Saturday, June 27, 2009

The New Digs

I've moved a lot since leaving home over a decade ago. Four times in college. Twice in my village in Peace Corps. Once in Kansas City. Twice in New Orleans if you count the Katrina hoopla. And now twice in Minneapolis.
I can honestly say, however, that this new apartment is the first one that feels wholly mine and wholly me.
The collegiate ones were picked largely for convenience and/or pricetag. Peace Corps-hmmm-I only moved in my village because my first landlord thought I was a spy. Hopefully that won't ever be an issue again. In Kansas City I lived in a dump, again, picked solely for cheapness. And the New Orleans apartment, though lovely in its way, was chosen due to its proximity to the law school, its oak-lined street, and the fact that my initial roommate (who later ditched me) liked the porch.
When I moved to my first apartment in the Cities, the choice was largely based on how quick a bus ride the apartment would be to downtown Minneapolis. Two months after signing the lease, however, I got my present job in downtown St. Paul. My commute tripled. And the location was just never that enjoyable. I'm not a fan of suburbia and St. Louis Park is suburbia. At some point in my life I may embrace the Americana that is the white picket fence, expertly trimmed hedge, and the ease of quiet streets. I am occassionally envious of my friends with homes in sweet, calm neighborhoods. But on most days, I much prefer a livelier environment. I appreciate the mohawks, tattoos, foreign languages, and the random guy who is always laying on the lawn next to my front stoop. I like the noise.
Every time I unpack in a new place different things take center stage on my bookshelf. I'm not sure if it's a processing of memory or a certain hunger for other time periods in my life, but the focus in this place is different from my last apartment. At my last apartment I peppered my shelves with pictures from everywhere I'd ever lived, every friend who had ever been important. Here, I'm much pickier. Pics of Morocco and New Orleans are the most prominent, with trinkets from Amsterdam and Dubai tucked into corners. Further evidence, I suppose, that while I can be content in one place, I will always wish to be elsewhere. Along my window ledge are pictures of family on The Mountain, more pics of Morocco, postcards from faraway places, and a picture I took from the top of Pinnacle Mountain in Arkansas about two weeks after Katrina. I hiked up alone, took a picture of a tree branch full of orange leaves.
Despite having lived in several states and a couple countries, and despite having visited many exciting cities both here and abroad, the globe on my bookshelf is always tilted in one direction. Always Africa.

Monday, June 22, 2009

A Slow Start

Not long after crossing the half-marathon finish line in Stillwater, I signed up for the October 4th Twin Cities Marathon. I was on a high. I had a blast at Stillwater. Thirteen miles wasn't easy but the once impossibility of it made me think that the completely ludicrous idea of running a marathon might actually be plausible...

I am having a really hard time regaining that momentum. It took me awhile to stop aching after the Half, and then life crept in and distracted me, and then I moved, and then it got warm (I do miss the days of running comfortably in a long-sleeved tshirt). Which isn't to say that I've abandoned running in the interim, but I have ignored it more than proper training would dictate.

Today I ran, perhaps, three miles. Four? I wasn't keeping a good count because I was so focused on not passing out in the 90 degree heat and the pretty-impressive-even-by-Southern-standards humidity. I'm quite happy to breathe in that heat while walking about, but running in it is completely miserable. I'm trying to comfort myself with the thought that I need to get used to running in the heat, the same way I had to learn how to run when it got below freezing. My body simply has to remember what this feels like, then the runs will improve. Right?

I'm also trying to remember how impossible a 5K once seemed, and a 10K, and a Half. I've been at that "this is insane and I was a moron to sign up for this" roadblock before. I don't quite remember how I got past it those other times, honestly, but it appears that I did. Or rather, I just kept running despite my quasi-expectation of failure. And so, for now, that is my only goal. To just keep running. The momentum will come back, the excitement will return, but for now the only fuel I have to get me to that point is blind pride.

I won't quit, dammit.