The awkward art of hating to run

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“Ran three miles today and I feel great!” “When I am stressed I like to go on a good long run and it just makes everything better.” Just ate two donuts..better run four miles.

You know what I say to these statements: oh hell naw. I am sorry but running is miserable. I start off strong jamming out to beyonce and by the end of the second(aka the first) song I am ready for the couch. Don’t get me wrong, I love to exercise. The endorphins are great and the fact that when you exercise you can eat that extra large order of french fries is just an added bonus. Running is not exercise. It is straight torture.

I want to be cool and run a marathon someday but the truth of the matter is that deep down I would rather not.

You know the feeling you get when it is so hot outside and you are trying to run. You are basically swimming through the humidity. You keep telling yourself how great it is for you yet wondering why you feel like s***. In the movies when people run they look so pensive and tough. In real life people look slimy, red, and  unhappy.

I dated a guy once who was really into running. He would run miles daily and ,being the typical girl that I am, I of course told him that I also loved to run. Biggest mistake ever. He asked me to come run with him one day. I put on those tennis shoes and decided today was the day that I was suddenly going to be great at running. After the first hill I faked an ankle injury and made him take me home. Needless to say that relationship did not last and neither did my single day of “loving to run.”

I know there are also fellow fake runners out there and to that I say let’s stand together. We do not have to like to run (power walking does the trick).

As for me I plan on sticking to doing blogilates in my living room. You do not have to wear fancy work out clothes and you can look like an idiot without worrying about other people.

Cheers to that.

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The awkward art of caring more

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Care less. Live everyday without a care. If you care the least in the relationship the power is yours.

My response to these statements is always the same: I feel inspired and I begin to act like I am carefree but then it hits me… I am full of cares. I care that I cut that guy off in the parking lot. I care that I forgot to take out the trash and now my roommate has to do it. I care when the people I love are frustrated with me. I care when I do not feel like I belong. I just care.

Not caring has become an art form in today’s society. The person in the relationship that cares less wins. If someone is rude to you act like you don’t care and you win. When you are hurt and vulnerable act as if you do not care and BAM you win. It is like a game that millennials have mastered. I find myself wondering, who are we playing against?

We are playing against ourselves. Cheating ourselves out of real relationships, out of real feelings, out of truly living.

So do you know what I say? I care more and I am not embarrassed. I will no longer play this game. I think that I win because I care the most. I am not cheating myself out of real love or real relationships. Sure sometimes my caring nature will push people away but I would rather push someone away because I cared too much instead of because I cared too little.

So to all you game players out there…you lose. You will never win until you allow yourself to be vulnerable and care. Really care. When you leave this earth what is left here are the people that you cared about. The people that you decided were worth the vulnerability.

When do we decide as a society that caring more and being vulnerable is a beautiful thing? If everyone placed others over themselves the possibilities are endless

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The awkward art of being 23

Posted in 23, change, growth, lostyear, new by

In the movies when people turn 21 everyone raises their glasses in celebration, they go out and party all night, somehow meet the love of their lives at a trashy bar and live happily ever after. At the age of 22 people graduate college, sing Taylor Swift songs and head out into this big bad world. Then at age 23 things get real. They get scary and life throws a lot of curve balls. No one ever talks about age 23. I have decided that it is because it is an age full of change. No longer can you identify yourself as a student but also you are not quite an adult. It’s an in between year. A growing year. A lost year. At first I hated 23. I longed to bask in the carefree pleasures of age 21 or the newness of age 22 but instead I was bombarded with adulthood. Bills to be paid, jobs to be worked and hours not to be slept. I was so busy hating 23 that I didn’t realize I was actually enjoying myself.

For the first time in my life I feel as if I can handle all sorts of situations. At the Laundromat when my washing machine leaks soap everywhere I know not to tell the lady at the desk and instead secretly move my clothing to another machine. When the bottom of my car falls off (may or may not have run over a curb) I know that duck tape really does the trick. When a guy offers to buy me a drink at the bar I know to let him but then act like I have to use the restroom in order to avoid unnecessary dancing. I have learned at age 23 that it is okay to cry to your mom in the middle of the night because “life is hard and I cannot go on.” I also know that it is okay to be lost. Being lost is an important part of life. During this lost year I have grown so much. I have loved deeply. I have gained invaluable friendships. I have overcome hurdles that I never foresaw. I have felt empty and full simultaneously. I have truly learned my own strength. How wonderful is it to know that you can survive? If we skipped over age 23 we would definitely avoid some heartbreak but we would not be as strong. So to all of you 22 years olds out there, brace yourselves for age 23. I am not saying that it will be your favorite year but it will be a year worth living. You will be lost but it will all make sense the day that you are found. photo-1421986527537-888d998adb74

The awkward art of growing up

Posted in newblogger, postgrad, twenties by

It has come to my attention recently that I am supposed to be an adult but I have no idea what this entails. After graduating college I figured that I would get a great job, have a famous boyfriend and live in a luxury condo (ambitious I know). Instead I basically pay to have a job, must use crazy apps to meet men and live in a shanty home in the ghetto. During these post grad years I have experienced wonderful growth brought on by an onslaught of strange experiences. I realized that I  cannot be alone in my feelings so I decided to start a blog. The awkward art of growing up… Because the beauty of life is finding the art in everything. Cheers to you fellow non adults. We gotta stick together.