It's hard not to watch the Olympics, even if NBC has tried repeatedly to ruin as much of it as possible. I don't so much care about the taped delay. I'll watch to see how things play out even if I know the outcome, but I don't like how they've manipulated the story lines and ignored other important moments of the games while pandering to Americans. That's not my point though.
First, I would want them to play Rocky Top instead of the National Anthem if I won gold. (I realize this is sacrilege to many. Deal with it.)
Second, if I'd known about trampoline as a sport, my life would be completely different.
Third, my odds of my ever being an Olympian started dropping drastically when I was eight and outgrew my training bra.
Fourth, I would drown if I ever tried to play water polo.
Finally, I will always be a little girl when watching gymnastics. When I was a
kid I took gymnastics and I loved it. I was not however a natural. I
got too tall and too big. I could do power elements like tumbling passes
on floor and vaults, but uneven bars and beam were my nemeses. A bad
fall on beam ruined my back, and no one with my proportions is ever
going to do well on bars. I just don't have physics with me on that one.
Regardless, learning to flip around the floor and spring over the vault
were the closest I'd ever come to flying.
I've watched
gymnastics since Mary Lou, and I watched replays and movies of Nadia. I
remember vividly Phoebe Mills bouncing wildly out of bounds, and
Dominique Dawes spinning like no other. Kim Zmeskal winning again and
again. The Mag Seven made me smile, and as annoying as Kerri Strugg was,
I'll forever respect her for not giving up and nailing that one-footed
landing. Bela smiling and cheering will always bring me joy. This year, Gabby managed to combine the graceful moves of gymnastics past with the power and athleticism it's know for now, all with an electric smile that I guarantee thrilled many more little girls.
No matter how bizarre the opening ceremonies or bad NBC's coverage, the Olympics will always hold magic for me. The pageantry and pride are awe inspiring. I love watching.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Sunday, August 5, 2012
And so it goes
My career at USA WEEKEND has come to an end. After nine years, my position was eliminated.
I started in Newspaper Relations as the assistant marketing specialist. It was a different time in newspapers, at USA WEEKEND and at Gannett in general. As time passed and the industry started changing, it became harder and harder to maintain the status quo. Gannett started merging and consolidating, and USA WEEKEND was no longer immune. Departments were absorbed; layoffs started. I watched as long-time staffers were eliminated, and our CEO retired. We slowly being absorbed into USA Today. In the past year, it started to feel like longevity was a liability. The more of the old guard that was replaced, the more I started feeling like a square peg trying to fit in a round hole.
My bosses were meeting in the conference room and asked me to come in. It wasn't an unusual thing to happen, but as soon as I stood up from my desk, I knew what was happening. For no real reason, the thought just popped in my head. There's no doubt when someone you don't know is also in the room when you arrive.
I'm sure my bosses expected some reaction from me, but instead, I smiled, listened and cooperated -- hell, I was downright friendly to the woman from HR -- as the man I helped adjust to the mountainous learning curve of our business told me that as part of the restructuring of the magazine my position had been eliminated. He tried to tell me he appreciated everything I'd done for him and for all my years of service, but the words were flat and meaningless. I chose to just smile and turn my attention to the nice woman from HR who was going to tell me I had one week of pay per year of service and 5 days of benefits left.
While there were lots of things I might like to have said or asked, I chose instead to keep my head up and just roll with it. I knew I'd have a lot to deal with later, but I also knew that I could handle whatever comes. And I will.
This all happened on a Thursday. I was paid through Friday. The next week, I was going to be out of the office anyway for friends' wedding. We just got back and so tomorrow will really my first day in the trenches of the unemployed. I've already applied for unemployment benefits and talked with two recruiters. My resume is spit-shined and ready to go. The fact is I've been ready to go for a long time. I should have left years ago, but my admittedly warped sense of responsibility and loyalty kept me at a job where I no longer fit far beyond what it should. As crappy as this may be to experience, being laid off is going to ultimately be a good thing.
I've been applying for jobs and interviewing for a while, but nothing had worked out so far. I was applying for jobs online after work when I was tired and often frustrated. My job now is to spend time every day looking for the job I'll love. I have no excuse. In the meantime, I've talked to a couple of organizations about volunteering during the week, and training for my next race starts soon. My life is still quite full, and my hope is it will also have balance.
A few people know this has happened. I haven't kept it from anyone who's asked how work is going. The fact is I have nothing to be ashamed of and I see this as a good thing. I've been so touched at how many people have reached out to me with kind words about having worked with me and offers of help. Regardless of anything else, that means success to me. Here's to new opportunities for even bigger success.
I started in Newspaper Relations as the assistant marketing specialist. It was a different time in newspapers, at USA WEEKEND and at Gannett in general. As time passed and the industry started changing, it became harder and harder to maintain the status quo. Gannett started merging and consolidating, and USA WEEKEND was no longer immune. Departments were absorbed; layoffs started. I watched as long-time staffers were eliminated, and our CEO retired. We slowly being absorbed into USA Today. In the past year, it started to feel like longevity was a liability. The more of the old guard that was replaced, the more I started feeling like a square peg trying to fit in a round hole.
My bosses were meeting in the conference room and asked me to come in. It wasn't an unusual thing to happen, but as soon as I stood up from my desk, I knew what was happening. For no real reason, the thought just popped in my head. There's no doubt when someone you don't know is also in the room when you arrive.
I'm sure my bosses expected some reaction from me, but instead, I smiled, listened and cooperated -- hell, I was downright friendly to the woman from HR -- as the man I helped adjust to the mountainous learning curve of our business told me that as part of the restructuring of the magazine my position had been eliminated. He tried to tell me he appreciated everything I'd done for him and for all my years of service, but the words were flat and meaningless. I chose to just smile and turn my attention to the nice woman from HR who was going to tell me I had one week of pay per year of service and 5 days of benefits left.
While there were lots of things I might like to have said or asked, I chose instead to keep my head up and just roll with it. I knew I'd have a lot to deal with later, but I also knew that I could handle whatever comes. And I will.
This all happened on a Thursday. I was paid through Friday. The next week, I was going to be out of the office anyway for friends' wedding. We just got back and so tomorrow will really my first day in the trenches of the unemployed. I've already applied for unemployment benefits and talked with two recruiters. My resume is spit-shined and ready to go. The fact is I've been ready to go for a long time. I should have left years ago, but my admittedly warped sense of responsibility and loyalty kept me at a job where I no longer fit far beyond what it should. As crappy as this may be to experience, being laid off is going to ultimately be a good thing.
I've been applying for jobs and interviewing for a while, but nothing had worked out so far. I was applying for jobs online after work when I was tired and often frustrated. My job now is to spend time every day looking for the job I'll love. I have no excuse. In the meantime, I've talked to a couple of organizations about volunteering during the week, and training for my next race starts soon. My life is still quite full, and my hope is it will also have balance.
A few people know this has happened. I haven't kept it from anyone who's asked how work is going. The fact is I have nothing to be ashamed of and I see this as a good thing. I've been so touched at how many people have reached out to me with kind words about having worked with me and offers of help. Regardless of anything else, that means success to me. Here's to new opportunities for even bigger success.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Introducing Chopper
Henry has been an only child for five years now. We got him from a hobby breeder in the middle of nowhere and brought him home at 8 weeks old. He has always been ours, always had a warm home, plenty of food and lots of love. All that said, he's still a nervous little guy. He's a very typical dachshund. They're territorial, vocal, alert and full of personality. He thinks he's a rottweiler. We got a pure bred because neither of us had raised a puppy in a long time, and a pure bred gave us a better idea of the traits we'd be getting. There was no way anyone could have predicted the wild ride Henry would end up being, but he's ours and we love him as much as most people love their children.
After a great deal of thought, we decided to get another dog. Our hope was that Henry would bond with another dog and relax a bit. At the very least, he would have a playmate. We wanted to rescue a dog this time, and started working with beagle and dachshund rescues to get approval and find our new addition. It was a three year old, 15lb black and tan doxie that took us out to the Petsmart near Mount Vernon. Lost Dog and Cat Foundation was having an adoption event there at 1pm. We got there at 1:10pm to find the dog already adopted.
Ethan and his boys, Jack and Mack, were with us. Henry was along for the ride, since he'd cast his vote before we brought anyone home. We were all a little annoyed at our luck. The folks from Lost Dog told us there were a couple of other doxies at an event in Sterling -- no where near Mount Vernon or our house for that matter. We had 45 minutes to get there.
When we got there, Jack and Mack were bouncing off the walls ready for us to get Henry's brother. It didn't take long to figure out that Henry had no interest whatsoever in the other doxies or any of the smaller dogs for that matter. We were on our way out when I saw a face that melted my heart. His name was Derek, and Henry just sat down beside him. Other than the fact he was going to need a new name, it seemed like we'd been led on a wild chase across Northern Virginia to find our boy.
We filled out the application, passed our interview and walked out the proud parents of a 25lb, 5-month-old Vizsla mix. He wasn't exactly what we'd planned, but it seems like the stars aligned to bring us to him.
After about a week, we finally settled on the name Chopper because his tail wags in a circular motion instead of back and forth. It took a couple of those days for Henry to really warm up to him. Until then, Henry just kept giving us a look like, "When is that leaving?" Then, they started playing. They've only stopped to eat and sleep since.
Chopper is a chill, affectionate and smart. He is a loving and loveable creature that exudes happiness. It's apparent he wants to please and just wants to be close to us and loved. I'll never understand how he ended up in a kill shelter in West Virginia. It's tragic to think this lovebug could have been put down had Lost Dog not taken him. We were given all sorts of cautions about issues a rescue dog can have -- not eating, anxiety. Many dogs never really get over being abandoned, but luckily, Chopper seems unphased by his experience. He's slept well, eaten well and taken to his brother and the good life like a duck to water. Yes, I'm pretty sure it was meant to be.
If you're considering bringing a pet into your home, please make sure you know what you're getting into, make a commitment to loving it like a child and making it a member of your family, and most of all, please consider adoption. There are more fur babies than will ever find homes. Too many don't find their way to rescue. From the look on that face, I think Chopper knows he's one of the lucky ones.
After a great deal of thought, we decided to get another dog. Our hope was that Henry would bond with another dog and relax a bit. At the very least, he would have a playmate. We wanted to rescue a dog this time, and started working with beagle and dachshund rescues to get approval and find our new addition. It was a three year old, 15lb black and tan doxie that took us out to the Petsmart near Mount Vernon. Lost Dog and Cat Foundation was having an adoption event there at 1pm. We got there at 1:10pm to find the dog already adopted.
Ethan and his boys, Jack and Mack, were with us. Henry was along for the ride, since he'd cast his vote before we brought anyone home. We were all a little annoyed at our luck. The folks from Lost Dog told us there were a couple of other doxies at an event in Sterling -- no where near Mount Vernon or our house for that matter. We had 45 minutes to get there.
When we got there, Jack and Mack were bouncing off the walls ready for us to get Henry's brother. It didn't take long to figure out that Henry had no interest whatsoever in the other doxies or any of the smaller dogs for that matter. We were on our way out when I saw a face that melted my heart. His name was Derek, and Henry just sat down beside him. Other than the fact he was going to need a new name, it seemed like we'd been led on a wild chase across Northern Virginia to find our boy.
After about a week, we finally settled on the name Chopper because his tail wags in a circular motion instead of back and forth. It took a couple of those days for Henry to really warm up to him. Until then, Henry just kept giving us a look like, "When is that leaving?" Then, they started playing. They've only stopped to eat and sleep since.
Chopper is a chill, affectionate and smart. He is a loving and loveable creature that exudes happiness. It's apparent he wants to please and just wants to be close to us and loved. I'll never understand how he ended up in a kill shelter in West Virginia. It's tragic to think this lovebug could have been put down had Lost Dog not taken him. We were given all sorts of cautions about issues a rescue dog can have -- not eating, anxiety. Many dogs never really get over being abandoned, but luckily, Chopper seems unphased by his experience. He's slept well, eaten well and taken to his brother and the good life like a duck to water. Yes, I'm pretty sure it was meant to be.
If you're considering bringing a pet into your home, please make sure you know what you're getting into, make a commitment to loving it like a child and making it a member of your family, and most of all, please consider adoption. There are more fur babies than will ever find homes. Too many don't find their way to rescue. From the look on that face, I think Chopper knows he's one of the lucky ones.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
All that matters
Joe is on his way to Newport News tonight. He's got an early morning meeting with the city manager, and it didn't make sense to try and drive down there before the meeting tomorrow, so he's staying at a hotel tonight. That's not really my point though.
Every time, Joe packs a bag and leaves to go anywhere without me it takes a great deal of intellectual assertion and mental control to keep from panicking that I will never see him again. I try to remember every detail of telling him goodbye in case it's the last memory I have of him. I'm always sure to tell him to be careful and that I love him. Nothing left unsaid.
My head knows that I am reacting to an engrained reaction to having lost my father at a very young age. I know that I'm projecting my mother's life onto my own. I know there is no family curse that puts him in danger. That doesn't keep my heart from feeling like it's being squeezed by a large hand. It doesn't mean my soul doesn't feel like it's being ripped in two. It doesn't stop the headache that I get from fighting the anxiety.
I am grateful to have the intelligence, rationality and cognitive training to handle the irrational emotions behind my anxiety, but it doesn't really matter what I think or do. All that matters is the person who means the most to me in the entire world is away, and nothing will be right again until he's home.
Every time, Joe packs a bag and leaves to go anywhere without me it takes a great deal of intellectual assertion and mental control to keep from panicking that I will never see him again. I try to remember every detail of telling him goodbye in case it's the last memory I have of him. I'm always sure to tell him to be careful and that I love him. Nothing left unsaid.
My head knows that I am reacting to an engrained reaction to having lost my father at a very young age. I know that I'm projecting my mother's life onto my own. I know there is no family curse that puts him in danger. That doesn't keep my heart from feeling like it's being squeezed by a large hand. It doesn't mean my soul doesn't feel like it's being ripped in two. It doesn't stop the headache that I get from fighting the anxiety.
I am grateful to have the intelligence, rationality and cognitive training to handle the irrational emotions behind my anxiety, but it doesn't really matter what I think or do. All that matters is the person who means the most to me in the entire world is away, and nothing will be right again until he's home.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Never say goodbye
Heading to Nashville for the Country Music Half Marathon was surreal. I was ready. I'd been training for six months, but it always seemed like it was in the future, out there lingering. I could barely believe when I was standing in my corral the morning of the race. We had all separated by the first mile. I was hot and miserable, and this wasn't my usual quiet morning run with familiar faces. Breathing wasn't easy, and by mile 4 I was on the verge of a panic attack. I felt claustrophobic, except I was in the wide-open outside with lots of people. What was wrong with me?! It's taken a week for me to piece it all together.
Just before mile 12, I was falling apart. I realized training and the race was what was holding me together about losing so much last year. I didn't want it to be over. I was dreading finishing the race. I didn't want to say goodbye.
I kept moving my feet, and in the last mile I came to grips with the fact that the race was going to end whether I finished or not. I started running. I ran faster and faster, and I sprinted the last quarter mile. I crossed the finish line at a pace I've never run before. Most importantly, I finished on my terms.
Last night, I dreamed about Mark. It's the second time in the last few months. The first time, he was lying on a couch, unconscious and obviously sick. People were there and I kept checking on him. I was confused because I knew in some corner of my subconscious that he was dead, but I was hearing him breathe.
Last night, I showed up at this place, and Mark was standing at the door. I just grabbed him and hugged him as long and as hard as I could. I heard his voice tell me he was still here and he was fine. Then, we were back in the room again with Mark on the couch only this time I paid attention to who was in the room with me. It was Marie and Stephanie and Kim and Bethany and Robb and Jennifer and Ryan and a bunch of other people who knew Mark. We were laughing and talking, and Mark was quietly lying on the couch, awake this time, and smiling.
I went for a run when I woke up. Along the way, I found clarity. Mark is still here, and he's OK. I think he was awake and smiling in this dream because we'd all spent last weekend talking and laughing and remembering. We weren't wearing our grief like a burden; we were celebrating, and I think that made Mark happy. He lives in our hearts and our dreams now, and the more we remember and celebrate the more awake he is and the brighter he smiles. Mark lives on in Team Mark -- the runners, the cheerleaders, the donations, every person who still loves and remembers Mark.
Mark helped me find faith in myself. He helped me find my worth, when I was quite sure I had none. He fought for me, when I wouldn't fight for myself. He never stopped trying to help me find my place in this world, my happiness. In a round about way, he helped me find Team In Training, a group of people that have filled a void in my life and helped me find purpose and passion again. He did one last thing for me, I think, and that was bringing me back home.
Like Mark, I haven't gone back home much since I moved to DC. This is where I'm meant to be, and I didn't think I could go back. I thought I had to let go of "back home" to be here and happy. I've always been different, but one more time, Mark showed me I can still fit, even back home. I feel closer to my friends from high school now than I did back then. Mark brought me back to them. He'll remain a part of me, telling me to find the things that make me happy -- and telling off anyone who gets in the way of that.
I know I don't have to, but I'm going to keep running. I'm going to stay involved with Team In Training. I'm going to stay close to the people who have known me longest. I am not, however, going to say goodbye. Ever. I don't have to.
Long live the King. Long live Team Mark.
Just before mile 12, I was falling apart. I realized training and the race was what was holding me together about losing so much last year. I didn't want it to be over. I was dreading finishing the race. I didn't want to say goodbye.
I kept moving my feet, and in the last mile I came to grips with the fact that the race was going to end whether I finished or not. I started running. I ran faster and faster, and I sprinted the last quarter mile. I crossed the finish line at a pace I've never run before. Most importantly, I finished on my terms.
Last night, I dreamed about Mark. It's the second time in the last few months. The first time, he was lying on a couch, unconscious and obviously sick. People were there and I kept checking on him. I was confused because I knew in some corner of my subconscious that he was dead, but I was hearing him breathe.
Last night, I showed up at this place, and Mark was standing at the door. I just grabbed him and hugged him as long and as hard as I could. I heard his voice tell me he was still here and he was fine. Then, we were back in the room again with Mark on the couch only this time I paid attention to who was in the room with me. It was Marie and Stephanie and Kim and Bethany and Robb and Jennifer and Ryan and a bunch of other people who knew Mark. We were laughing and talking, and Mark was quietly lying on the couch, awake this time, and smiling.
I went for a run when I woke up. Along the way, I found clarity. Mark is still here, and he's OK. I think he was awake and smiling in this dream because we'd all spent last weekend talking and laughing and remembering. We weren't wearing our grief like a burden; we were celebrating, and I think that made Mark happy. He lives in our hearts and our dreams now, and the more we remember and celebrate the more awake he is and the brighter he smiles. Mark lives on in Team Mark -- the runners, the cheerleaders, the donations, every person who still loves and remembers Mark.
Mark helped me find faith in myself. He helped me find my worth, when I was quite sure I had none. He fought for me, when I wouldn't fight for myself. He never stopped trying to help me find my place in this world, my happiness. In a round about way, he helped me find Team In Training, a group of people that have filled a void in my life and helped me find purpose and passion again. He did one last thing for me, I think, and that was bringing me back home.
Like Mark, I haven't gone back home much since I moved to DC. This is where I'm meant to be, and I didn't think I could go back. I thought I had to let go of "back home" to be here and happy. I've always been different, but one more time, Mark showed me I can still fit, even back home. I feel closer to my friends from high school now than I did back then. Mark brought me back to them. He'll remain a part of me, telling me to find the things that make me happy -- and telling off anyone who gets in the way of that.
I know I don't have to, but I'm going to keep running. I'm going to stay involved with Team In Training. I'm going to stay close to the people who have known me longest. I am not, however, going to say goodbye. Ever. I don't have to.
Long live the King. Long live Team Mark.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Time to go
"Coulda" and "shoulda" won't get me anywhere now, but it's obviously time to go. It has been, and I've let myself believe there was more because I was afraid. Afraid of change. Afraid of new. Afraid of me.
One of my favorite movie quotes is from Fried Green Tomatoes: "Miss Ruth was a lady, and a lady always knows when to leave." Time for me to get back to being a lady, quit giving into fear, embrace the hurt and get on with what's next.
One of my favorite movie quotes is from Fried Green Tomatoes: "Miss Ruth was a lady, and a lady always knows when to leave." Time for me to get back to being a lady, quit giving into fear, embrace the hurt and get on with what's next.
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