Good... And Good for You

One of my goals this year was to run a dozen 10k+ races and I am excited to report that, as of today, I HAVE... failed. Totally failed. Like, not even close. So my amended goal, as of today, is to just do a dozen outdoor 10k+ runs before the end of the year. You know, like my own, special races where I always come in first by default. So doable, right? Should take about two weeks to do, right? But tonight, as I sit here on my couch, eating a bowl of Life cereal and watching an episode of “Perfect Strangers,” I am telling you that it is NOT that doable. It is not that doable at all. And it will probably not get done in two weeks. Why is it always so dark outside??

I mean, ya, #MeToo. I think the most recent occurrence was a year ago at the Sheepdog Trials when some strange dude wouldn't let go of my arm and kept trying to herd (see what I did there?) me into a tent for a massage, while also suggesting that I give him a lap dance. And actually, the only thing that made this hard to shake off was that my niece was with me, and watched the whole interaction. Because afterwards, as I walked away, I was super worried that since my niece had watched me deescalate the situation by smiling and laughing, she would think that I thought the dude's behavior was okay. I think I dropped the ball at an important moment, because I was so focused on not being confrontational or making a scene, that I don't think I made it clear to the 7 year old watching me that a stranger touching you is never okay. I feel like I need to make it clear that I know there are vastly worst things that happen to women every day. I'm sharing this story bec...

My wobbly, little, old-man dog slipped and started falling backwards down my basement stairs, but, LIKE A TRUE AMERICAN HERO, I caught him by the turtleneck and pulled him to safety. So go ahead and blame me for the fact that you don't have fur and always having to wear a sweater. Look at me as resentfully as you want Ziggy! Because that ridiculous fashion just saved your life.

um... So apparently the world is FOR SURE supposed to end on September 23rd. For. Sure. Like astrologists and crazy, religious cult leaders all agree and have ambiguous proof. And all I'm saying is that if the world ends before the new Star Wars comes out, I'm gonna refuse to get raptured.

This morning, I ran the Dam Train Race down in Heber, Utah. As a seasoned fun-runner, let me break down the logistics of a run like this... For this particular race, you wake up earlier than any human ever should, grab a banana and a red bull and drive to your friend's house where you knock on her door for five solid minutes and then, when she doesn't answer, you sit in your car and think about your life choices and consider just driving home and going back to sleep. Then you remember that you were going to post a picture of your glorious finish on Instagram, so you call her until she wakes up and then you sit on the floor of her living room while she puts on some running shoes and grabs a water bottle. Then you both drive to the Historic Heber Valley Railroad where you get out of your car and rethink all of your life choices again as you wait in line for a porta-potty. THEN you ride the Heber Creeper to the dam at Deer Creek Reservoir and you almost fall as...

As someone with irrational trust and intimacy issues, reading comment threads like the screenshot below in response to certain tapes of certain presidential candidates describing/confessing to/bragging about certain horrific behavior, is my worst nightmare... Essentially these people are saying that 75% of men talk about how they've groping women, and the other 25% think it. Or perhaps- to be more forgiving- maybe they're saying that 75% of men talk about women using degrading, predatory language and the other 25% think it. Because that's just how men are. So people shouldn't be so offended. Again, it's my worst (relationship) nightmare that THAT IS TRUE. So thanks for that, social media world.

I wish the following story reflected better on me. Well, I met a homophobe the other day. And I'm telling you this because I haven't had an interaction with an overt, unapologetic homophobe since I was 13 years old.* THAT is how sheltered my life is, you guys. I so rarely have to deal with in-my-face ignorance that I tend to think it doesn't really exist (except in presidential campaigns (zing!)). I mean, I know that all those "-isms" exist, but in my circumstance, I see them in subtle undertones. I see them in patronizing, throw away comments in passing. I'm used to dealing with the -isms that are apparent in the unsaid. You know, the covert prejudice that people can deny and then tell me I'm crazy and over-sensitive. Those are the interactions I'm used to. I'm not going to lie, I didn't know how to react to my homophobe. So now I'm going to recreate our conversation for you. I was making polite conversation with this guy at a ...

My rant, supported by anectdotal evidence. As an older, single lady, my interactions with all men are a little bit awkward. Because no matter my intentions, I'm "on the market" a.k.a. "open for business." So it doesn't matter if the guy I'm talking to is old or young or married or single or all of the above. If I'm talking and joking around, the guy might think I'm flirting with him, other third-parties might assume we're flirting, or I might actually be flirting. The world will never know. For example, the other night I went to a big group outdoor movie party thrown by one of my friends. I was standing around the snack table with a frenemy and a couple of people I didn't know and started joking around with one of the guys and one of the girls. Then a girl came up and kissed the guy we were talking to and we all kind of dispersed. As we walked away my frenemy was like, "So you didn't notice his wedding ring, did you?" A ...