You're Allowed a U-turn

I forgot to include one of the best moments in my Cottage Lake Triathlon recap.

As we waited for the age-group award ceremony to start, I chatted with my mom's partner, Don, about the race. Don has been a part of my life since I was about 16, so he's watched me grow up, go off to college, get my first big-girl job and all that fun stuff.

Here's roughly what he said to me:

"You should be really, really proud of yourself. I remember when, not too long ago, your favorite things to do were shopping, watching TV and drinking. Now, you do this stuff. You've changed the course of your whole life."

Don and I have not had the easiest relationship over the years, so it meant a lot for him to say this and let me know he was proud of me.

But on top of that, I got to thinking about what he said about the course of my life. My goals now are incredibly different from what they were during the shopping, TV-watching, drinking-my-face-off period he referred to (also known as college). My entire future is different.

At 22, my only real goal was to get a good job. Once I got that job, I was at a loss for what to do next. I lived at my mom's house (because I was deep in debt) and spent all my time working, commuting (an hour each way), watching TV and sleeping. My weekends were spent drinking with friends. Oh, and my weeknights were spent drinking alone.

I followed the "fill your plate with carbs" eating plan and paired my dinner with a bottomless glass of wine each night. (When your wine comes from a box, it's easy to lose track of how many glasses you've had.)

One night, I had trouble sleeping and woke up the next day feeling like a zombie. I realized that I hadn't had any wine that night. My body wasn't used to falling asleep sober and couldn't relax on its own — a sign of dependence.

This scared the hell out of me.

At the time, I did nothing that gave me personal fulfillment outside of work, so I filled that emptiness with food, TV and booze. I suspect many people do this for years and years. I only did it for a few months.

Then I made a U-turn.

This is actually a sign that I pass on my way to work each day. It got me thinking about what it takes to change your course, whether on the road or in your life. It requires you to admit to yourself that you're headed the wrong way. And oftentimes, your turning around will attract others' attention to that fact.

It's tough to admit that you're not going the direction you'd like to be going. People are ashamed to admit that they're overweight or in debt. They'd rather pretend that everything is just fine than acknowledge that they're unhappy with their job. And many rationalize the path they're on because they've already invested lots of time and/or money into that course and they feel like they have to see it through.

Guess what? You're allowed to make a U-turn.

Think about what you want for your life. Where would you like to be in a few years? Will you get there by continuing to do what you do now?

I made conscious decisions to pay off my debt, get off the couch and quit hitting the box o' wine so hard. To do that, I had to admit to myself that I had screwed up a bit and that my life was headed in a bad direction.

I decided I wanted more for myself than what I was headed toward, which was lifelong debt, misery, poor health and alcoholism. The idea of that tragic future was far worse than the bitter taste of swallowing my pride and starting over in a new direction.

Maybe you've already spent $80,000 earning a degree in X, but now you realize you really want to do Y. Maybe you've spent several years earning promotions and raises at a good job, but you'd really like to leave it all behind to travel. It seems like a shame to give up those money and time investments — to backtrack, in a way — but is it really worth staying on a certain path only to be miserable, wishing you'd done something different?

You can't go back and change what you've done up to this point, but you do have a say in everything from right now on. The course of your life isn't something that's already laid out; you're the one who gets to direct it... and redirect it... and redirect it again, as much as you need to.

Don't be like I was a few years ago, sitting around waiting for something to happen that will change your life. If you are headed in the wrong direction, you're allowed a U-turn.

All you need is the guts to take it.

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On Letting Go

Yesterday, I had the best intentions. I was going to get through my first day back at work after a four-day weekend, then do a 9-mile bike ride and a 2-mile run to prepare for the same distances I'll be racing in this Saturday's triathlon.

Of course, things did not go to plan. My (much-needed-by-me) absence yesterday meant piles of work awaited me today. I arrived home late, feeling tired, hungry and well-aware that my legs were not ready to get back in the game after what I put them through on Monday.

It would've been too much to ask of them, so I chose not to ask.

We — my legs and I — decided that chocolate-chip pancakes, a cold beer, a stint in the hammock and a copy of The Hunger Games was what we needed.

We are very, very smart.

It's easy to see why The Hunger Games is so popular. I'm just over halfway through the book and tearing through the pages every chance I get. It's nice to be reading again, and even nicer to be doing so while also granting myself permission to relax, which is not always easy for me to do.

The warm, clear evening made my reading time so pleasant, and I continued to devour the book as dusk settled. I read past the point of darkness that would cause my mom to warn, "You'll ruin your eyes!"

But I pressed on, just wanting to make a good thing last.

I finally gave up and dog-eared my place, setting down the book and letting my eyes relax. Whatever I was missing on the next page faded away as I embraced a different kind of enjoyment. The subtle swaying of my hammock, the stillness of the air, the last watercolor streaks of sunlight melting into the horizon — all quietly began to settle into the void, like an ocean wave rushing to fill a hole dug in the sand.

I watched the sky as darkness enveloped what was left of my reading light. I was, in a way, still sad to see it go, even though I knew it would disappear all along.

This is when I felt a familiar feeling, one that you'll instantly know as soon as I describe it — the feeling that something has crept up from inside you and clutched at your throat, squeezing it to the point that you know crying is inevitable. You can try to swallow it and blink past the tears, but even so, the sting will remain for a while.

This is not the knee-jerk reaction you have when you slice your finger or stub a toe. This is what the very deepest hurts feel like.

***

It is difficult to walk away from a good thing. The easy thing, almost always, is to keep doing whatever you're doing. The hard thing is to realize that something must change.

To make this decision is not simply to choose one thing over another, but to commit to sending ripples through all facets of an otherwise peaceful situation. It means disappointing people. Losing relationships. Ruining plans. Breaking hearts. Uprooting yourself from someplace comfortable, and leaving a void that will forever change the landscape of your life.

All in the name of doing what you know, somehow, is right.

I recently made one of these decisions — hence that throat-clutching feeling. Beforehand, I thought about all of the ripples I would send out, weighing each one and fearfully imagining what impact they'd have on some things in my life that I care very deeply about. Eventually my fears sent ripples of their own, which only grew the longer I let those fears bounce around.

Here, on the other side of that decision, I see that some of my fears have come true. I have lost my best friend. My world is that much quieter and lonelier. My throat stings more than I would like it to.

But there are some things I never considered, like this quiet evening in the hammock, that rush in like that ocean wave to slowly, gently fill in the void.

Jenny Blake, who recently quit her job to become self-employed, wrote: "Fears are so much smaller on the other side. Prior to my decision to leave, my fears rang in my ears so loud I could barely hear myself think. ... Now that I'm on the other side, my mind is quiet again. ... I am not afraid."

I knew the darkness would come, yet I longed to hold onto the evening's light for as long as possible. Then I let go.

Last night, I lay curled in the hammock until I saw the first pinprick in the sky — a star, followed by many others, that seemed to pop out of nowhere. It's hard to remember, sometimes, that they are there all along.

You can only see them when all the other lights have gone out.

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Advice For Myself

Get up when the first alarm rings. We both know the second alarm is a lost cause.

Say "good morning" and "thank you" to everyone.

Make a decision. Any decision. Don't second-guess.

Take more photos. Especially of people and animals. They make you the happiest.

Forgive yourself early and often.

Go to the library. Wander around and pluck about five interesting-looking books off the shelves. Read them. Remember how happy this used to make you when you did it all the time.

Buy a hammock. Set it up in the sun. Nap.

Be gracious when responding to a compliment. Don't undercut the gesture by pointing out something negative.

Make funny faces at babies. It's hilarious, every time.

Keep going to the pool. Bring the fire to the slow lane.

Create a Facebook fan page. Don't be afraid that no one will "Like" it (or like it). Nobody can like it either way if it's not there.

Stretch.

Enjoy a good beer once a week. Make sure it's really cold.

Compile and print all the nice emails, comments and tweets you've received. Refer to them when you feel like what you have to say doesn't matter.

Don't be afraid to ask.

The emergency bag of chocolate chips you have in the pantry is an excellent idea. Keep that going.

Print, frame and hang your favorite photos. It's long overdue, and they deserve it.

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The Only Thing You Need to Run

I have plenty of co-workers who are interested in my running and periodically ask how my training for this or that is going. (Side note: I realized today that I'm currently training for a marathon, a half-marathon and a triathlon. I'm insane.)

I'm happy to chat about running with anyone, but I notice many times that the person I'm talking with will say something like, "I'd love to be a runner, but I can't because..."

It doesn't really matter what they say; I just smile and nod and say, "Yeah, I once thought that, too."

I'm not a born athlete. I never played sports growing up. I dreaded running the mile in P.E. class. I "ran" track in junior high, but I did sprints (poorly) and the high jump (semi-adequately). I eventually quit because there was — get this — too much running involved.

In college, I once attempted to run from my freshman dorm to Gas Works Park. I burned out halfway there and had to turn around.

"Halfway there" was about half a mile. I was so discouraged by this incident that I never made a second attempt.

So why am I, of all people, now able to run while others think they can't?

My friend Ben Davis recently posted this statement on his blog:

Not everyone has to run. If you don't want to run, don't run!

But if you want to run and think you can't, I can tell you right now that you only need one thing to run... or bike... or swim... or do whatever it is that you think you can't do — and it's this:

The only thing you need is the will to walk out of your front door and do it.

OK, so you technically need a pair of sneakers, but hey, some people run barefoot! The point is that there are a million excuses for why someone can't do something. The one thing that sets those who can apart from those who can't is that they do it.

To be a runner, you don't have to be fast. You don't have to race. You don't have to run a marathon. A lot of people let these all-or-nothing excuses get in the way of simply starting.

It's called paralyzed perfectionism, and it's my middle name (disguised for paperwork as "Alexandra"). I almost didn't graduate high school because of it.

Paralyzed perfectionism goes really well with those "can't" excuses. Here's a great example:

"Obviously I can never do a triathlon. My swimming form is terrible."

Hey — I'm signed up for a triathlon that's about a month away. I haven't been swimming since this photo was taken! My "form" is exactly the same (underwater robot?). I also don't have access to a pool, don't have a one-piece swimsuit to train in, don't have goggles, don't have a swim cap, and don't really know where to get started on this swimming thing. I won't be able to do it perfectly.

But I can do it, and I will, because I care enough to try.

There's so much equipment that goes hand-in-hand with sports, and people get so caught up with it as being integral to their success. I don't really need all that swimming stuff I just mentioned; I could just fling myself into the nearest body of water and get to work.

A suit, goggles and swim cap won't help me learn how to swim. Flinging myself into the water will.

I have all the stuff that every serious runner has: great shoes, a GPS watch, a fuel belt, special running clothes and more. But none of that stuff actually gets me out of my front door. Only I can do that.

There are still lots of things I subconsciously tell myself I "can't" do, but really just haven't cared enough to try:

• I "can't" wake up earlier so I can be less rushed each morning.
• I "can't" find the time to cook complete, healthy meals instead of just grabbing whatever is easiest.
• I "can't" keep my room clean and my clothes put away.
• I "can't" start regularly posting on this blog three times per week.

These are all things that frustrate me, and it's great to realize that I can change each of them if I really try. I won't be able to start magically doing all these things perfectly, but, as much as I can, I just have to jump out of bed... plan out those meals... put away crap as I go... and write, dammit!

I remember that day in college when I struggled to run a half-mile and I see how far I've come... literally. I've run more than 300 miles so far this year, and I'll add another 400+ before the year is out.

The reason 24-year-old me can do what 18-year-old me couldn't even fathom is simply because I now care enough to do it, and I don't worry about "failing" as a runner. And if this running thing is any indication, I can do a whole lot better at a whole lot of other things.

Time to fling myself into the water.

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What have you avoided doing because you've feared you would fail? What do you want to start caring more about today?

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In the Silence, I Notice

I used to run with music. I'd spend hours choosing songs for race playlists, making them exactly XX minutes long to match my goal time and placing the most motivational songs where I knew I'd need them most.

But I haven't run with music at all in 2011. And now, instead of having XX minutes of empty airspace to fill, I have one or two hours of silence to endure.

What changed?

I first ditched music when I ran the Resolution Run 5K and Polar Bear Plunge on New Years Day. The course dipped into Lake Washington just before the finish line, and I couldn't really submerge my iPod in the 40-degree water, so I went without it. Since then, I've run completely music-free.

While out on my final half-marathon training run last week, I realized why I like to run without music: Because in the silence, I notice.

I notice how the rhythm of my breath settles in with the cadence of my footsteps. I notice if my body is struggling to keep up or if it wants to push harder. I notice what my thoughts are, if I'm angry or stressed or pleased about my workday.

I'm really good at burying inconvenient feelings and distracting myself by keeping busy. When I ran with music, I'd anticipate that running would be unpleasant, so I went in armed with a distraction to keep my mind occupied and deflect the unpleasantness.

But then I forgot how nice it is to feel, even if the feeling isn't good.

Running is my time to notice. Even if my body runs quickly, my mind slows down. It takes a good look around — at the trail I'm running on and at myself — and sees more in 30 minutes that it has all day.

I'm still plenty guilty of distracting myself. I'm always glued to my smartphone when I ride the bus, and I often surf the Web while watching TV (essentially distracting myself from a distraction).

But I have running, and I sometimes go to yoga — not because I love sun salutations, but because the instructor always starts by asking us to relax, close our eyes and notice our thoughts.

I recently ran an 8:16 mile (which is fast for me) from the gym back to my house after an intense 75-minute power-yoga class. Even though I was tired, I felt ridiculously light and relaxed. I flew.

I had just lost a loved one the previous day and my mind had been backed up with sadness and worry. Yoga will never fix everything or bring a person back, but that night, it helped me acknowledge those feelings and then clear them out a bit.

Sadness and worry that go unnoticed don't go anywhere.

It's always nice to be noticed. Don't you appreciate it when someone compliments your new haircut or sends an email to thank you for something small that you did? They noticed. It feels good to matter to someone, even just a little bit.

Do you notice what you're thinking or how you're really feeling very often? How much do you matter to yourself?

It may sound selfish to focus on yourself like that, but I know what it's like to let buried feelings build up until they explode. It's not good. The last time I let that happen, I was unable to sit at my desk at work without crying. I found it impossible to look in the mirror and muster a genuine smile. I couldn't answer "yes" to the question, "Are you OK?"

It was all so unlike me, and it was scary as hell.

The worst part was that I had no idea why I felt that way. My "everything's fine" attitude had pushed every inconvenient thought and feeling straight to the back of my mind, where they all piled up and festered for months. I failed to notice how stressed, anxious and overwhelmed I had become until it all boiled over.

It's easy to be distracted and let some of the most important stuff go unnoticed. I'm no psychologist or anything, but I've been doing better. Here's what works for me.

Turn something off — whatever it is that distracts you the most.

Pay attention to your thoughts. Go for a walk, close your eyes for a few minutes at your desk or just stare out the window for a while.

Acknowledge the inconvenient stuff. Let your fear, anxiety, self-doubt or whatever come to the surface.

Clear it out when you're ready. What can you change? What must you accept? What can you stop worrying about today? Sometimes just thinking about it is enough; other times, you may need to write it down, confide in a friend or talk to a professional.

And make room for more good stuff. My stomach and my mind agree: It's always worth it to make some room for good stuff.

It all starts with noticing.

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Self-Doubt and the Running Groove

I love running, but when I slack on it for even a few days, I progressively lose motivation to return to it. Self-doubt starts to creep in, and I weirdly think that I've lost too much of my fitness to jump right back into a running routine.

I really need to stop underestimating myself.

I just went nine days without running (and spent the past three of those days being sick) and was very hesitant to go for my first run last night.

Would I struggle through the whole thing? Would I be super slow? Would I hate it?

I'm happy to report the answer was "no" on all counts.

I actually did a really fast run (for me), averaging an 8:42 pace over 3 miles. And I'm not even exaggerating when I say that by the second step of this run, I remembered why I love running so much.

Despite my lack of training and my recent sickness, my body was instantly happy to be running again. My legs just kinda carried me along. I did get side cramps that I wouldn't normally get on such a short run, and that's a sign that I have lost a little fitness — but it wasn't the end of the world.

I constantly doubt myself and worry about unnecessary things, especially when I can easily compare myself to others. With running, I can compare times and feel slow despite having run a new personal best. With photography, I can think I've taken a great photo, but then look at someone else's photo and feel inadequate.

Karen Walrond, an absolutely stunning photographer, said at WDS that comparing yourself to others is a colossal waste of time. When you make comparisons, she said, you judge your insides against others' outsides. I have no idea how many years that super-fast runner has spent training, or how long that photographer has carefully practiced shooting. The comparison isn't fair at all, so why bother?

This shirt helps remind me that my efforts are worthy, even if they aren't the "best." They're the best for me, and that's what counts. I'm glad that I overcame my self-doubt and completed a run that I'm really proud of.

Here's another one to be proud of: This morning, I did my longest run ever — 11 miles, 1:48:13, 9:50 pace.

I felt great through mile 9, and then was kinda like, "Eff this!" for the last two miles. They were rough. My mind and body were breaking down. But I pushed myself and finished, and two weeks from today, I'll throw 2.1 more miles on top of that as I run my first half-marathon.

I'll try to stay in the running groove for the next two weeks by sticking to the DetermiNation training plan, which includes running, strength training and cross-training (I do yoga — my gym has free classes), and also by eating healthy and getting enough sleep!

Here's today's small-but-delicious haul from Whole Foods. A lot of people refer to that store as "Whole Paycheck," which I can agree with, but I think the fresh, organic produce is worth the cost. You only get one body! God knows I've put enough crap into mine that I could stand to make up for it.

I've only recently started really enjoying and craving cereal. I've eaten cereal dry my whole life because I hate the taste of cow's milk, so I never really got what all the fuss was about cereal.

In the last few months, I've realized I love cereal with soy milk. Hurrah! A whole new world has opened up for me.

My stomach was a bit off after the run, and this was the only thing I felt like eating. Yum, yum, yum. Let the food porn continue.

That brings an end to this extremely random running post. If you're interested in keeping up with my training, I blog almost daily at Dev On Running. Otherwise, I'll post an occasional running update here — the next one will be about the ass-kicking I give the Seattle Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon.

No self-doubt, remember? : D

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An Unhurried Life

I came to the World Domination Summit wanting to learn more about traveling. I knew I wanted to see the world, and for the first time actually believed I could. I grew up thinking it would never be possible for me to wander because money was tight growing up, and I’ve always had my sights simply set on getting into a good college so I could land a good job.

I went to a good college. I have that good job. Now I realize I owe more to myself.

The trouble I had with the idea of traveling was that I wouldn’t know what to do with myself once I landed somewhere on the other side of the world.

I move quickly. I tend to find the fastest route and hurry along, focusing on the task of getting to wherever it is I need to be. I’m one of those people who gets really, really frustrated when caught behind a pack of slow walkers.

So would my travels just be a blur of landmarks and food carts between destinations? What’s the point of that?

On Sunday morning, I awoke in my hotel room with a massive slight hangover. My new group of WDS friends had a fabulous, rowdy, laughter-filled Saturday night out on the town, and it had been a very long time since I’d had one of those.

Despite the fact that I had to be at the Portland Art Museum at 9:00 for the first talk of the day, I moved slowly, ordering room service and otherwise dilly-dallying around.

What’s unusual about this for me is that I acknowledged that I had somewhere to be, yet I didn’t feel anxious about getting there. I wasn’t rushed. I decided that I would get there when I got there, and that would be it.

There was such a stillness in the streets of Portland that morning. I set out on my several-block walk to the museum and for the first few minutes saw… nobody. It was just me, the quiet brick sidewalks and the morning sunlight filtering gently through tree-lined streets.

It was stunningly peaceful and beautiful. I took my time, enjoying the atmosphere and stopping to take pictures of whatever I felt like. Once I took a few shots of some metal barricades left over from the previous night’s parade, then continued walking. I realized about five steps away that I’d like to go back and try shooting a different angle. I would usually keep walking, but this morning, I turned back.

I had time.

I was utterly happy on this walk. Sure, I’d had a great time meeting new friends and enjoying delicious food the whole weekend, but this was something different. This was me really being alone with myself for the first time in a very, very long time. This was me feeling like I was exactly where I was supposed to be, doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing.

I realized that this was what I wanted for myself: An unhurried life. A life in which I could go at my own pace and give myself permission to take time for small pleasures. A life in which I wasn’t anxious about always moving from place to place, but rather was content with this place – wherever that may be at any moment.

My job dictates deadlines as often as every 15 minutes. My beloved running hobby drives me to push for ever-faster times, ever more satisfying PRs. My most cringe-worthy attitude flaw, I think, is my impatience, both with myself and with other people. I’m always, always, always rushing. No wonder I had a panic attack in April that left me flattened for two days.

When I reached the museum, I was so overwhelmed with the idea of living a joyful, unhurried life that I couldn’t go in. I ended up being just a few minutes late, and I wouldn’t have missed much of the first presentation, but I realized that nothing that was said in that museum could have possibly meant more to me at that moment than just sitting quietly by myself in the small park across the street.

I spent about 20 minutes in that park, alternately shooting photos and dabbing at tears – the good kind. I spent at least 5 minutes taking photos of a single tree, following an ant with my zoom lens.

A man not affiliated with the conference approached me and said, in a friendly, curious way, “What is so interesting about that tree?”

Nothing or everything, depending on how hard you’re looking. I had just opened my eyes.

When I finally entered the museum, I sat on the floor in the back of the full room. Somehow I ended up saying hi to the man sitting next to me, and I talked with him through the entire Mondo Beyondo presentation about what I’d just experienced.

That man, as it happens, was Leo Babauta. Although I was a complete stranger to him, he hugged me at least three times as I told my story.

Photo by Armosa Studios

Chatting with Leo Babauta about such a life revelation is like being able to discuss cookie-decorating ideas with Martha Stewart. Talk about feeling like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, doing exactly what you’re supposed to be doing.

I wrote "unhurried" on my wrist as part of a conference exercise, and the word remained with me Sunday and Monday. (Leo was my partner in this exercise, and he wrote Joyfear on his arm.)

The emotional intensity of the conference magnified this experience for me, and I saw it as a critical shift in my attitude.

Sunday night at the WDS afterparty, hundreds of "thirsty" partygoers far exceeded the capacity of the small bar and single bartender, yet I didn't mind one bit waiting in the 20-minute line. Instead of becoming impatient and fiddling with my phone, I spent the time getting to know two new people I would have otherwise never met that weekend. We shared our favorite moments of the conference, as well as our goals for the next few years.

In a short period of idleness during which I would normally have shut down, I was able to connect on a deep level with two perfect strangers. What have I been missing all this time due to my impatience and hurriedness?

When I returned to Seattle, exhausted and happy, I had to catch a bus from downtown to head home. I checked my favorite app to see when the next bus would come, and actually smiled when I saw that it was 15 minutes away. Normally any wait longer than 10 minutes frustrates me, but I was grateful for this opportunity to sit, think and soak in my city.

Jonathan Fields spoke about reframing your situation and how it can make all the difference in your attitude. After my experience in Portland, I realized just how important it is to consider inconveniences as opportunities, and to use them to my advantage instead of letting them slowly chip away at my vitality.

Thank you, Portland, and everyone I met at WDS, for helping me realize that what I want is an unhurried life.

I can think of nothing I'd like to do more than to wander through the streets of new cities, sampling food, saying hi to strangers and taking photos of whatever I feel like along the way.

And maybe find a bench, like this one, to soak everything in and reflect on where it all started.

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Will It Be Scary?

I've spent a lot of time reading in my life.

Reading is great. I owe my imagination, my love of writing, my obsession with punctuation and much more to all the reading I've done.

But reading is a solitary act, something I did while sitting in my room or lying on the couch. I would quietly read about the great things other people had done while other people were out doing still more.

I've said no to a lot of things in my life.

Perhaps without really knowing why, I'd say no to activities that I knew would make me feel uncomfortable. I'd rather stay sitting calmly than go for a vigorous run. I'd rather be content in my solitude than feel awkward talking to people I didn't know. I'd rather stay inside and be warm than go outside and be cold.

In my quest to always stay comfortable, I've missed out on many things. There are very few goals you can achieve by reading books; very few fears you can conquer by staying in your room.

At some point, I decided to find out what was on the other side of my hesitation. I asked myself:

What have I been missing out on by always saying no?

Will it be uncomfortable?

Will I feel awkward?

Will it be scary?

Yes, it will be all of those things.

Running into a near-freezing lake is uncomfortable. Meeting up with a bunch of people you only vaguely know from the Internet is awkward. And jumping out of a plane — even for the second time — is scary as hell.

But the most uncomfortable, awkward and scary experiences of my life have also been the greatest. They've been my most exhilarating and memorable accomplishments.

And they've left me hungry for more.

I said for a long time that I had no interest in ever running a marathon. Why would I want to put myself through 26.2 miles of torture?

I'll have about four-and-a-half hours to figure that out while I run the Las Vegas Rock 'n' Roll Marathon in December.

I opted out of fundraising for the American Cancer Society when I signed up for a half-marathon. Why would I want to make other people (and myself!) uncomfortable by asking them for money?

Nearly $1,500 later, I've found plenty of good reasons.

I've never traveled to a different city by myself to spend three days with 500 people I don't know. Why would I want to go through all those awkward introductions and countless other weird situations that could arise?

I'll report back after this weekend's World Domination Summit.

The same criteria I formerly used to reject things is now the exact criteria I use to accept them. That's because the fourth question I ask myself is this:

Will it be worth it?

The answer has always been yes.

###

Photos are of the Constitution Climb, a 7.6-mile, 2,475-foot vertical climb bike race up Mt. Constitution on Orcas Island. The whole thing was steep, rainy and miserable — and Aaron absolutely killed it.

###

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• Here's the lowdown on My Story
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###

Do Life: Seattle and My DetermiNation!

I first wrote about Ben Davis in October 2010 in a post called Start taking your dreams very, very seriously. I was inspired by the video he made about his 120-pound weight loss and began following his blog, Ben Does Life.

I also took his advice, "If you want to do it, all you have to do is do it," to heart and set a goal to buy a DSLR camera and begin pursuing photography. I had ridiculous anxiety and self-doubts about taking up a new hobby, but decided to stop being silly and just do it.

Fast-forward to this past weekend. Ben visited Seattle with his dad and girlfriend to meet up with some of his readers and run an unofficial 5K. I brought my camera, plus Aaron and his camera. Together, we made this:


Do Life: Seattle from Devon Mills on Vimeo.

And took a bunch of photos, including this shot of me with both of the Davis men:

In an interesting way, Ben's weight loss inspired me to get my camera. I spent most of the meetup using that camera to try to capture the inspirational effect Ben has on others (and trying not to destroy it while running).

I'm just now realizing how things have come full circle. Life is funny, huh?

In other running news, I'm about to start training for the Seattle Rock 'n' Roll half marathon! I recently joined the American Cancer Society's DetermiNation team to train for the race and raise money, working toward a goal of $1,250 by June 10. My first team run is this Saturday at 8 a.m. (eek!), but I've already received my tech shirt and am super excited to rock it!

When I registered for the half marathon several months ago, I actually opted out of fundraising for the American Cancer Society. At the time, it seemed like too big of a challenge on top of actually running the race.

But, once again, I realized that I too-often say "no" to things just because they are outside my comfort zone. I also realized that nothing bad could come out of making this commitment. I might not reach my fundraising goal, but at least I'll have tried, done some good and made some new friends along the way!

I kicked off my fundraising efforts today and raised $111 with the help of several of my Tumblr buddies. Even Ben threw down some money and encouraged his readers to contribute! If today's donations are any indication, I think I have a good shot at meeting my ultimate goal.

If you'd like to support my efforts to raise money for the American Cancer Society and crush 13.1 miles in June, please visit my fundraising page to make a donation!

Anything helps, and each gesture of support gives me a fantastic mental boost as I go into training for my first half marathon.

###

New here?

• Here's the lowdown on My Story
• You can add Answering Oliver to your feed reader
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• Liking Answering Oliver on Facebook is also a valid option
• Perhaps you'd like to follow my stream of randomness on Twitter
• Or just hang out. That's cool, too.

###

Doing it all

Often when I read what Chris Guillebeau has to say about life, work and travel, I'm stunned by the following: a) how much I agree with him; b) how smart, clear and grounded in reality he is; c) and how simple it all is.

I'm often left thinking, "Huh. Well, that makes perfect sense. Why didn't I think of that before? How is it that I've not read this elsewhere?"

A great example is a post Chris wrote about accomplishing everything. As a blogger, book author, world traveler and entrepreneur, Chris is always on the go and always seems to complete the tasks on his busy schedule with ease and grace.

I'm in awe of him and other bloggers who seem to be able to "do it all," like Jenny Blake of Life After College (who is a book author, yoga coach, personal development coach, and on all kinds of advisory boards on top of working a full-time job at Google) and Caitlin Boyle of Healthy Tipping Point (who is a book author, Girls on the Run coach, competitive runner, secretary, wife and home-cooker of vegetarian/vegan fare on top of running two successful Web sites).

And don't even get me started on the many talents of Ree Drummond, The Pioneer Woman.

Chris's post explains how much behind-the-scenes thought and work he puts into everything he does (and it's a lot), even though the results appear effortless to others. Makes sense, right? But many of us will look at him and other successful people and marvel at how they accomplish all these great things, yet never put the same time or effort into our own endeavors and then wonder why we fall short.

Chris sums up his not-so-secret tips for "doing it all" like this:

Don’t accomplish everything; just do what counts.
Spend as much of your time as possible doing work you love.
Work smarter and harder.
That’s pretty much it.

It all makes so much sense and is so simple. I have a tendency to overanalyze and overcomplicate things, but Chris's writing always brings me back to reality.

Instead of being intimidated by people who magically seem to be able to do it all, I need to realize how much hard work it actually takes for them to succeed, and then decide what in my life deserves that much attention.

Right now, running and photography come to mind as things I'd love to spend a lot of time on and become really good at. And as much as I'd love to start blogging on a frequent and regular schedule, that's just not what I want to focus on right now.

I need to be at peace with the fact that I can't be awesome at everything (darn!), but I can be awesome at anything if I have the right focus and put in the work.

Side note: I've found that this principle of moderation also works well for areas like managing my money and my eating. For instance, I can't buy everything I want, but I can buy anything I want if I choose to budget and save for it. I can't eat everything I want, but I can eat anything I want if I choose to eat it in moderation. (Cheese, I'm talking to you.)

The idea is the same across the board: Figure out what's most important to you. Focus on that. Do your best work. And, as Chris says, that's pretty much it.

###

On Perfectionism and Failure

Last week, I read something that was so applicable to my personality that I was like, "Whoa."

From Get Rich Slowly:

If I can't do it perfectly, I won't do it at all. That was my attitude, and it stopped me from getting back on the proverbial horse too many times to count ...

The all-or-nothing mindset is one of five characteristics of perfectionists that contribute to underachievement, according to research published by Gifted Child Today. (The other four are procrastination, fear of failure, paralyzed perfectionism, and workaholism.)

Sometimes perfectionism is cast in a positive light ... But I think perfectionism is harmful, and it sucks the fun out of life. The all-or-nothing mentality paralyzes you.

I am all too familiar with that paralyzed feeling. I've written about how I've let fear and self-doubt keep me from having great adventures in the past, and about how I'm working on becoming more of a doer. I didn't realize that those feelings had a lot to do with perfectionism. See: all-or-nothing mindset; fear of failure; paralyzed perfectionism. Whoa.

A great example of this happens to be a fun story about how I almost didn't graduate high school. Yeah, you read that right.

My entire academic career leading up to senior year, I had never gotten any final grade lower than a B. Then I got a D-minus in ceramics the very last semester of high school. CERAMICS, people.

We were supposed to complete eight ceramics projects. By the time the school year was nearly over, I had only completed four because I worked on each one with painstaking care, trying to craft them into museum-worthy pieces. Four out of eight = 50% = a failing grade. Luckily, the teacher let me stay after school to complete one last project, thus earning my D-minus, thus earning the right to walk at graduation.

My perfectionism almost prevented me from graduating high school. Little-known fact. The ironic part was that even though I put so much effort into each project, that was the exact reason why I nearly failed the class. Rather than striving for perfect work (in a medium I knew nothing about), I could have settled for good work and finished high school in a less traumatizing manner.

J.D. Roth likes to say, "The perfect is the enemy of the good." So true. I'm still intimidated by photography because I still don't understand how all the camera settings work or how to take photos as well as Aaron can. (He's been shooting for years, has owned something like 20 cameras, studied in college, worked with a wedding photographer, won photography contests, etc. I've held a digital SLR camera for two afternoons of my life.)

It's irrational, but I still feel self-conscious because I'm not great at it yet. Any shots I come up with were blindly taken without any thought put into the camera settings. But I have to remember that I'm out there doing it, great or not, and I'll eventually get to where I want to be if I put the work in.

The same is true with running... eating well... saving money... and other things I put on my list of goals for 2011. I won't be perfect at training, eating or budgeting all of the time. Some days (or weeks), not even most of the time. I'm a terrible procrastinator (one of the characteristics of perfectionism listed above — who knew?), and that hinders my drive to do things.

But if I let one bad, fearful, self-conscious moment get me down and make me quit trying to achieve something, I'll have failed much worse than if I had given it my all and failed anyway.

I like the philosophy of Ben's brother, Jed, who is a high-school football coach: "Win today." If you had a crappy day yesterday, fine. Win today. You'll never get anywhere if you use any failure as an excuse to give up completely. Take whatever goal you're working on one day at a time, and try to win each day. That's it.

I also like Chris Guillebeau's take on what it means to be brave:

My belief about fear and courage is that all of us are scared of all kinds of things, so the wrong approach is to pretend to be fearless. Instead, acknowledge your fears, but proceed anyway.

I also think there is a link between what we are afraid of and what we really want to do. The choice to bridge this gap is where bravery comes from.

I am afraid of failing. (I'm also afraid of spiders and clowns, but I have no desire to bridge those gaps.)

However, I've found that the more I try, the less I fail. The big, scary idea of "failure" is becoming less of something that I'll experience if I try something and am not good at it, and more of what I'll experience if I don't try my best to push through the things that will keep me from succeeding.

I'll fail if I dream of running a marathon, but procrastinate so much that I don't train for it. I'll fail if I let my all-or-nothing attitude give up on my budget because I didn't manage my money perfectly this month. I'll fail if I let myself be paralyzed by self-consciousness and quit taking photos.

I'll leave these reminders here for when I feel like I'm losing my grip on the things I really want to achieve:

Stop thinking about what you want to do and start doing it. 
Take it one day at a time. 
Forget about yesterday. 
Forgive yourself for whatever you did or didn't do.
Then go for the run.
Save the money.
Take the photo.
It's OK if it's not perfect.
Just win today. 
Then win again tomorrow.

###

2010: The year in review

I've thought about this post for quite some time — how to write it, which details to include and whether I should even write it at all. The memory of this first incident hit me one morning and I realized how far I've come in just a year, both in achievements and attitude. I think I'm proud enough of where I am and who I am today to be able to write about this quite sad, embarrassing time in my life. Maybe it'll help someone who now feels like I felt a year ago. Who knows? Here goes.

On December 31, 2009, I went to a New Year's Eve party with my then-boyfriend, who I'd been dating for about 6 months. The party was at his friend's apartment, and I wanted to have fun, watch the fireworks and ring in the new year right.

For some reason, "ringing in the new year" that night meant mixing myself some really strong drinks and drinking them too quickly. It meant feeling sick and going to lie down while everyone else enjoyed the party. And then it meant feeling really sick and spending the first few hours of 2010 leaning over a toilet, experiencing all the ickiness that comes with drinking too much while also sobbing uncontrollably.

I was that girl. So embarrassing. But wait, it gets worse!

My then-boyfriend later told me that as I sobbed on the bathroom floor of his friend's apartment, I kept repeating something over and over:

"I'm never happy."

I had no recollection of saying that, so I was surprised, and I think I even laughed. "That's so weird," I said. "Of course I'm happy! I might have said that, but I didn't mean it."

I wasn't just saying that; I believed it. But things were rocky in that relationship. My then-boyfriend had a ton of energy, and loved to run, ride his bike and go out with his friends all the time. I was just getting used to my first full-time job, always felt tired and would rather stay in and watch a movie than go out to a bar or theater. He always had events, races and travel plans on the horizon; I did little besides go to work, read and sleep.

We fought about these differences a lot. One time I walked away from him in the middle of an argument because I was too upset to talk through and settle it. He never forgave me for that. He broke up with me the first week of January.

I was heartbroken at the time, but looking back, I can see why he couldn't date me anymore. Who wants to be with someone who just wants to sit at home all the time? Who wants to date someone who confesses through their beer-tears that they're never happy?

In hindsight, I know that I wasn't happy. I wasn't depressed, either, but I was discontent with my life as it was. I had quite a bit going for me, having recently graduated college and landed a good job, but the same thought kept creeping into my mind: "Is this it? Is this what my life will be like until I retire or die — whichever comes first?"

Human-resources-types would say I was missing a work/life balance. Angsty, twenty-something blogger-types would say I was having a quarter-life crisis.

I was always tired. I didn't see my friends very much. I had no hobbies. I didn't exercise. I didn't really watch what I ate. None of these individual elements was particularly alarming to me, but the combination left me in a sort of quiet desperation. For lack of a better way to describe the feeling, I was just kinda bummed about life.

One of the reasons I was bummed was because I thought I wouldn't meet another guy my age anytime soon. I spent the majority of my time commuting on the bus or plugging away at work, and those scenes weren't exactly hopping with eligible young men like college was.

So let's just talk about Match.com for a second. Yup, I was on there for a little bit, at the encouragement of my dear mother. I went out with a few guys, all normal, most nice, but none too extraordinary. Then I met a really, really great guy who I dated for a few months. I don't have a single bad word to say about this guy; I just didn't see it going anywhere and very sadly ended the relationship. That was also the end of my Match.com experience, thankyouverymuch.

I came out of that just wanting to be single for a while. I was in the midst of paying off my debt and wanted to focus on getting the rest of my life together. I wanted to learn how to navigate on my own, since I always had boyfriends in college and wasn't all that familiar with solitude. I always needed someone else's approval to feel OK.

Leave it up to the universe to throw two guys my way that I couldn't ignore. I ended up dating both of them briefly, despite my well-meaning intentions to stay single. Neither experience went very well, and I was back to being single at the end of the summer and wanting to stay that way.

Something changed at that point, and I decided to start living my life the way I wanted to live it instead of waiting for someone else to tell me that I was OK.

I reconnected with my friends, ones that I've been close with for 10 years, and it breathed some life back into me. I started doing a lot of reading and began realizing that life could be about so much more than work. Opportunities that I never thought I'd be able to have suddenly seemed attainable. I paid off all my debt, which had been a huge burden and a large part of why I felt so trapped in the first place.

I started running. I made calculated efforts to become more adventurous, and started saying "yes" to a lot more invitations and activities. I started initiating activities myself. I went skydiving. I registered for my first 5K (very scary). I made an effort to eat healthier and get more sleep.

I posted more on this blog and remembered how much joy I get from writing. I decided to start taking my dreams very seriously. Ayn Rand's quote, "The question is not who is going to let me, it's who is going to stop me," became a big deal to me.

I finally began to stand on my own two feet.

This didn't all happen at once; some of it has happened slowly over the course of this entire year, but I feel like most of it has happened since the beginning of September. That's when I stopped looking for approval from someone else, and instead started becoming a person that I approve of. After all, I'm stuck with me for the rest of my life, so I might as well like myself.

This is not to say that I now have a perfect life or that I'm the greatest person ever, but I've come a long, long way from the girl who sobbed on the floor last New Year's Eve. I can now say, with absolute conviction, that I am happy every day. I'm not necessarily happy all day, and sometimes not even most of the day, but I am happy. Every. Day.

And actually, I can think of several days in the past few months that I have been happy all day. Last Thursday, I was happy all day.

Things could have easily gone the other way (into a depression, perhaps), or just stayed the same. I could still be pretty bummed about life.

But I realized that I couldn't just sit around and wait for something or someone to come along and make me happy; I had to think about the things in life that would bring me joy, then pursue them. I realize that it's not that simple for everyone, but I feel very fortunate that it was for me.

Nothing is ever hopeless. I wish I'd known that a year ago. Also, I wish I'd known that my own attitude was the main thing that was holding me back from enjoying life. Ultramarathon runner Dean Karnazes wrote, "If we could just free ourselves from our perceived limitations and tap into our internal fire, the possibilities are endless."

If it seems like I'm super excited about all the things I have planned for 2011, now you know it's because my life is so different than it was a year ago. I didn't have much to look forward to at the end of 2009 because I wasn't interested in much more than getting through each day. Now I struggle to not get too far ahead of myself with all the things I want to do in the next year and beyond. Now I set goals and challenge myself to be better.

This New Year's Eve, I plan to enjoy a glass of champagne at midnight and then get some rest before I run and dive into a 5K/polar bear plunge on January 1, 2011.

It'll be an absolutely fantastic fresh start.

###

Back to the beginning

Last month, I used my credit card for the first time since I began to pay it off in January 2010. It had been void of any activity since May, when I paid it off completely. No purchases, no payments. Just sittin' in my wallet.

I used it for my purchases on the cruise — drinks, gratuity, drinks, gifts, drinks, etc. It all came out to about $300, and it was worth every penny.

I was so relieved to pay it all off as soon as I got home, to see that balance drop back to its rightful $0.00. It reminded me of how I started all my trouble with credit four years ago at this exact time of year.

When I began Googling around for a student credit card in December 2006, I was broke but had good intentions. I had realized that after paying for tuition and books that quarter, I wouldn't be able to afford Christmas presents for my family. (My parents would be horrified to find out that this is why I signed up for my first credit card, but if it hadn't been this, it probably would have been something else down the line.)

With a meager income and no credit history, I snagged a student credit card with a $1,000 limit and six months of 0% interest. I totally thought I would buy the presents, pay off the balance before the 0% interest rate expired and be free and clear. Ha!

My roommates and I booked a cruise around that same time so we could set sail for our spring break in March 2007. Guess how I paid for my share of the cost? Yup, with that shiny new credit card. My guess is that tacked about $600 onto my balance. Stupid, stupid.

From there, the whole debacle is a blur. I always paid at least the minimum payment on time, and I was rewarded for my good behavior with an ever-increasing line of credit. I celebrated with an ever-increasing balance to match. I figured that as long as I stayed under my limit and made my minimum payments, I was fine.

I should note here that my interest rate jumped from 0% to 19.99% after the six-month introductory period. That's when the credit card company began to make unholy amounts money off of me, and also when I began to drown.

I would use the actual money I earned at my job to buy frivolous stuff, like clothes, then use my credit card when I realized I didn't have enough money in my checking account for slightly more important things, like groceries. I was spending all the money I had, then spending more that I didn't have. And I could never make a dent in my balance that wouldn't be eclipsed by the interest that was tacked on the next month. "Vicious cycle" is the overused-but-applicable term here.

This continued until September 2009, when I moved back into my mom's house and started my first real job. I planned to throw as much money as I could toward my credit card debt (just over $6,500) and pay it off completely before I moved into a place of my own. I figured it would be a piece of cake since I would be making much more money than I had made from my part-time job in college and I would have far fewer expenses to cover.

It probably would have worked out that way if I had made a priority of paying down the card and if I had paid more attention to how much of my income I was spending on happy hours, clothes, etc. It turns out that if you don't manage your money very well to begin with and tend to spend it rather than budget and save it, having more money only means you'll spend more money. Huh.

I finally got my finances straight in January 2010, and the rest is history (you can read about it here and here). I feel like I've come full circle in that four years later, I'll be buying Christmas presents for my family with money that I actually have, and I've recently enjoyed a cruise that was funded by me, not some credit card company.

The story of how I got into debt is full of coulda-shoulda-woulda regrets and hindsight-is-20/20 "d'oh!" memories. Would I go back to 2006 and shake little 19-year-old Devon by the shoulders before she started down the destructive path of irresponsible credit use? After everything that I've learned from this experience, no.

Luckily, I never got into too terrible of a financial situation and I was able to get myself out of debt fairly quickly. I never lost a car, a home or the ability to attend college due to my debt. It didn't negatively affect any friendships, romantic relationships or my family members. And I actually have a sterling credit history, as I never missed a payment or exceeded my credit limit.

But being in debt did hold me back in some ways. When I graduated from college, I was very anxious to get a job because I knew I needed the money to make my monthly credit card payment. I didn't have the luxury of taking time off to travel, do an unpaid internship or just figure myself out before jumping headfirst into the job market. I had no savings to fall back on. The credit card company essentially owned me.

I particularly remember finding an intriguing internship with a community newspaper on Molokai, a small Hawaiian island, shortly after graduation. The six-month internship began in August and paid very little, but did provide room and board. No offense to my fellow journalism grads, but most every aspiring reporter starts out with a position in some little Nowheresville town to pay their dues. I figured why not do this in Nowheresville, Hawaii?

The editor of the Molokai paper contacted me by saying that my application stood out, and that he'd like to schedule a phone interview. But first he wanted to know: Could I not only survive, but thrive on only $40 a week on a remote island where I'm unfamiliar with the people and the culture?

The dream died at "$40 a week." Sure, I could survive on that if I only had to worry about feeding myself and such. But my minimum monthly payment alone was something like $150 at that point. Plus, my student loan repayment would kick in midway through the internship, tacking another $50 (minimum) on to the Money I Owed Other People each month. Goodbye sunshine, coconuts and sandy beaches.

Coulda, shoulda, woulda.

Molokai may have never happened for me anyway, or maybe I would have hated it there, but the point is that my debt held me back from a big adventure. It dictated the decisions I made, and all because I spent a bunch of money I didn't have, then had to pay it all back — plus interest! — for the privilege.

You'll notice that I've been pursuing all kinds of adventures — including some costly ones — since I've become debt-free and accumulated savings. I've been able to skydive, run races, register for a half marathon, book a weekend conference, go on a cruise, plan to buy a digital SLR camera and realistically dream about traveling to faraway places — all because I've prioritized adventures and new experiences over buying a bunch of stuff that I don't need and will forget about anyway.

I don't know if I would have realized that adventure is one of the things I really want in life had I not been hit so hard with some things I really don't want: slavery to creditors and desperation between each paycheck. No, thanks. I choose freedom, financial and otherwise. I choose the bananas.

And I wouldn't trade that realization for the world.

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