a smaller life

first- day- of- fall eve

Days are getting shorter; the later mornings make my runs longer, a gently welcome way to ease myself into the real world every day.

in which there are 76 days left, and I am nervous

Today, I told my boss back in the States that when I return in May I will be leaving the industry.

I gave my 76 days notice, I guess. It's annual review time, and I couldn't see any way around it- when he asked me about my plans for the future, I told him the truth. I plan on leaving the industry, I told him. I want to work for myself. I want to be with my family. I want to live smaller, and closer to home. I want to focus. 

I am somewhere between feeling terrified (oh my God oh my God what am I doing this is insane there is a recession going on) and feeling elated (oh my God oh my God I'm really doing this I am free I am free I am free). I'm swinging between the two pretty dramatically tonight, but I'm going to run it out in about 20 minutes, so at least it's useful stress. Tonight is probably the night for some serious speedwork, I think- see if I can beat my best mile so far. Lucky red hair tie, it's your night; don't let me down.

(Oh, hush. YOU try photographing the back of your own head some time.)

in which it is all a bit much

29 / 365, originally uploaded by s.eyre.

The truth is that I need a road trip.

Here's the way it is: the base is an elliptical loop, an extended, narrow oval around the flight line. The west side of base is largely inhabited- buildings, housing, Px, chow halls, multiple coffee shops, all of it. The east side is mostly empty- there's an incinerator site, some gravel pits, that sort of thing. There are still mines on the east side, although they're clearly marked. There are wild dogs on the east side, which sounds sort of exotic and romantic until you're running alone at dusk, all happy in the deserted bit of base and you come across several of them looking at you, looking mangy and diseased and possibly hungry. Agh.

All together it's an 8 mile loop. The inhabited side- inhabited by people, I mean, not by wild dogs, etc- is 3.9 miles long, according to my pedometer.

3.9 miles, that's about the size of my world lately, and it's beginning to get to me. I need some space. I need to stretch. I need to get into a car, point it in a direction of my choosing, and drive, damnit. Running, while good for my soul, has reminded me of exactly how small my world is. I can run the extent of my world right now in less than 40 minutes, stem to stern. Claustrophobia, what what?

I need to start taking my long runs in the mornings, out past the north Px and into the east side, when there are other people awake and running to help keep the dogs away. And really, how often does one get to literally worry about keeping the packs of wild dogs at bay? I should see it as an adventure. I should be more grateful. 

in which there are approximately 94 days to go

I can't place my finger on it, but these songs have something in common.

• Beirut: Scenic World (Lon Gisland EP version)
• Sigur Ros: Gobbledigook
• Coldplay: Viva La Vida
• The Eels: Fresh Feeling
• Veda4: Life Is Beautiful
• The Killers: Dustland Fairytale
• Dresden Dolls: Pretty In Pink
• Keane: Somewhere Only We Know
• Sufjan Stevens: The Predatory Wasp Of The Palisades Is Out To Get Us!

There is this euphoric, soaring sound to these songs that is so exactly right lately- these are the true meat of my running playlist, this joyful giddy gorgeous music that straightens my back and sends me running with a grin. I must look insane, but I want more. Music geeks? (Layne? I know you can help me out here, girl.)

The running, by the way- it's wonderful, the only thing that gives me any real peace lately. Addictive, the oblivion of the thing, the nothingness of physicality; I have to fight the urge to take two runs a day, looking for that absolute quiet. I don't want to burn out my joints too quickly and lose this; I stretch instead, I take my walks, I read poetry and watch foreign love stories. I wake up in the morning eager and hungry and itching to stretch my legs, which is strange: I am not a morning girl. This is what keeps me from screaming at the ridiculous pettiness of people when seen extended and up close, what keeps me from just giving up on all of it and going home over the subhuman lack of empathy and ethics I encounter here. This keeps me straight, and focused, and ready; I tuck the bullshit bits of my day into a mental pocket for my speed training.

There is also the knitting, the other quiet part of my life, something small and simple and all mine. Goal- oriented and distracting. I've begun Billy's scarf, although it really does seem like it'll take another 3 months to finish- a double- knit, irregularly striped scarf in sock- weight yarn. What am I thinking, right? And still, I work away at the thing. I love the fabric it's making- soft and squishy and supercomfy, and the whole reversible bit seems like magic (even though it's really, really not). It's also sort of mindless without being straight stockinette, which I'm a fan of for my work knitting- easy to pick up, easy to put down.

I re- read this and it sounds as though life is a lot harder than it is, really. There is still free beef jerky and lovely cold early nights, house progress emails from Sam and texts from Kiddo, quiet showers alone at night, $20 massages. I wouldn't call it happiness, per se, but there is comfort here, and contentment.

in which I am stupid but lucky

17 / 365, originally uploaded by s.eyre.

I really, honestly did mean to run at the gym today.

It's just this: I hate the gym, and the stinky gym smell, and all the people, and the TVs. I hate going to the gym and seeing someone I know there, because it's always the chatty person, and I hate talking at the gym. I hate running on the treadmill, too. Also it was raining, and I love running in the rain and it's January, so it's cold and rainy, and that means it was perfect for a run tonight.

I took a gentle two miles at an agonizingly slow pace. I paid attention to my knee (minor twinges below my kneecap, patellar tendonitis, not a big thing) and no, it doesn't hurt. I stretched. A lot. I was careful. It was lovely.

I have a problem with knowing what is best for my body and then choosing to do whatever I please instead. I prefer pushing myself to recuperating any day. I realize that I can't do this every time, or even most of the time. Next time, I'll do better. I'll listen to cues. I'll take it easier. I'll use the damned treadmill. Hell, I'll even cross- train.

Honest.

in which today was grey and lovely

16 / 365, originally uploaded by s.eyre.

There's something wonderfully comforting about a damp, dreary day. It's one of the things I loved best about living in England- those endless stretches of cool, misty days.

Days like these are perfect for all of my favorite things- knitting, spinning, stews, curry, snuggling, cocoa, burying myself in handknits. Also running, although to my great disappointment a twinge in my right knee will restrict me to the gym tonight.

Gorgeousness. I hope the rain picks up later tonight; I love sleeping to that sound.

in which there is frustration

I should have run this morning. I even had a little extra time. I spent the morning putting out fires via email instead, and I feel the difference. I would have gotten more out of the run, I think. Now, I'm full of dinner and running + me + food = very very not good. I don't do public vomiting well; more, I don't want to practice enough to get good at it.

Instead, the gym. Hooray for cross- training! I hear it's good for me.

Stupid elliptical machines. Stupid sweating like a pig in a warm room. Stupid breathing heavy but going no where. Stupid gym fart smell.

in which we have some of my favorite things, the robots/ zombies giftage list

I didn't run this morning; people were moving and and out of my hut late yesterday and this morning, so I didn't get much sleep last night. With that excuse set up, have a silly Favorite Things list. I'm too tired to actually write anything tonight.

Just a few bits and bobs from Etsy that reminded me of some of my favorite people...

For Teresa, a wild zombie stuffed guinea pig. (Yes. Really.)

 

For Sam, a zombie moose t- shirt. 

 

A robot squeezable for Boo, who doesn't get to see her boy nearly enough.

 

For Dawn, a Robot- Shaped Gnome Pouch. She’s no robot nut (as far as I know) but I have the feeling she’d dig this anyways.

 

Please don't think that if you're not on this list I'm not thinking of you. I am. It's just that my internet connection is terrible tonight, and I'm too tired to tough it out.

in which I am not sure who I'm becoming

6 / 365, originally uploaded by s.eyre.

This is the second morning in a row that I've gotten up at 5 am to run. More: I love it, the dark and the chill, the quiet, the silence. There's nearly no one out at that time in the day; for once, I feel the closest to alone I have ever felt, running in the pre- sunrise morning. I look forward to it.

I started running in the morning yesterday on a whim; I woke up and thought, hey, it'd be nice to spend tonight just relaxing, instead of eating early and waiting to run. I got out of bed and into my running clothes before I could change my mind; ran out to the north end of post, only turning when I saw wild dogs (!!!) by the guard towers, out where no one lives.

I get it. I spent the rest of my day happy and energized. I had taken my me- time first thing in the day and it made a huge difference. That said, I've never been the girl to get out of bed first, or easily, or voluntarily, or really, without a shoehorn and a kick in the rear. (Now that I think of it, I was pretty much out of bed early every day I was on mid- tour, but that could be chalked up to wanting to enjoy my time home.)

I get it; I just don't get me doing it, that's all.

in which I am a lazy girl

4 / 365, originally uploaded by s.eyre.

It kept snowing throughout the night; I woke up to a barely respectable cover on the ground. It doesn't matter: I'm thrilled to start the year off with at least a passing nod to proper winter weather. I walked to the BBQ chow hall for lunch just for the pleasure of being around the snow as it disappeared.

Of course, later tonight I just used the cold as an excuse. I needed to run- I took yesterday night off to stretch and rest, trying to be smart and only run four days in a row for the first few weeks. I hate recovery days, though, because starting back up is always such a bother. My mind will go to great lengths to try and convince me that I'd be better off just slipping into sweats and watching movies in bed.

I can't go out there, my monkeymind chittered. The ground is icy. Slippery, slick. I'll fall midstride and break something, my leg probably, and then I'll have to go home for medical care and my boss will need to replace me out here and then I won't be able to come back when I'm healed and I'll fail to meet my financial goals and I'll have to go back to an office job which will make me miserable thus making the people around me miserable and these last 8 months will have been for nothing and I will have COMPLETELY LET EVERYONE INCLUDING MYSELF DOWN. I will stay inside and not run for the sake of everyone, damnit.

All that drama because I am, by nature, a lazy girl. I slipped into my running shoes and told myself I'd jaunt out to the hard bathrooms (made out of metal shipping crates instead of port-a-johns, this is what passes for luxury in my life these days) and see how the ground was. No commitments. Halfway there, I broke into an easy run and here I am, half an hour later and considerably sweatier. Lucky for me, another run down and utter, humiliating failure only narrowly averted.

I am always amazed by that part of myself- that weak but persistent voice in the back of my head (the monkeymind) that pushes me towards the self- destructive or self- indulgent. It never obsessively prods me to do anything positive for myself; for example, I am never fighting an irrepressible urge to eat more dark leafy greens. It is always asking for a cigarette, or a chocolate bar; it always wants to skip a workout and it never wants to read my new gardening book. I bet other folks' versions of the monkeymind is what makes them read The Enquirer, watch Regis, or rent Mel Gibson movies. Everyone knows those things aren't good for a person.

I spend a lot of time fighting that bit. I haven't made all these positive life changes out of willpower but rather out of white hot spite- hate for that chittering lazy piece of my mind.