragus pierced and aside from changing the ball on the hoop and taking the hoop out to occasionally clean it, it's been the same piece of jewelry since the day it was pierced. I often forget I even have it.

2002 marked the year I was surprised. I was awed. I was speechless. I fell in love with a band, their music. I became obsessed and still am.

Sigur Rós.

Make Way ... Half Marathoner Here!

I mean, I'm sorta a big deal. I'm a Half Marathoner now. Just sayin'.

I could end my post right there. That be it. Done. But it's so much more. SO.MUCH.MORE.

Glowing In the Dark

In November of 2010 I was promoted within the company I worked with at the time and I transferred locations. I was going to an unknown location with unknown people. I also knew from mutual connections that my coming in wasn't entirely welcomed at first by those I'd be overseeing. I tried to go in with an open mind knowing I could do the job, knowing I was chosen for the job. What I didn't know at the time is the life long friendships I would be forming.

When I first Nicole, Coco, I stepped into our now former office and respectively introduced myself as well, her new boss. She welcomed me. She was nice. She was working, wearing her winter coat and scarf. I worried that the office I was embarking into was cold. Turns out, it was a cold office. I had to wait 4 days until I met my other coworker, Dan Pham; he doesn't get a nickname, to this day I still call him Dan Pham.

Trying to TRI for the Second Time

In January I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I had no idea if I could do it. Once I completed the 60-Minute Indoor Triathlon I was on a high for days. Some would probably even say I became 'hooked'. I wouldn't go that far, I mean, after all it was 60 minutes, then again I did register for my first Sprint Distance Triathlon shortly there after. So fine, you win, I was 'hooked'.

I'm not sure what weighed out more, the fact that I was able to do the Indoor Tri, or the fact that I DID the Indoor Tri, didn't finish last, and didn't hurt myself; not necessarily in that order. When it came time to register for a Spring Indoor Tri, I did so pretty early on and counted down the days.

Adding To My Resume

A resume is a way of selling yourself. Showing what you know. Telling yourself what you know. What you can do. What you have done.

It should go without saying, but I'll say it anyway, my resume isn't exactly a 'by the book' layout or look. In fact the past two jobs I've had, it has been noted by both my former employer, as well as my current employer, that my resume caught their attention. I'd like to believe it was my skill set and accomplishments that caught their attention, which ultimately it may have been those qualifications along with my stunning self; but in reality it was that my resume stands out. It has large green lettering and bullet points that aren't exactly bullet points, but rather symbols. It doesn't state the boring "I like to interact with my coworkers in a rewarding environment". Instead in the 'Interests' section it says I like to brew my own beer and know how things work.

The Scarecrow Wanted A Brain

A longstanding joke in my family (there's a lot, I was an embarrassing child who turned to an embarrassingly confident adult) involves The Wizard of Oz. After my first viewing I would run and hide every time the Wicked Witch made her first appearance because I didn't want her to take Toto. It took years for me to get over that fear. And then my mindset changed.

I fell in love with The Wizard of Oz. It's magical. It's whimsical. And while it's not timeless, it has span so many decades it nearly appears as if it it timeless. I could go 'all film geek' and talk about the Technicolor process used in The Wizard of Oz, but that's not what this is about. Although the process was quite historic and fascinating.

In The Wizard of Oz, the Scarecrow wanted a brain. A brain, the most complex organ in a vertebrate's body. A brain. A brain, something that many take for granted. I'm not saying in the sense of not thinking for yourself, or thinking illogically. In the sense of ... what if your brain didn't work? What if you didn't know how your brain would work? What if you don't know how to explain to others how your brain works?

This Is For You … Yeah You

I love The Golden Girls. I own the entire series and a documentary about the series. I aspire to be Estelle Getty's character, Sophia, when I'm older. In fact, I already practice with a wicker purse. In reality wicker purses are really not conducive to everyday life, and people look at you as if you are carrying a small picnic basket. It may look like one, but it's far less practical.

On the Road of Life

I have a thing for peacocks. I think they are stunning. I think they are smart. I think they are rare; then again in the Suburbs of Chicago there's not exactly a lot of birds aside from Sparrows. I digress.

Peacocks show their feathers in instances when they are showing off, getting attention, trying to get attention, and most of all comfortable. Their feathers each tell a story of their life whether it's a broken feather, a longer feather, a shorter feather, or a feather hidden by other feathers.

Lacing Up My Boots

When I began my journey in Team Weight Loss there was a class that met a couple times a week facing my Weight Loss class. The first word that came to mind about this class of people was: Intense. They didn't just run on the treadmills, they'd sprint at an incline. They didn't use the 15 pound and under dumbbells, they went and got dumbbells in upwards of 30 pounds to squat and flip over their head in one fluid motion. They were scary. I'm sure they were nice people, but they were scary.

It's Kind of Important to Breath

Despite my practice, I still struggle with swimming. I struggle so much so I get frustrated and I'm not sure why. I'm trying. I'm getting better. But, I'm still struggling and finding my point of struggle I am too, and very ironically, struggling with.

In my swim class last week we had a substitute instructor. My first thought "Great, no hiding my horribleness". I was pretty terrible. After a couple laps, our instructor said she noticed I needed to work on my breathing. It's true. I struggle so much with breathing, and it's pretty important. I swim along counting my strokes to breath, but then I feel like I don't need to breath so I keep going and am out of air. Amy, our substitute instructor, suggested I take three strokes and breath. Take three strokes and breathing. She was instructing me to bi-lateral breath.

Music, Memories, Misery ... Which is Which and What is What?

Having gone to film school I often refer to movies or quotes. I think of them. I live them. Sometimes I live them to a fault. Other times I provoke thought of those around me. Best of all is when I provoke thought within myself.

Not All Goals Are In the Form of A Race

I've been described as impulsive. I am quick to act. Quick to think. Quick to speak. I speak my mind. I mean what I say and I say what I mean. None of these traits define me.

I'm creative. I'm methodical. I'm organized. I thrive in chaos. I don't like the mundane. I like adventures. I like challenges. None of these traits define me.

Holly Golightly

Confidence is a strange thing. It can be hidden. It can be displayed. It can be forgotten. It can be torment and torture. Confidence is always within and the one thing it cannot be is denied. It can be ignored, but never denied. 

I look back and I hated High School. Now I say that not with angst of horrible experiences or longing for acceptance. I say that in the wise words of a funny lady I adore, Estelle Getty, "If I Knew Then What I Know Now ... So What?" 

MoJo Re-Creations

In March of 2014 I went to a cat show and a craft show. No, they weren't in the same building. Can you imagine? Cats in crafts? Crafts for cats? Actually, I can imagine it, it's an odd visual. The two were however across from one another in separate buildings.

As I wandered around the craft show I came across a Mother-Daughter Duo who make items from
materials that are re-purposed. I am always on the search for the perfect purse. As a vegetarian I have an ethical issue with having a leather purse. As well until about 8 years ago I referred to purses as 'bags' because I disliked the term purse. In fact, part of me still does. I looked at their beautifully, hand crafted bags and was in awe. Part of my awestruck was that anything I've ever sewn didn't quite turn out as planned, let alone as flawless as their work appeared.

If the Suit Fits, Wear It!

My weekly swim class seemed to be improving. Now this was either in my head, or I was in fact getting better. Even my instructor and fellow classmates said I was getting better. They are either super nice people and great liars, or I was in fact getting better.

A few weeks ago I really thought I was doing well. I was swimming along, but at the end of each lap I had to stop. I had to stop and pull my suit up. I thought for sure I had dressed myself wrong. Granted, putting on a one piece bathing suit seems pretty straight forward and given the back cutouts of mine I was positive I had it on the right away. And yet, I had to keep pulling my suit up.

It was too big. I had just got this suit a month prior for the Indoor TRI. It was too big. I was flashing people as I swam. Now thankfully there wasn't a crowd, and while in the water moving along there wasn't much of a show.

Confidence in Trying to TRI

Somewhere during this journey I'm on I gained confidence. Mentally in professional aspects of my life I've always been confident. In some cases maybe even overly confident. Not in a negative way or even cocky, but in a way where I stood for what I believed and made my point. I've become confident in my appearance, in addition to my professional confidence, but more importantly I've started to believe I can do things. A lot of it started with the Indoor Tri.

Leading up to the Indoor Tri I was nervous. Afterwards ... I was on top of the world. Suddenly I started paying more attention to my running pace. I started understanding the Watts and RPM's on the spin cycle. And I realized I had to conquer the pool.

Let's Face It … Women Love Shoes

I can admit it: I have a lot of pairs of shoes. Do I wear them all? Nope. Do I even come remotely close to wearing every pair just once a year? Nope. Do I have shoes of ridiculous colors I bought in college? More than one pair.

Since starting on my journey I've taken to being aware of what shoes I'm wearing. That's not to say that I didn't throw on heels for a wedding. Or that I'm not living in boots trudging through the snow. Both are factual.

It's Getting Hot In Here

I have never been a person who wasn't clumsy. I'm learning there's a different between clumsy and coordination.

I've been bowling since I was 10 years old; that takes coordination.
I've been increasing the pace of my running cadence both on a treadmill, as well as outside; that takes coordination.
I can be walking on a flat surface, in flat shoes and trip; I'm just clumsy.

Hit the Deck!

After the Indoor Tri I continued working on my bike, run, and strength training, but I didn't step/splash/sink/swim in the pool again. The thought crossed my mind, but I just didn't "Jump Right In" so to speak. It took minimal convincing from Kristine to go on one Saturday morning to Matt's swim class.

I remember being in grade school taking swim lessons. I'd get my suit on at home, put my clothes over it, my mom would drive me to swim lessons and for an hour that was my Saturday morning. Swim lessons didn't last long, I learned the basics and lost interest pretty quickly. I was a lot slower than the other kids and was held back in Station 3 two times, so that's where my swim career ended.

Looking back, maybe I was defeated. I don't sit and wonder what would have happened if I had stuck with it. I don't think now that I would have gotten more laps in during the Indoor Tri if in grade school I had continued. Much like grade school friends that the friendship didn't last; I don't think it really altered later years of my life.

Much like in grade school I suited up at home, put on my gym clothes over my suit and I was off. I nervously paced in the locker room before class. I even went to the pool area, saw people swimming; class was still 10 minutes away. I went back in the locker room and paced some more. It was go time. I went back to the pool. I stood nervously, put my swim cap on, and held my goggles.

Matt greeted me and told me which lane to get in, he even introduced me to the rest of the class. My pace: slow. My form: nonexistent. My breathing: labored, when I'd remember to breath. My kicking: the closest thing to a saving grace, and even that was questionable. I declared myself the worst swimmer ever. Sure, it's possibly over exaggerating, but I was pretty awful.

While it seems obvious that drills would be part of learning to swim, what is less obvious to me is that half way through the drills I would have an epiphany. I'd be midway through the pool, from one end to the next, and I'd understand. It would all make sense. I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. The reason for the drill. And that's when I usually forget to breath. I would get so caught up in the fact that I even remotely understood why I was turning on my side, extending my arm as far as I could, and then I'd forget to breath. I would pop up from the water, grab some air, and try again.

My first swim class was rough. It was. 60 minutes of swimming is a pretty long time. In reality if I weren't horrible at swimming it wouldn't seem so long. But I am self-proclaimed horrible. Matt is way too kind and polite to tell me I'm awful, but I know I am. I tell myself, I can only get better. And that's the thing. I can only get better. Regardless of how awful I am or am not, I can only get better. Well, unless I get worse, then that would just downright suck.

The end of my first swim class brought diving off the edge. Now, I'm not exactly graceful. I'm not. I saw others dive in and thought "I'm going to flop, literally belly flop." Matt guided me from diving off the side into the pool. Sure enough my first attempt, if judged would have been rated an 8 out of 10 on a belly flop scale. It wasn't full blown belly flop, but I'm pretty sure I made a literal splash. My second attempt brought me a tad better result, except I went down deep and almost touched the bottom of the pool with my hands. Less flopping for sure, but a bit too far down too rapidly. My third attempt became my last. Matt changed my stance and form since I was admittedly not comfortable with my body. I felt it happen. I knew instantly it would bruise. I did literally, hit the deck. My head, arms, and chest were already in the water before I had finished launching myself off the edge.

My left shin did not clear the side of the pool. I felt it happen. Matt apologized profusely. It wasn't his fault. I actually laughed and said "That's going to leave a mark". The funny thing? I thought "Badass, I just got the first of probably many injuries from swimming." The reality? That bad boy bruised instantly and was swollen for the next few days.

I swim a few times a week practicing, leading up to swim class on Saturday. I actually am starting to believe I'm getting better. My off the side diving? I haven't tried again, but it's only a matter of time before my shin and I show that side who is boss.

Gratitude Jar

Pinterest is downright evil. There I said it.

I like to believe I'm a 'realist' when it comes to my pinning on Pinterest. I do not have that board of 'Dream House' with extravagant kitchens or backyard pools. I do not have that board of 'My Style' with outfits laid out that look good in photo, but aren't a reality for me. That's not to say I don't have an abundance of boards with jewelry; because I do, aptly each is named "I Like Pretties": Piece of Jewlery.

Try to TRI

One hour. 60 Minutes. 3600 Seconds. That's all it was. One hour. 60 Minutes. 3600 Seconds. I told myself.

I was ignorant, there I said it. I didn't know that Triathlons were a sport. Sure, I assumed Triathletes were athletes, since well you know, Tri-athletes. I thought Triathlons were Ironman Races and that was that. 

The gym was hosting a 60-minute Indoor Tri. It was a 10 minute swim followed by a 10 minute transition. Then there was a 30 minute bike ride followed by a 5 minute transition. Ending was a 20 minute run. 60 Minutes. Well that's a nice thought, but why. Seriously, why? 

Commitment Day 5k, 2015

The day had come. January 01, 2015. The Commitment Day 5k. Literal months of training. And the first race Will and I would complete together.

Oddly we didn't have snow, not bad for Chicagoland on New Year's Day. It was cold and it was windy. Most of all? I was giddy with excitement. I was standing with and going to race with people who also were Committing to another year of a healthy lifestyle and challenging themselves.

Will said we'd run at my pace, whatever I was comfortable with. I had my gloves on and was wearing a shirt that had thumb holes; this was purposeful. I didn't want to have access to look at my watch or my Garmin. I wanted to trust the pace I had worked so hard to get to, and if I didn't get there, then I'd learn. It was my first real race.

Hi, I'm Slow

As my weekly Tuesday night 5k training went on, I picked up pace. I was proud of myself. I did however know that the very kind gentleman, Ken, training me runs a 4:30 marathon pace. So I always had guilt and would internally apologize to him the entire run. I never externally apologized because he's the type of guy who could be surrounded by disaster and still find something great in it.

My last week of training was upon me, Will had to work so I was on my own. It was just going to be Ken and I. It was a pretty decent Chicagoland night and that brought more runners to our local club. So we broke off into groups. In my mind we were breaking off into "Everyone else" and then "Ken who is stuck with Lori". In reality we broke off into two groups "Long run" and "Longer run". Wait, I was with "Long run"?

Joining Ken and I was a gentleman named Frank. We stepped outside and discussed our route. Frank introduced himself. I said "Hi, I'm sorry I'll slow you down". Frank stopped me. He said "It doesn't matter, we just want to run" and Ken agreed. Remember, I told you Ken could be surrounded by disaster and still find something great in it.

And we were off.

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

We've all heard the phrase before "A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words" and to each of us it means something different.

For me, I have a photography background so I'm over analytical and look for things such as exposure, grain, "true blacks" and "true whites" in black and white photography. I look for and practice the rule of thirds. Having now just typed that out, I think I just realized why I am horrible at the 'selfie' as they call it. I digress.

Life With A Chef

I was roughly 153 pounds in July of 2012. I met my boyfriend in July of 2012. Coincidence? No, just facts.

My boyfriend was roughly 150 pounds in July of 2012 and when I started my journey in August of 2014 he was still roughly 150. I was no longer roughly 153 pounds. In fact, I was much closer to 177 pounds; I was 176.6.

What happened? Well a lot. Life happened. I changed jobs going from a pretty fast paced job, to a sedentary job. I moved, twice. Those events happened later on my road upward away from 153 pounds. What happened at the start? I met a Chef.

Spin Baby, Spin

Days after joining the gym, Will went to a Spin class. To be honest, I'm not sure what prompted him other than he owned a bike that I had actually never seen him ride in the two years we had been dating. After he went to the spin class he told me about the Crazy Woman teaching it and how he talked to her afterwards, introducing himself. I had seen spin classes portrayed in media, and even the day that I was given a tour of the gym the Cycle Studio was pointed out to me.

Even after hearing Will's review of the Spin class I still thought "I don't see the appeal, you go into a semi-dark room, peddle as someone is telling you what to do, you sweat, listen to loud music, and get nowhere." Well that thought was before I had my initial meeting with a trainer, and that trainer I mentioned before, Kristine? As the fates of the world would have it, she was the Crazy Woman teaching the spin class Will went to.

Working a Monday-Friday 8-5 job with nearly an hour commute each way made attending Spin Classes pretty difficult for me. I was fortunate to have a Friday off in October and went with Will to Kristine's Spin Class. It's biking. I own a bike. I used to bike. I'd bike 20+ miles on a trail before I started my work day. I could do this.

I couldn't do it.

T.E.A.M. Weight Loss

T.E.A.M. Training. Education. Accountability. Motivation. T.E.A.M.

I was surprisingly more nervous than I thought to join T.E.A.M. Weight Loss. I knew it was for the greater good. Actually, I knew I could only achieve greatness from it. That's not to say that fear doesn't override knowledge in everyday life. I knew that everyone else on the team was with the same goal: Losing Weight.

Crying Across the Finish Line

About six weeks into my journey I had a conversation with Will, I said "Hey, do you want to run a 5k with me on January 1st?" Will agreed. I had him. Hook.Line.Sinker. It was after he agreed that he realized January 1st was in fact New Year's Day, 2015, and in fact we live in the Chicagoland Area and that could mean a blizzard. He had agreed, he couldn't go back.

Will and I diligently went on Tuesday nights at 6pm and joined our local Run Club for 5k training. The first day we ran for 2 minutes, walked for 2 minutes. The following week we ran for 3 minutes, walked for 1 minute. The next week we ran for 7 minutes, walked for 1 minute. By the fourth week I ran over one mile straight without stopping. Now this progress was not without practice on my own part, but the accomplishment of having realized I had just run that far was a bit overwhelming. 

I Let Anger Control Me

In the second and final interview for my current work position the question of "What is your biggest fault or flaw?" was posed. Without hesitation, and without my filter working, I replied "I'm a non-sympathetic person." It's true, I am not sympathetic. The emotion of anger has long replaced the emotion of sympathy in my life. It sounds harsh, and it is, but when I say I'm non-sympathetic, it takes a lot for me to even consider sympathy.

I had a great day planned, my afternoon class was cancelled and I took the day off from my part-time job at the campus library to shoot rolls of film. It was a quintessential fall day in Carbondale, Illinois. I had gotten up, run 2.2 miles, came back to my dorm and prepared for my day. I put on typical college student wardrobe with jeans, gym shoes, a long sleeved thermal shirt, a T-shirt over, and threw on a zip up hoodie. I had my Lucky Charms for breakfast in the dining hall and headed out to my 9am class.

I never made it to class.

Hearing What You Already Knew

It's one thing to know something. It's another thing to hear what you already knew. And it's a real kick in the ass when you hear what you already knew and the total stranger telling you is right.

In my life I can't think of a time where I've been consistently active, consistently ate right, or didn't change jean sizes multiple times in one year, fluctuating from a 4 to a 10 with very little conscientious understanding of what had happened, but blaming the way they were made. I mean, seriously, they sewed the wrong tag size in, that happens, right?