Mr. Bob tagged me with 6 things about myself that’s weird. My first reaction is – I don’t like to be tagged. I don’t like much to read when others are tagged, I consider majority of tagging quite stupid – is it weird? By the way, Bob, I didn’t laugh at the commercial you posted – I don’t laugh at most of them, and I am not sure if it’s weird or cultural differences. Do I want to talk about weird me, especially with 100 people a day by-stopping my blog? I am not weird at all, even though my husband and both my kids openly tell me every day how weird I am. But then again, since I am dealing with yet another injury…and I won’t tell you what’s happening…you know, y’all coming here for inspiration, what I am supposed to say, I am in pain – not very inspiring. Oh, I am not listening to sage advice – who needs this kind of learning experience? Oh, I am well and doing what the doctor ordered – then it’s boring, and why did I complain before? So I’ll leave you in a fog about it for a bit. I had another post brewing for quite some time, I even asked my husband to bring a book from home today so that I can work on it (post) since I made it to work on my own two, and, by the way, I cried – looking over the Willamette river, listening to Arizona dream songs and moving in repetitive motion. What is it about running that gives you such high? The combination of simple steps, the endorphins and adrenalin rush, the fact that I found this love of my life in such a twist of faith suddenly almost 6 years ago, a fear I can loose it just as suddenly, the joy that humans are made for running, the sadness that so many don’t know about it? "You can always tell a Russian, but you can't tell a Russian anything." Mr. Anonymous, I loved it. So true. Although I checked where you come from, it didn’t give me a clue of who you are, yet I still deeply appreciate your genuine interest in my running development. May be you can get a secret email address and shoot me an email? You seem to be a wealth of knowledge about coaching and injuries…
But I digress. Let’s get back to my weirdness. I figured, I can’t be even close to what Doctor Lisa so fabulously and weirdly wrote – and that was good! I don’t think I am extreme, and definitely not unrealistic (I don’t think I am capable of running alongside Nikki Kimball or saving the Universe from HIV, but I can improve my speed/endurance and stumble upon a discovery someone else finds a use for), I am not foolish (I take the world as it is) or extraordinal (I am a wife, a mother and I go to work every day). I am working on limited vocabulary here and don’t use a dictionary, so her post on it helped. What is weird? I came up with 5 things quite easily and got stuck. But after awhile the weird (fantastic? alien? bizarre?) examples flooded again…I’ll spare the most for you.
- I am a complete anti-pack-rat person. For some time I called it “following Feng Shui” when I was a vivid reader of all you can find on a subject (a.k.a. unclutter your surrounding - unclutter your life), but really, I always was. Please, don’t confuse it with been overly clean, I don’t care that much about it. I just don’t like “stuff” I call unnecessary. Don’t listen to this CD – out! Tired of these clothes – donation store. Broke a glass – we still have 4 left, we get by. Old awards and medals – no place to keep (my family doesn’t allow me to display it anyway, even though Oleg has a few good shots of me running that are on the wall). I clean out photo albums once a year – go through and if the picture doesn’t ring to heart, it goes to garbage. I discarded all his letters to me from summer work camps in Siberia back in dating days and from Israel when he went there (and later to US) even though it was so romantic and sweet. I understand letters from others, but own husband? I do keep the poems ever written to me or by me, in a book where I copy good quotes from the books I read – should it go as a separate weird thing?
- I keep two pictures of myself on the fridge – one from when I was 182 lbs and one from when it went to 117 lbs. It doesn’t do me anything as I stay at 135 for the last 3 and half years, ever since I started running seriously, plus or minus 5 lbs, I don’t dwell on one picture's skinny legs and six-pack abs, nor do my fluffy arms on another stop me from reaching for that cheese sandwich, but the pictures stay.
- I am an emotional freak who cries too much. I think 90% of what I feel come out with tears. I cry of joy, of sadness, of tiredness, of happiness, anything at all. I don’t just cry, I expect those around me to understand what is the inner dialog that goes inside me at that particular moment. Words are useless, but I want you not only to know the main “official” reason of my crying, but how I think of it at the moment, what I want in respond (what words, a pet on a shoulder, a hug, to leave me alone, to kick my butt, to hold my hand…). I cry so much and so often, Oleg sometimes wonders how I manage to pee since I don’t drink much either.
- I am highly organized, planned and multitasking, yet it doesn’t take me much for prepping to it. I know of all the races I want to run in the next 5 years, I book all amenities a year in advance, I can’t sit still for a moment doing nothing, I need to combine chores on the go what drives Oleg nuts. I’d be taking Stephen to boxing class and would grab Alex who has an SAT class an hour later so we could stop and get gas, then swing to Sprint store and talk about cell phone options, then quick-visit my girlfriend for 10 minutes, drop Alex off, run do food shopping for the next 2 weeks (and it takes me a whooping 15 minutes including picking, paying and packing), get back to boxing, write a letter while watching my little one fight, bring him home, set a dinner on the stove and drive to retrieve Alex…and half of it wasn’t necessary to have done this day. It just happens. Oh, and I am a real freak with timelines. I had never been late for a date or a meeting (Oleg once won a box of champagne bottles because it’s so common for a girl to be at least a little bit late), I hate wasting time waiting, I expect others to be on time, and that includes airplanes.
- I despise my job even though I am really good at it. That comes along with another weirdness – I am highly unsure of myself in every aspect of my life, even though when you meet be, I seem to be exuding self-confidence (or at least I heard I am). I’d be sitting in a corner in every crowd I show up to until somebody gets to me and starts talking first - and that somebody will be my best friend for doing so. I don’t think I am good at anything, I am just your regular next door neighbor, what is not a bad thing per se, I just get funky when someone mentions I excel in whatever. But back to my job – I hate working with tubes and pipettes for some far-away often unrealistic goals, I understand that it might bring a turn-around to medicine and human society, but I need to see the results of my hard work today, here and now, and so that I can touch it, feel it and hear it, and not see it on some agarose gel or as a PCR curve on a machine. I want to work with people and make small helpful steps towards their well being, weather health-wise, emotion-wise or whatnot.
- I don’t care much for sweet stuff and have to eat a real food after I do put a piece of chocolate in my mouth. I grew up eating fried potatoes and chicken for breakfast, soup for lunch and more potatoes and meat for dinner. I love food, but hate going out for it. What’s the point to pay so much for stuff that is simply an energy resource (yes, I do appreciate tasty food, but more so home-made), and at the place where I can’t relax and talk without either yelling or been paranoid someone will overhear me? I prefer to wear sweat pants and sit on the couch with my feet up, eat with my hands and speak my heart out (and yes, cry too). I don’t like to be proper, and I tell everything that’s on my mind…wait, it could be another weird count! I get in trouble very often because I do so, and sometimes I hurt people’s feelings even if my intention was good, but I very easily apologize as soon as I figure how wrong I am, and I am sorry from the bottom of my heart. I could blame it on been from a different culture (many here are so all about “you are wonderful no matter what”, just look at the American Idol as a great example, do those “singers” really think they can sing? And can you see the difference between the ways Paula says “no” and Simon does? Is Simon rude, or is he a wake-up call? Would you rather know there is no way you're cut for one thing so that you can focus on a different thing?) But the again, I had problems back home too…I’d be the “ultimate truth-seeker”. I’d rather help doing things than blabbing, ask me directly what is it I can do for you...but then again, pretty darn often I like when somebody blabs me sweet nice stuff to make me feel better…is it weird or what? I’ve gotten better with maturing and aging; I guess I just keep my mouth shut more and in general became more aware of no need to hit "a hammer on a head". I am very proud to be Russian, and no, I don't think of my nation as "the greatest", we have our share of not-wonderfil sins, but I sure am happy I have a history of real wars behind, much sufferings and beauty and divercity of culture. Most nations can say the same. I am not putting either first or last. I am just glad I am who I am. Hey, where did this come from? Told ya, too many weird things make me type too weirdly much:)
p.s. Am I expected to tag somebody too? And how does it cut with my first paragraph on not liking tagging game and deviations from running/a little life our blogs are about? Hmm, quite frankly my thought process just proved that we as human social beings love "me" talk, so common, guys, get weird with me, otherwise I feel lonely and unsure of myself:) Michelle, Rob, Craig, Angie...first ones on my list of blogs (Rick is taken) are the unfortunate once, but I put no pressure with time or even compliance.