Before you really think that I’ve gone off the deep end, this isn’t going to be a post about how “inspirational” or “real-life” I find the show Grey’s Anatomy to be. I do believe that it has its moments. It’s funny, charming and, for the most part, realistic – at least as far as human interactions and personalities go. The characters seem like real people, and I enjoy the human component coupled with the medical drama. Yes, I ws a major ER fan and used to religiously watch late-night episodes on Channel 4 when I lived in England.

But no, it hasn’t taught me the meaning of gratitude.

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Rather, watching the show on the instant Netflix for the past two days has made me start thinking about the things for which I am grateful.

It’s been an interesting week, for sure, and suddenly I found myself the recipient of a lot of fun, free things. I won tickets – rather embarrassingly – on the radio and was informed this morning that I won my first blog-related giveaway. I’m enjoying the enchantments of each surprise; it still doesn’t feel real. Of course, I’m grateful for anything gratis – being perpetually broke means few treats and very savvy navigation of the wine section at Trader Joe’s. Literally, the only pair of shoes I have purchased this year is a pair of flip flops from Walgreen’s and they cost $3. I know that’s far more than some people in some parts of the world have to spare, and I am also grateful for the mere fact that I have a spare $3.

However, the biggest thing for which I can express gratitude is time. These nearly ten months away from work have given me the opportunity to be with my family, through some particularly rough spots, but also some really lovely events. Last weekend, I went home for my cousin’s Sweet Sixteen party and I could really enjoy being there and celebrating with her, as I didn’t have work or other obligations hanging over my head. When my grandpa passed away, I was able to take extra days and weeks to spend with my family; this was invaluable. And now my uncle is coming to visit from England, and I have time to go visit with him, go home and also spend Yom Kippur with my mom and grandma. For all of this, I am so thankful and appreciative. One day I’ll find another job – one that appreciates me and my talents. But one day I suddenly won’t have the opportunity to go back and have all this time, which I would have lost had I been working. The sting of what happened is fading, very slowly, but it won’t stop hurting for years. However, I appreciate and will cherish the time I was given as a result of this hardship.

I’m thankful for the time I have had for myself. Even I know that it has been a little bit too much time and too much isolation. I’m a social person and I like people, feeling productive and contributing. It’s the way of the world that in order to meet people, you generally have to spend money, especially with the activities that I want to do. But I have a lot of gratitude for the space that I have been given, the opportunity to work on improving myself and developing as a writer and as a person, and the fact that I found my own “treats,” like watching Grey’s Anatomy marathons in the afternoon. I have discovered Willa Cather, and started visiting the library again. My driving skills have improved, and I can make a mean dinner with few ingredients. For all this, and the chance to pull myself together emotionally, I am grateful.

Now I’m ready for the next challenge. And will be armed with a better appreciation of details, stronger sense of self and deeper understanding of what is important to me.

This is a running-heavy post. If you are sick of hearing about my running escapades, please stop and go to my archives.

1. From now until the time of the New York Marathon on November 4th, I will be running no less than 10 miles each weekend. At two points, this distance will be 20 miles or over. I don’t know how I feel about that just yet. Initially, all I can think is “how the heck am I going to keep from getting bored?

2. On Sunday, I ran a half marathon. Well, it was 13 miles give or take. And I give because I own and operate the rather prehistoric iPhone 3GS. I know I said I was happy with it, but the dang thing does not accurately do its GPS job, I dropped it and there’s a crack in one corner and in New York or thereabouts, the service royally sucks.

3. This coming Sunday, I am running 15 miles with the New York Road Runners. To keep my and my fellow marathoners-in-training sane, it is likely necessary that we all run en masse at some point. Hence the organized run. Now, I have been training and deeply feel that my estimate of completing 26.2 miles in 5 hours and 30 minutes is wildly overblown. I don’t think this will affect the time at which I start on Sunday, but I hope they’re not insanely strict about starting with one’s “group.” Actually, if I recall correctly, this was one of the rare runs in which I recorded my accurate pace time – best pace time, I might add – of 8:45 per mile. (That’s 8 minutes, kids) Considering the course is hilly, I hope that I can do this for the full whack; the entire event runs 20 miles, I think I’ll stop after 15 as to not be a quivering wreck.

Well, I didn't win Powerball, but I dig the number

4. I miss singing. I miss belting out Broadway showtunes and really letting my voice go. I also found how I can belt out what I like; do a long run in the wilderness (read: Northern New Jersey) starting at 6:30 am on a Sunday. Not only will you be able to run on the road like a normal human being, there will be no one else out except a few friendly bikers who actually wave. They will also be about 95, which is why they are up at such an hour on a Sunday but, hey, kindness is kindness.

5. Running more means one is hungrier. Ravenous, even. I’ve only upped my mileage to just over 20 miles in the past couple of weeks, but there have been points when I’ve been ready to eat my own arm. At these times, anything and nothing is safe. However, extra hunger makes me feel like a crazy pregnant lady (CPL). I want weird things. I hate the sound of normal things. I crave salt and nut butter – and pickles and peanut butter on top of a slice of pizza does not sound like the worst thing in the world. However, I am seriously paranoid about gaining weight. I know I was healthy to begin with, and I can continue to take care of myself, but I hear these horror stories of 10 – 15 pounds from marathon training (!!!!). My two concerns here are: vanity and clothes (I can’t afford a new wardrobe.) Therefore, pizza, pickles and peanut butter will have to wait until maybe just after I finish 26.2 miles and then will wash all that down with a bottle of champagne.

6. I am still fundraising. Everyone who has helped me so far will, in my humble opinion, be running a little bit of the way with me. You can read the story of why I am raising money and how much further I have left to go here. And really, everything helps. Even a “go team!” kind of message. But I’m responsible for whatever I can’t raise organically, so there is a bit of a push….

7. There is no hype concerning chia seeds. Everything you have heard is 100% true. They have lots of fibre, help me feel like an Olympian and – I am CONVINCED – assist performance. If they only washed dishes and had some kind of sex appeal, well, let’s just say I’d be putting a ring on it faster than you can say…

8. Water retention and sweating. I mean, really. Boston wasn’t that much further north of here, but I feel that the weather here is ten million times more humid. Maybe we’re having a weird summer. After all, it was the hottest July on record – I was told, countless times by many, many weather outlets. So who knows? But the other day after my 13 mile run, the tops of my knees were sweating. The tops. And the tops of my arms. And my actual fingers. This can’t be normal.

9. I am grateful for the fact I can move and run and sweat. I am even more grateful for the fact my loved ones are currently healthy and safe. All I can continue to do is to express gratitude for the fact that they are in my life and here. One of my favorite bloggers recently, very suddenly lost her father. I’ve been reading this lady’s blog longer than I’ve been running, and her words and perspective have been instrumental in some of my own mental shifts. This is tough stuff. And my heart goes out to her.

10. Acceptance and gratitude and perseverance do not happen overnight. We all have bad days. But all we can ever do is the best we can with the time that we are given. And all I can hope is that I am doing that, in some small way on a daily basis.

So, 10 miles or more, weekly, over the next just-over two months.

What’s the biggest thing you’ve ever done?

I was talking with my dad yesterday about how Christmas has changed. The feeling of unity, togetherness and memory of the reason behind the holiday – hello, religion – has shifted to a desperate, clawing need to purchase, consume and pump up the masses with an artificial significance. Any Christmas meaning is, I feel, entirely lost when decorations break out in September. No longer does it feel like a holiday to celebrate family, a story, a new life and to remember traditions. The season has become one in which sales are chased, an unattainable perfection is created, and just being and enjoying and appreciating are shelved behind shiny boxes, paper and this fight for the newest, best product.

It’s disgusting, quite frankly. The concept of gift-giving has become so commercial and vile that, if I can help it, I’ve been avoiding malls and bigboxmegastores at all costs. Faceless, nameless brand products, in my opinion, are status markers – a way for people to either show off how well-off they are by owning them, or the amount of money in which they roll, by buying flashy items for others.

I’m not saying that I’m a saint – far from it – but I think that in this mad dash for consumption and need (or media-generated so-called need) to be perfect and buy the best gift at Christmas has taken away from the whole point of gift-giving. We give presents to appreciate one another, to show that we care, to convey respect and, sometimes, just to put a smile on the face of someone with whom we are close. It’s a tradition at this time of year, not a god-given right to buy, buy, buy and spend until we fall into the red, not knowing or caring from where these products are derived

The antithesis to this? Gratitude. Attending to fleetingly lovely moments that bring that magic to life. Remembering that the genuine exists and was not purchased online. And just breathing, relaxing and maintaining awareness of the present, because – as it has happened today, as it happens every day – life shifts and weaves and ends so, so fast.

Running is my main form of exercise, in case that wasn’t instantly apparent. I’d love to cycle more, but a bike is expensive and I’m still in the hole. Swimming is fun, but the Astoria pool isn’t open yet, and I refuse to shell out for a gym membership.

However, I taught myself Pilates and considered myself to be fairly decent at it. Until I went to Sal Anthony’s Movement Salon, that is. This was my second ever experience incorporating machines into a routine I knew and appreciated so well, and let’s just say, I’m hooked.

Source: http://cdn.classtivity.com

Where yoga lengthens, Pilates tones and stretches. Where I feel squashed and tight from a horrendous desk chair, Pilates unties and realigns. And where I find weight training makes muscles heavy, the resistance training here makes me feel strong and lean. I’d go twice a week if I could, but at $22 a class, once is all I have.

Another benefit of Pilates is that it’s another exercise that helps unite the mind and the body. For the hour-long class, I have to focus on posture, form and control. I must be aware of how I am holding myself and positioned on the machines in order to work the right muscles and execute the moves pain-free. It’s incredible, to say the least, and I always leave the studio feeling taller and relaxed.

It also transpired recently that acupuncture is my drug of choice and a form of mental exercise second to none. Not even a long run.

Okay, I don’t exactly mean it’s a drug, but there is something to be said for ancient therapies as opposed to little, cute pills handed over by a stern-faced pharmacist. I was on anti-depressants for years. Coming off of said medication was one of my worst physical experiences, second only to nicotine withdrawal. To this day, I very, very occasionally still feel “jolts” in my brain. This happened with alarming regularity when tapering off this drug or that one. You couldn’t pay me to ever take those things again.

Then, I figured I’d try acupuncture. Or, rather, Kim suggested we book appointments (after three beers) and book them she did. So the following Monday, I found myself faced with a calm, relaxed acupuncturist who also happened to be a runner and a writer.

My expectactions were low. I figured this was like physical therapy, you go one week, don’t see much of a difference, but over time the sum of all treatments makes for a very wonderful whole. With that in mind, I was extremely frank with the man as I sat, legs dangling, on the table which seemed to be a cross between a those weird beds in doctor’s offices and a massage table.

Yes, I was a vegeterian (he assumed vegan). Yes, I had trouble sleeping, vivid dreams and a whole host of other weird issues he seemed to know before I even thought to mention them – physical quirks I thought were just “normal,” I’d experienced them for so long. When he gathered enough information, I was instructed to lie facedown, and was stuck with several needles, only one of which I noticed. After putting Norah Jones on for me to listen to, he left.

And I lay there.

For the first few minutes, nothing happened. I just relaxed and kept breathing. Suddenly, I was met with the overwhelming urge to laugh hysterically and so I did, bearing in mind other patients were in rooms close by. When I caught my breath, I felt cleaner inside, and sighed. I just felt so darn happy all of a sudden, so I lay there, grinning. After a while, an overwhelming sleepiness set in, and I closed my eyes, not quite awake and not quite unconscious either. Just when I was starting to wonder what else was supposed to happen, the acupuncturist came back in, unstuck the needles and sent me on my way with a nice blend of herbs.

For the rest of the day, I floated around Manhattan, more in touch with myself than I had been in years. I felt like I did in Berlin, in England – almost 13 years ago before I moved back to America. That afternoon was just so darn wonderful, not in a manic, cracked-out way, but in that I felt my eyes were opened to how great life is – and I could appreciate this and observe calmly, with gratitude.

I don’t know what the acupuncture is “fixing.” I don’t know what to expect on my next visit – and that’s just fine. However, I am a firm believer in this treatment and know that while life isn’t full of sunbeams and roses 24/7, somehow it’s helped me reach a place I thought I’d lost years ago and left for a haze of anxiety, irritability and anger.

In the wake of the Boston Marathon bombing, I’ve been craving beauty.

I’m not looking for the profoundly beautiful, because right now, I’m just grateful for the opportunity to be out in the bright sunshine and to feel the spring air.

Because after something so awful, the simple is suddenly wonderful, and the mundane becomes cherished.

So I took the train up to Union Square and just went to walk and listen and watch.

Herbs for sale

Super sunny

Hard cider from upstate New York

A place where you can bring your garbage and they make compost

Snapdragons – my grandma showed me how to make them “talk”

Share something in the comments below you have found beautiful this week.

Boston, of course, is still on everyone’s minds, the news and in our hearts. But as one of my friends said “life must go on,” and on it does go, even though everyone affected continues to heal, live in this new normal and somehow slip back into the flow of things.

Every run I go on now, every mile towards the next marathon, I know I will start by expressing gratitude for the mere fact I am running. Saturday’s run was no exception, in fact, despite the wind, the wilderness (I ran in the suburbs) and the totally strenuous terrain, I was grateful for the burn in my legs. I was grateful for the steps I took, moving always forward. And I thought of how fortunate I was to be running and to be safe, when 24 hours before, my friends had SWAT teams in their houses or neighborhoods, were stuck inside and just waiting, unsure, or had just experienced something truly horrible.

So this view, while a far departure from my preferred treks around the city, was still certainly peaceful:

Ah, the suburbs

I was hoping to take two 10-mile loops around what is known as The Great Swamp in Northern NJ and asked my mom’s neighbor, an Ironman and multi-marathoner for the best route. I figured, if she knew something good, then I would certainly be going for it. And for “it” I did go, surrounded by silence, the occasional squawks of random birds and clusters of spandex-sporting cyclists who tended to not be friendly.

I did not expect the hills. I did not expect the nearly two miles of gravel-coated roads she described as a “dirt road”. Now, when one is an Ironman, one has some pretty impressive leg strength. One is used to tough terrain, and pushing to the limit. I am going to ask this woman’s opinion on running on gravel because holy f#%$& it was a workout. My legs ached. My feet were tense. My calves burned. The gravel road seemed to never end, and once or twice I yelled a couple of expletives in frustration, before realizing that I really had nothing to complain about, considering what had happened to runners and spectators at the Boston marathon not even a week ago.

So I kept going. Psychologically, I couldn’t take running over the gravel or those hills again, so I cut short the 20-miler and went for a familiar return route making my run only 16. However, that 16 miles were bursting with more hills, winding paths, a strong wind in my face and the most intense aching pain I have not experienced on a run in over 8 months. There was no single point of ache, everything hurt, and as I hobbled back to my parents’ house, I had a newfound appreciation for anyone who runs in the suburbs on a regular basis.

Fortunately, the rest of the afternoon was spent with my mom to celebrate her birthday weekend – something else for which I was grateful, considering during my 10 years in Boston, we were not able to celebrate together as much as I (and she) would have liked.

And we saw llamas on our way back:

I thought they were horses and it was neat that they were not

Then, after the most magical Thai dinner with all of my family (dad, grandma), I headed back to civilization. And a wonderful surprise awaited.

I won a pair of Asics shoes – my favorite running shoe brand. The brand that changed my mind about running for good. (I used to be a Brooks girl, until they wore out after a month, caused hip and knee pain, and seemed to lack support.)

OMG and they are PURPLE

Thanks to Twitter, I successfully communicated how I felt to be Stronger Than Ever with the hastag #strongerthanever. And so, I won this beautiful, aerodynamic pair of shoes.

That are a half size too small. So, back to the factory they go, and my official review will have to wait a week or two, despite the fact my feel are itching to give them a go.

Tell me what you’re grateful for as we go into this week

I sincerely hope that this past weekend was as beautiful near you as it was in New York City.

It was, if I might be as so bold as to state, the perfect day to run a marathon. And that, dear readers, is exactly what I did.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past year, it’s that if the world tells you that you cannot do something, you turn around and find a way to make it happen. The best example of this will comes in the beautifully packaged form of my dear friend Ilana. She was told that she couldn’t set up her father’s memorial fund, so she went right ahead and made it happen by sheer determination. A hurricane, ridiculous illness and financial difficulty kept telling me that I couldn’t run a sanctioned marathon. So I went ahead and set up and ran my own.

For my marathon on Saturday, I had no adoring fans lining the streets, dedicated volunteers handing me water, or even accurate mile markers. I tracked the route online and then via my phone GPS, my friend’s phone’s GPS and Jenny’s GPS watch (WHICH I NEED.) I didn’t receive a medal at the finish, really cool space blanket thingy or hear strangers calling my name or bib number all along the route.

What I did have was better.

I had the support of running friends who covered portions of the route with me, so I was only totally alone for the very first six miles.
I had Gu gels safety pinned to the inside of my leggings and a Larabar stashed in my weird pouch.
When I hurt more than anything at mile 16, I though of Ilana and her dedication to her dad; her fund was the reason I was even running this in the first place. I had her hard work to honor, and her love and the support of everyone who donated to help me raise the required $3,000.
When my hips were less than happy and my feet throbbed, I had the horrendously too-soon memory the Boston marathon this year to recall. I had to think of all the people who no longer had legs, or feet, or who had been running that awful afternoon and were traumatized; or who had been watching and lost loved ones, or just felt the ache of the attack on the city itself.
When I needed a cheering section, I checked my phone and saw that I’d received text messages from Meghan, Natalie, MeriG and Dave encouraging me along the way.
I had a free ice cream bar dessert from some blessed soul handing out samples in Central Park.
And when I finished, I had the biggest hug I could imagine from Jenny, who then ensured I had water and made it to the train in one piece.

And I ran 26.2 miles. Finally.

There’s a lot to think about, a lot I’m still processing. But I know that I couldn’t have done this without all the amazing, wonderful friends and family in my life and for that, I am eternally grateful.

And I also know, that this is the first marathon of many.