Running at Dawn, Part II

This past weekend I flew to Pittsburgh to visit my parents. Anytime I have a Monday off, I plan a Pittsburgh trip, and since my one of my sisters and her family live in Cleveland, a mere two hour drive from my parents' house, it's usually a two for one deal, which suits me just fine. I get antsy if I can't see my parents and my sister at least once a month.

And since my sister had a baby - and my very first niece - last year, I have been making these trips far more often to smother this little girl with presents and love.

Can't get enough of this face

It was a fabulous weekend, as they always are.

But the thing about traveling right now is that I am training for a half-marathon this coming May, so I am starting to run some pretty long distances. And, since training doesn't care about trips, late nights, or changes in schedule, I knew I had to get a run in while I was in Pittsburgh. A six mile run to be exact.

Since we had planned to drive to Cleveland on Sunday morning for the day, I didn't have much of a choice but to wake up for a 6am run before we left.

So I did.

It seems that I have a bit of an affinity for early morning runs these days, because after the shock and slight annoyance of my alarm going off at the crack of dawn, I thoroughly enjoyed my morning run through my favorite city in the world. It had snowed a couple inches on Saturday night, and flurries were still falling as I made my way out of the house.

For a long while I was the only one out on the roads, except for a few other runners who were obviously training for the same race I am.

And, since I love Pittsburgh, and especially love running Pittsburgh, I couldn't help but capture some shots of the stillness and beauty of my early morning jaunt.

Running at Dawn

The pounding of my running shoes was the only sound in the still dawn, until I heard the beeping. I ran towards it, unable to find the source, knowing only that the shrill noise had knocked me off my stride.

In my confusion, I tripped over a crack in the street, but before I could hit the ground, I was swimming through murky black towards the noise that got louder and louder.

Until.

I snapped into consciousness and fumbled for my alarm in the dark, eyes still closed. 

Dreaming, I realized, incredibly disappointed to find that I was still in bed and hadn't, in fact, gone for my run yet. But now it was time.

The three miles looming ahead of me might as well have been three hundred for how insurmountable it seemed as I struggled to unravel myself from the toasty tangle of blankets.

My desperation to reset the alarm and sleep another hour bordered on painful, and even as I swung my legs over the side of the bed, I bargained with myself. I could sleep this morning and run tomorrow. I could run Wednesday and Friday instead of Tuesday and Thursday. But even in my exhaustion I knew that argument was a slippery slope. With a marathon looming in the distance, routine was critical.

Up, I ordered myself.

Get dressed.

With an ease born from many mornings picking my way through a pitch black bedroom, I pulled on the running clothes I had laid out the night before.

With a last longing look at my bed piled with pillows and my still-sleeping husband, I left the room.

I floated down the stairs in a cloud of exhaustion and laced up the running shoes that I left right in front of the door. When one gets up before the sun, it is best to leave little to chance.

The street was silent, all the windows still dark as I began to run.

My legs were heavy with fatigue, and my lungs burned as I breathed in the frigid winter air. I fought for every step as I slogged my way through the miles.

I huffed and puffed up the hills, thinking of a hot shower. Hot coffee. More sleep.

Strange pains pricked my knees, shins and feet and I wondered why I subjected myself to this cruel early-morning torture three times a week. I thought how exhausted I would be all day long, and cursed my job for its long hours, leaving me no choice but to run at this ungodly hour of the morning.

But as I rounded the corner towards home, I saw the sun, a brilliant ball of fire, rising in the sky. Wild bursts of color dotted the horizon. Alone on the still quiet street, I stopped for a second to watch, my fatigue slowly draining away.

I felt strong. Powerful. Fierce.

I am a runner.

And a voice inside my head whispered, "this is why."

I ran the last few yards to my house, ready to face the day.

A Reminder of Happiness and Love

Forget flowers? No problem, if you live in NYC.
Just buy them on the street.

Happy Valentine's Day romance lovers!

Single, in a relationship or married, I have been a pretty big fan of this day ever since I discovered romance novels almost fifteen years ago. What I loved about the romance novel, almost instantly, was that I knew that, without a doubt, I would be happy when the book ended. Two wildly good-looking people would discover that they were perfect for each other, and would go on to live happily ever after. And if, by chance, the book was part of a trilogy, as most of my favorites are, than we would get to see this wildly good-looking couple live happily-ever after beyond the confines of their own story. About as perfect as you can get.

There is so much sadness and hate everywhere these days. You can't read a newspaper or turn on the news without hearing something guaranteed to make you cringe, which is why I almost never do either of those things unless I absolutely have to.

When I open the New York Times I only read stories like this one, about 97 year old Ada Bryant and 86 year old Robert Haire, who were married last month after meeting in a Retirement Community. Because how can you not smile at their most unusual love story and while reading sentences like "The bride, 97, is keeping her name."

Leave the sadness for someone else, just give me the happy please.

So I have always liked this day. This day that celebrates love, and romance, and happiness. I get the arguments against it. You shouldn't need a day to tell the people close to you that you love them, love should be celebrated every day, and blah, blah, blah. But, we're human, and we're busy and tired and occasionally pretty self-focused. And sometimes, we need a little reminder to appreciate the people in our lives.

Romance novels, and Valentine's Day, for me, are that reminder. To focus on love and happiness. To value the idea of being inextricably connected with another person, be it a partner, spouse, sibling, or friend. We live in a big bad world, and grabbing some time to focus on goodness in our lives can never hurt.

And today, that reminder is everywhere. This morning when I woke up, I decided to have a little treat in honor of this delightful day, and I thought that a couple donut holes along with my regular coffee and romance novel would be just the thing. But when I made my habitual stop at Dunkin Donuts on the way to the train, there were no donut holes, there was only this:

Only heart-shaped donuts on the menu today

I've read enough already this morning to know that its popular, and fashionable even, to grumble about this heart shaped day. But I think maybe it's time to shift focus. To make this day about celebrating the miracle of the connections in our lives, be they romantic or otherwise. To focus on the people who make our lives happier, richer, and infinitely worth living. 

And, if you're so inclined, while you are appreciating all those people, grab yourself a pink, heart-shaped and frosted snack this morning. 

I already did, and it was glorious.

Snow!

It's been such a hectic week, I didn't even get a chance to write about this past weekend's epic snowstorm. Now, you know how much I love winter, and I dearly love a good snow, but this winter has been pretty disappointing so far since that random freak storm at the beginning of November.

Well, last weekend made up for it in spades.

From the way the news was talking about the impending blizzard, you would think that the apocalypse was near. I know that after Sandy the Northeast is a little weather-wary, but honestly, this is winter. It snows. Sometimes it snows a lot. No need to stockpile canned goods and bottled water.

I did head to the grocery store on Thursday night to buy our special snow day snacks. When I was growing up and it would snow (which living in Pittsburgh, it did, and often), my mom would have special treats for us when we came in from playing outside, and I saw no reason not to carry that tradition into my adult life. So I stocked up on hot chocolate, ice cream, and stuff to make cookies and grilled cheese. The basics, you know?

When I woke up Friday morning, it was already snowing. In the city it was still all rain, but in the northern suburbs, the accumulation had begun.

By the time I left my office at 2, after the powers that be closed the office early, the city was a slushy, cold mess, and I hobbled my way to Grand Central Station for the train home. There wasn't much snow yet, but the second the train crossed into Westchester County, the world turned white, the roads were a disaster, and I had to clean off my car before I could drive it home.

Messy Roads

Good thing I bought an SUV

I learned to drive in Florida, and don't have a whole lot of snow driving experience, so I still get a little uneasy when this is happening outside my car:

Anyway, I made it home unscathed, and we settled in for a night of howling winds and falling snow. And we weren't disappointed. We woke up in the morning to blue skies, frigid air, and a sparkling white world.

This is what 22 inches of snow looks like on my back porch.
There are steps under there somewhere

We own a house now, so instead of sitting back and letting someone else clear the sidewalks, we realized pretty quickly that it was our responsibility, so we got the shovels out and got to work. Unfortunately, the plows on our street decided that the top of our driveway was an excellent place to deposit all the snow they plowed off the street, so we had a little work ahead of us. It took both of us, and two hours, but we finally dug everything out.

And even though I stuck close to home on Saturday, nothing would do but that I take my Sunday morning run through the still snowy streets.

The only problem with the snow? There was too much of it to melt all the way in the 40 degree temperatures we have had the past couple of days, so unfortunately, all that glorious white snow I loved so much now looks like this:

Major yuck, and with the roller-coaster temperatures and a little more wet snow on the way tonight, I think this mess will be sticking around for awhile. Too bad it can't stay white and beautiful forever right?

City Lights

As I approached the exit for 125th Street, the city lights gleamed in welcome.

I was alone in my car, driving down the West Side Highway en route to Manhattan from our new house in White Plains. It was certainly not my first trip back since the move; I take the train to the city every weekday for work. It wasn't even my first weekend trip just for fun. But it was the first time I found myself in the driver's seat, and the first time I made the drive alone.

And it felt strange. Unnatural, even. Because when Manhattan was my home, I rarely left to go north. And when I did, I was never the one driving. So steering my brand new car towards NYC was one more sign of a fact that has been harder than I anticipated to accept.

I don't live here anymore.

For a minute, the white lines of the highway blurred as the reality of my new life washed over me.

Saturday night in the city had seemed like a great idea when I made the plans on Thursday night with my best friend. Manicures and dinner. Just like we did for the seven years we both lived on the Upper West Side, mere blocks from each other. Only now, neither of us lived there, and as I approached my exit, I wondered if going back that night was the right thing.

In the three months since my move, I had begun to like my new place quite a lot. The people were friendly, we had a great house on which we had begun to make our mark, and the town was the exact balance of urban and suburban that was a must for two people who had spent nearly a decade living in the busiest city in the world.

But I had come to realize in the past three months that it takes a long time - longer than I ever expected - for a house to become a home. And I learned that it is possible to be, at the same time, excited and hopeful for what lies ahead, and incredibly sad for what was left behind.

And it was the sadness that clung to me as I steered my car off the exit and back into my old neighborhood. I found a parking spot quickly, and, with half an hour to kill, I began to walk the streets I used to call my own.

The brightly lit windows along Broadway beckoned passers-by, offering warmth and welcome, but I continued to walk. Ice crunched under my feet and the bitter cold wind seared my cheeks as I wandered alone around the place that used to be mine.

On every corner I saw myself. As a fresh college graduate, wide-eyed and new to the big city. Walking with my best friends in heels that were far too impractical for the city streets. Carrying a bag filled with heavy law books, on my way to one cafe or another. Strolling hand-in-hand with the man I would marry. Celebrating our engagement. As a newly-wed.

This is the place that made me. These city streets tell my story.

But as I passed a store unfamiliar to me - a store that opened after I left - I realized that they don't tell my whole story. That there is a new chapter to be written, on the streets of a different city, not all that far away from where I stood.

And the clutch that had made itself at home under my heart since I moved away eased, just a little.

When I got in my car to leave at the end of the night, the car was facing south, towards my old street. And for a minute, I considered driving a few blocks out of my way to ride past my old apartment building. To stay on the Upper West Side just a few minutes longer.

But instead, I turned the car around, and headed north, towards home.

Happy Blogaversary to Me!

Monday. In case you missed it, over the weekend there was a huge snowstorm in the Northeast. We were buried under about two feet in my neighborhood on Friday night, and spend much of the rest of the weekend digging out. I love a good snowstorm, and this one was particularly epic. But more about that - with pictures - later in the week.

Because today, I have some rather important business to attend to. Yesterday, was a pretty important day. One I feel compelled to mention, and to write about. On February 10, 2012 - one year and one day ago - I started this blog on a whim. It was a dreary Friday afternoon, and I wasn't busy. I had been toying with the idea of writing seriously for some time, and that rainy Friday seemed as good a time as any. So in the space of an hour, I went from regular person, to blogger.

At first, I didn't have too many readers. My family, of course, but that was about it. But still, I wrote. And the more I wrote, the more I needed to write. The words just poured out of my head, and there always seemed to be more. And I read. I discovered other blogs I liked, and bloggers I respected, and I haunted their sites daily. And reading made me a better writer.

And then, about six months into this blogging gig something happened. This past August I linked up a piece I had written with the Yeah Write weekly challenge, and it was there that I discovered my community. And through them, I truly found my voice. I met other smart and talented writers, and, although we have never met in person, they became my friends. All online, we have learned about each others families, offered a hand and a shoulder in times of challenge, supported each other through Hurricane Sandy (because, amazingly, many of these lovely ladies live mere minutes from me), shared funny blizzard stories, and became a kind of family. And for them, I am incredibly grateful.

So, one year later, here I am. Writing, growing, learning, and changing. Just the way it should be. Over the weekend, I was going through my old posts trying to find a way to sum up the past 365 - now 366 - days. And rather than write more words about what this space means to me, I thought I would do a quick run down of my favorite post or two from each of the past twelve months.

Thanks for sticking with me for a whole year. Looking forward to year two.

February 2012

During my first month, I wrote about coming from a family of women who love books, and I wrote about how I can live anywhere as long as I have my romance novels in tow.

March

I was training for my first half-marathon when I started this blog, and one morning in March I had a completely transcendental run, followed almost immediately by an absolutely disastrous run.

April

In April, I took a trip to Israel, and discovered that Israeli women like romance novels too, and I explained my number one rule when I choose the books I read.

May

I recapped my first half-marathon in May, and I read the book Quiet, by Susan Cane, and wrote about how it completely changed my life.

June

In June, I finally read Fifty Shades of Grey, and to my utter astonishment, I really didn't like it.

July

This month I celebrated David's birthday, and the triumphant return of the Summer Olympics.

August

I wrote my very first post for Yeah Write about some very special shoes, and got a little political on the eve of the Republican National Convention.

September

In September, I wrote my very first fiction, and started thinking about our move away from Manhattan that would take place in a few short months.

October

In October, an article CNN published about how women vote based on their monthly cycles infuriated me, and I said goodbye to my favorite place on earth with a post that still makes me tear up every time I read it.

November

I embarked on a 30 day blogging challenge in November, and wrote about my first date with David, in two parts.

December

My mind was on Newtown and Sandy Hook Elementary School in December, and I wrote about gun control, and the comfort of Jewish tradition.

January

And this past month, I celebrated my thirtieth birthday, and remembered a trip I took to crazy-town just a few years ago.

February 2013

Just last week, I wrote about my new morning routine that I love, and tried my hand at a little more fiction.