tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53523255171118812092024-03-18T22:57:29.606-05:00Katie Tri'sI believe in manicures. I believe in overdressing. I believe in primping at leisure and wearing lipstick. I believe in pink. I believe happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day, and... I believe in miracles. ~Audrey HepburnKatiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.comBlogger335125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-6949565703288765202016-11-27T23:13:00.001-06:002016-11-27T23:13:07.201-06:00Metta.<span style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Yoga has never really been my thing. Sure I've had stints of semi-regular attendance, and I have practiced with some truly incredible teachers, but if given the choice I will almost always choose something else.</span><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Sorry, yoga--it's not you, it's me.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">But while I am still (slowly) recovering from a broken ankle and needing something to pass the time, yoga has re-entered my life.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">It should also be mentioned that yoga, to me, has always been about flexibility. Maybe a light sweat, perhaps a bit of a detox. But it has never been a spiritual place. I don't come to my mat to work shit out. And I don't meditate.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Until a few months ago.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Before you (I) get all judge-y and skeptical, I came to mediation as a desperate attempt to work through the insomnia that's been chasing me this past year. I figured that if maybe I listened to someone tell me to breathe instead of listening to the dizzying swirl of thoughts in my own head, I could get some relief. And let me tell you, that shit works.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">But even so, it was always guided. A podcast or an app lulling me to sleep. Someone telling me what to think instead of me trying not to think. And it wasn't spiritual. NOPE.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Until today.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Normally I'm a post-run Yin kind of girl. Maybe a Vinyassa class, if I have no other classes. But somehow today I found myself at a Ashtanga Vinyassa class, and let me tell you, it was incredible. New fav, for sure. And as that class wrapped up, the teacher invited us to stay for his 30-minute mediation class to follow.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">30 minutes of meditation? No f-ing way.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">But I stayed. The studio was cozy, I was feeling the vibe, and I just wasn't ready to start my day quite yet.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Now normally it's all I can do to make it through a 5-minute, un-guided, meditation without getting antsy. And yes, I have straight up fallen asleep during more than once. But today felt different. I was able to calm my 'monkey mind' and just breath.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Midway through the meditation, the intention shifted from internal to external as we focused on metta. (I realize this shit is getting abstract, but hang with me.) Metta means benevolence or loving-kindness, and is the Buddhist virtue of kindness, and metta meditation is the idea of sending out love and kindness and well wishes into the world. It's the practice of taking in the kindness and energy you need (breathe in), and sending out kindness and well wishes that you can (breathe out). </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">The shift in energy was real.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We all know when we're around someone who seems to suck the energy out of us. That person that enters the room and seems to change the flow of things. Well, this was the opposite. You could feel the positivity and kindness radiating in the room. As out there as that seems, it was palpable. Something that I hope everyone can experience.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">As I was leaving the studio, and reconnecting with (the sometimes overwhelming) social media and 37 different ways I communicate with people, I got a text from a sweet friend of mine. It was random and unexpected and oozing with kind words and love. It was metta.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Yoga. Meditation. Metta.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Who the fuck knew this was so legit.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-50849854814866141132016-02-18T16:09:00.001-06:002016-02-18T16:09:19.636-06:00humblingToday was my first day back at crossfit in...six months? Maybe longer? And the months leading up to that leave of absence were sporadic, at best. I mean, it's hard to keep up with a regular workout routine when you're traveling for work, falling in to bed exhausted after ridiculously long days, spending days trying to refill your energy tank, only to do it all over again. This is not to say I regret the adventures that life handed me in 2015. In fact, I embraced every ridiculous, exhausting, moment of it, and if given the chance would do it all again. This is merely to say that my WOD'ing and workouts have not been regular.<br />
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So back at it.<br />
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Not gonna lie, it was intimidating as fuck to walk into the gym today. Not knowing who would be there, if I would know anyone, if I could manage the workout. It (almost) felt like being brand new again. Which is why I put it off for soooo long. But sure enough, it was like coming home to family (full disclosure, I made sure I was going to my favorite coaches class, and that she would be there, and I made a workout date with a friend to have a safety net). Familiar faces, and new faces, same space, same routine. And people seem genuinely happy to see me. Hugs were given, catching up and gossip happened, and I worked out (kind of).<br />
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Speaking of workouts, and going back to where this post began, today was a serious kick in the pants. It was a workout I had done before. A favorite of mine, actually. One that I not only RX'd last time I did it, but I did really well at it. Lifting heavy shit used to be my jam. Today? Nope. Not so much. My cardio and endurance came to play, because I haven't actually (just) been sitting around eating french fries, but the muscles and strength I used to have? GONE. My defined quads and Kardashian booty? Not there. Sure, the form and muscle memory were there, but the strength was MIA. No, not MIA. I know exactly where it went--it's just not there.<br />
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It was beyond humbling to have the coach talk about how I'm a coach there and am super strong (because I'm not anymore). It was almost embarrassing to see my name on the PR board for lifting some seriously heavy shit (because I can't anymore).<br />
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It felt good to be back and everything else will come back, or not. But that's okay. Because life happens and goals change. It's all part of the journey.<br />
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But in the meantime, I am going to be over here, being humble.<br />
<br />Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-59592608730769778782016-02-10T12:11:00.001-06:002016-02-10T12:11:03.686-06:00setbacksWould you believe that I managed to injury myself sitting? <div>
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Literally. I spent almost three months, sitting on my ass, driving a giant monster truck across the country, and what do I have to show for it? Besides a serious lack of fitness and loss of all muscle tone. </div>
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A bum hip.</div>
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Somehow sitting on my ass for days at a time exacerbated some bad shit in my glute, hamstring, quad, and has reared it's ugly head in the form of a really painful hip. Bursitis, tendonitis, tendonopathy, etc. Sitting is the WORST. Followed closely by laying on that side, which given my opposite shoulder still has some issues, makes sleeping kind of miserable. Biking isn't bad, as long as I'm not torquing down to climb hills or sprint. Running is...manageable for a few miles at a time, but as soon as I stop moving? Woof. </div>
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I've thrown everything I know at this situation. Chiropractic care, Graston & cupping, massage, traditional acupuncture, a cortisone shot (never again), and am now 6+ weeks into PT and dry needling. So far the relief has been minimal, if any. And rest doesn't seem to help at all (sitting, if you recall is the worst of the worst).</div>
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I had big goals of running my first trail 50k this year. I recruited one of my coworkers to help coach me through this. I picked an event. I've researched shoes and gear and nutrition. And now here I am, wondering how to get from A to B.</div>
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The first test of my trail fortitude was to be a spring 25k. I have two races in April in mind. So far I'm hitting my long runs, but my overall volume isn't anywhere near what it should be, and the recovery between runs is loooong and feels awful. I am fairly confident that even with my parred-down training, I can survive the 25k, but will this set me up to successfully dive into 50k training? I don't know.</div>
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I'm to stubborn to give up just yet. But I'm just smart enough to know that what I'm putting my body through probably isn't the best either. But good god do I want this. Need this.</div>
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Consider this another setback. One of many. </div>
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Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-74924350265676237132016-02-03T20:39:00.000-06:002016-02-03T20:39:03.149-06:00Je ne regret rien<div>
I've heard it said that if you have no regrets then you haven't learned from your mistakes. But I would beg to differ. I have no regrets because despite it all--the good, the bad, the ugly--I have learned something. I've learned a lot.</div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I</span>'ve lived big, played hard, laughed out loud, and ugly cried. I've hurt and been hurt. I've been incredible places, acquired unbelievable stories, tested my moral fiber, and been rocked to core. I've said what I meant, and followed my heart. Quit jobs, watched tv in my stretchy pants, ate gluten and dairy and fried food and sugar. I've probably drank too much and said incredibly offense things (both sober and...not), but that's all been part of the adventure.</div>
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As cliche as it may be, I regret nothing. Not even the Mandarin character I have tramp-stamped on my lower back. My life has molded me and made me who I am. In some cases, like the tattoo, not everyone needed to see the proof (what's up, grandma). But that doesn't make it any less meaningful to me, to my story. And given time, there's a chance that I will permanently emblazon my body with these very words, je ne regret rien, because they mean something <i>to me</i>.<br />
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Just this past weekend I found myself sitting at a table enjoying a beer with relative strangers. Wonderful people, each with their own story to tell, and yet they wanted to know mine. They were fascinated by my scars, my adventures, my je ne said quoi. As much as I shy away from the spotlight and do my best to deflect attention, I found myself sharing parts my story with them. Owning it. Being okay with where I am in this moment. And then changing the subject, to them, to anything but me. But in that moment, that scary, attention-holding moment, I put myself out there. Broken bones and all. It probably didn't hurt that I had consumed more than my fair share of Fireball and Rumchatta and champagne prior to this, but I'm choosing not to split hairs. </div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Sometimes I wonder how I've ended up where I am. Like I've lived more than someone my age should have. And yet, I haven't lived enough. This is just the start of my story. Hold the fuck on, because I can promise you that this will be one hell of a ride, wherever it may go.</span></div>
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<br />Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-66640378373169314252016-01-27T22:01:00.000-06:002016-01-31T03:14:40.432-06:00Find a penny, pick it up...<br />
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Today as I was hightailing it across the fine state of Iowa*, I found myself at a truck stop in Floyd, IA. As I stood there at the pump, contemplating the assortment of pickled things and fried chicken giblets available inside, I glanced down to see a gleaming penny, heads up, in a slush puddle nearby. </div>
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With absolutely no hesitation, I plucked Lincoln out of that puddle and put him in my pocket.</div>
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Two plus hours later, after unloading my car at my storage unit, I found myself using the (questionable) bathroom at the self-store. And would you believe that as I adjusted my jeans, and the toilet flushed, out fell my lucky penny directly into the swirling waters? Because that's exactly what fucking happened.<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">If that isn't a sign, I don't know what is.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">*Iowa, not that nice. Always windy AF. Worst gas mileage ever. But they have cheap gas and will sell me booze at the gas station, so we'll agree to disagree</span>.</span></div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-5354430381398012482015-11-18T22:11:00.000-06:002016-01-31T03:10:48.535-06:00Oh, The Places You'll Go!I cannot begin to explain the places that life has taken me in the past few months. I mean, I can barely keep track of and make sense of it all. How can I possibly be expected to put it into words that would be meaningful to others?<br />
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I've slept on the porch of a clay pigeon & gun club in rural Colorado. I've set up quarter-mile long slip'n'slides in cities across the country and taught myself to drive a forklift (thank you, YouTube). I showered with toads in Dumas, TX. I've watched two abnormally large dudes come to blows over...nothing? everything? and then make amends by going to an air show. I've riden in a homecoming parade, slept in a fire station (and on the floor of a VFW), been pulled over by military police, watched the sun rise and set over trailer parks and campgrounds across the country, slept next to a meth lab, gone joy riding in a Lamborgini, and that's not even the cliff notes.</div>
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I'm still attempting to process things. From slip'n'slides and road trips to new jobs and life decisions, a lot has happened. Thousands of photos have been taken, and sit unedited on an external hard drive, because I've been too busy living life to sift through them. And while I don't yet have the capacity to logically and completely do my story justice, I can tell you this. It's the incredible people in my life that have made every flight, early morning, late night, bump, bruise, and heartache worth it.</div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><i>"You'll look up and down streets. Look 'em over with care.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />About some you will say, "I don't choose to go there."<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />you're too smart to go down any not-so-good street.</i></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><i>And you may not find any<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />you'll want to go down. <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />In that case, of course,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />you'll head straight out of town."</i></span></div>
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Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-7796373456032208212015-09-08T10:13:00.001-05:002016-01-31T03:10:22.193-06:00Two Weeks Down, Eight Weeks To GoI can't believe I'm already two weeks into this adventure.<br />
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I've come along way from the tears and stress of the first few days here. I'm relieved to say that the impulse to jump on the first flight home has died down as we've settled in to a routine. I still feel a little lost and incomplete, but being away from W and the puppies is much more manageable than it was.</div>
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Every time I try to sit down and put this adventure into words, I can't. The experiences, the challenges, the people, the conversations, there's just so much more to this than I could ever do justice to. I find it impossible to summarize the kindness and generosity that has been shown to us by strangers, and even more moving has been the support and acceptance that the military family has show me, the liberal, peace-loving, sometimes naive, girl that I am.</div>
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I've slept in a field, spent a day at a shooting competition, and been quoted in a NRA publication. I've squatted on the front porch of a rural clays & gun club, peed on the side of the road (and myself), got a tattoo, and eaten a gas station breakfast burrito. I've seen 3 states (and courting), driven a gravel road over a Mesa & down into a canyon, learned to read a map (kind of), and developed a deep love of the local KOA.</div>
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For better or worse, these boys have become my family. <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Despite the most fundamental differences, we are challenging one another to grow, and I'd like to think they are learning as much from me as I am from them.</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"> We fight and disagree and we will NEVER see eye to eye on so many things, but I know that if I ever need them all I need to do is holler PORKCHOP SANDWICHES and they'll come running. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">And the laughter. Oh my god, the laughter. I've laughed harder and more often these past two weeks than I have maybe in my life. We're talking tears streaming down my face, trying not to spit out my mouth full of food, might pee my pants, gasping for air, laughter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">I'm learning about who I am, who I want to be, and refining the moral compass that guides me through life. My patience has been tried, my strength tested, my values questioned, and it is in these moments that I know I am growing the most. </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I can't help but believe that this exactly where I am meant to be right now, and that this journey is playing a huge part in who I am meant to become. </span></div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-79969610833495684092015-08-24T02:30:00.000-05:002016-01-31T03:09:59.594-06:0010 Weeks, 1 SuitcaseHave you ever tried to condense your life and wardrobe into one suitcase? And have that one suitcase of belongings sustain you for 10+ weeks?<br />
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Before this adventure I haven't. I can't say I ever even thought about it. So to attempt to do this now, 18 hours before I leave and overwhelmed doesn't even begin to summarize the situation. </div>
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The only things out numbering the tears (and tantrums and frustrations) are the clothes strewn about the bedroom. </div>
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In reality, it's just stuff. There will be stores if I forget anything. And I will see Wyatt hopefully in a few weeks. But the reality of packing my life into one suitcase for the next ten weeks is more than I can handle tonight.</div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-52998847031185080632015-08-19T16:51:00.000-05:002015-08-28T18:55:41.614-05:00Adventure of a LifetimeI still can't quite believe where this summer has taken me. Or where it will continue to take me, for that matter. I just received my flight itinerary for my next adventure, so I guess it's safe to say it's actually happening. This time next week I'll be boarding a flight to Denver to join up with the Green Beret Adventure Team for the next 10 weeks.<br />
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I don't even know where to begin with this. Or how exactly it all came to be. It all feels a little too surreal to actually be happening, but it is. And here's how it happened. I think.<br />
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Earlier this year we happened to be bowling with our friend's Zack & Lindsey. They shared with us that Zack was gearing up to ride his bicycle across country to raise money and awareness for veteran services. The last detail he had yet to work out was who would be driving his SAG vehicle and coordinating his events & media. So of course my dear husband volunteers me. Joking or serious, I'll never really know, but here I am. Flight itinerary in hand.<br />
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Over beers and ciders, at a number of different breweries, I was talked into going Zack on this adventure. First for 4wks, which became 6wks, and before I knew it, I was committed to 10 of the 14wks.<br />
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I still don't entirely know what I have gotten myself into, or how to prepare for the adventures ahead. I think it's fair to say that at this point I am equally excited and scared shitless. But it's for a great guy, and in support of an incredible cause, so I guess it's time for me to put on my big girl pants and go for it.<br />
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<br />Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-51293899644763177972015-07-11T12:30:00.000-05:002015-07-11T12:30:53.261-05:00422 Days Later<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's been a while since I've checked in here. 422 days to be exact. And it's safe to say that a lot has changed, and yet so much has stayed the same. I'm stilling trying to find 'my place' in the Twin Cities and, more importantly, <i>my people</i>. I still haven't found my dream job. I still miss Wisconsin. I still love potatoes and chocolate and tacos, but probably not all at one time.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But it hasn't all been bad.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had been working for a pretty cool women's yoga & athletic clothes company. What's not to love about going to work in your fav workout clothes, passing the time by talking crossfit and yoga and running with cool people, and always having a workout buddy to keep you motivated? Despite all of the awesome that was that job, something was missing for me. I stayed because it was good. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Good, not great.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wanted great. I <i>needed</i> great. So in late May I walked away from my moisture wicking, 4-way stretch, security blanket and lept into the uncertain. The biggest thing missing for me in my good job was travel and events. Coming from a marketing and events background, events are where I thrive. Send me to a city I've (probably) never been to and tell me to make it happen. And I do, loving every minute of it along the way. So when a dear friend of my reached out to say she was looking for a System Manager for her summer event series, I had to do it.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And so began my career as a professional Slip'n Slider. Yes, you read that correctly. I am spending my summer setting up 1000' slip'n slides in cities all across the midwest. The hours are ridiculously long, and the work pretty backbreaking, but I love every second of it.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5654lAMKh0FgqLN17KS5H5S4y3Q3tSbCX09LQvIllKl5tyvuxBueCOs2q2xptH7_d_O-THTtT75hIesMdtfaHbHjyD4QDME1g9jSnb7YO63ARbqHzM2k35-1RUSxQgNREVIaTWguILIQ/s640/blogger-image--1126198641.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5654lAMKh0FgqLN17KS5H5S4y3Q3tSbCX09LQvIllKl5tyvuxBueCOs2q2xptH7_d_O-THTtT75hIesMdtfaHbHjyD4QDME1g9jSnb7YO63ARbqHzM2k35-1RUSxQgNREVIaTWguILIQ/s200/blogger-image--1126198641.jpg" width="100" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsyG6-TT1Sx9JXjumlMIniwMsk_tSLtg2qNPqKA1N1cj976AEEurF_PY7M8YZIdhjHJC5tSXOFfzLK_NH42zHhAa0jmvAnWDnLs9hcmu-f8DlDMHohzez8xO1CFQHlWu8xnDKB7Pp_aCA/s640/blogger-image--1793216186.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsyG6-TT1Sx9JXjumlMIniwMsk_tSLtg2qNPqKA1N1cj976AEEurF_PY7M8YZIdhjHJC5tSXOFfzLK_NH42zHhAa0jmvAnWDnLs9hcmu-f8DlDMHohzez8xO1CFQHlWu8xnDKB7Pp_aCA/s200/blogger-image--1793216186.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPXao-BfqcZODhapDdsAXusAEZkhRNxK8XwtPU_k5VO3_DIog4ySMmz6VOBVL1m7Ffu4vOEYTP4u9_WXzetEdM7GGJ20o4APBLLimZbKhkZdHmey11oN9fpaC9-XheRO1Xs8uFAl9-ifM/s640/blogger-image-1862793182.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPXao-BfqcZODhapDdsAXusAEZkhRNxK8XwtPU_k5VO3_DIog4ySMmz6VOBVL1m7Ffu4vOEYTP4u9_WXzetEdM7GGJ20o4APBLLimZbKhkZdHmey11oN9fpaC9-XheRO1Xs8uFAl9-ifM/s200/blogger-image-1862793182.jpg" width="150" /></a></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The downside to this gig is that at the end of the summer, we pack up the slides, and my contract is over until next June. I'm not going to lie. That's stressful. But rather than focus on the scary unknown, I've committed to spending the summer being present and chasing dreams. I'm riding my bike more, walking the dogs, and reading. I'm trail running and crossfitting and going to the beach. I'm having beers with friends, eating delicious food, and spending time outside. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm not worried about turning into a pumpkin on September 1st. In fact, through the amazing people I've met racing and working events, I've actually lined up a pretty awesome fall. What I'll be doing for September deserves a post all it's own, but let me tell you, it's going to be awesome. I have a few races that I will work in October, and hopefully a trip to visit my BFF in NYC. Early November will take my to Texas to work one last event, and then I'll wrap up my 2015 travels by hopefully celebrating W's 40th birthday...somewhere.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After that, who knows. I'm trying to put my trust in the universe and know that it will all work out. That when I least expect it, something amazing will happen. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Where I've been, and where I'm headed, in 2015.</span></td></tr>
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Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-82316893461883073372014-05-15T20:15:00.001-05:002014-05-15T20:15:22.661-05:00My irrational fear of sculpt. Visited.<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So tonight, after work, I was finally peer pressured into facing my irrational fear of sculpt head-on. I know what you're thinking. What is so scary about sculpt? And to be honest, I'm not entirely sure. What I do know is that I have heard so many horror stories, and while I am an active person, I am so very afraid of living one of those horror stories firsthand.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sure, I run and crossfit on a regular basis. I dabble in yoga and barre. But sculpt, the masochistic combination of flow and weights and cardio and dance all jam-packed into one sixty-minute class, makes me stomach churn.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But as I will try (almost) anything once, I committed to go. I tried to back out. I packed three outfits. I nervously peed ever ten minutes. I had sweaty armpits. I felt barfy. But I went.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">before</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgeRRiJ1yta9w8e_sb5c8J8_kmkrh1DTjA9G-wIKtQL1ZtQTNtSoM-IJF9FBE_xQZtddoEkTfLYqwxN29su3pUIa1LK3MSKQwsTsRmPYGqhp2I6kfE6p6_HkNPENl4wlzd6ygrPgFpcvA/s640/blogger-image-519751617.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgeRRiJ1yta9w8e_sb5c8J8_kmkrh1DTjA9G-wIKtQL1ZtQTNtSoM-IJF9FBE_xQZtddoEkTfLYqwxN29su3pUIa1LK3MSKQwsTsRmPYGqhp2I6kfE6p6_HkNPENl4wlzd6ygrPgFpcvA/s640/blogger-image-519751617.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The studio was like 900 degrees. And crowded. And I was surrounded by my coworkers, all who sculpt on the regular. I was terrified. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">the 5lb weights were merely for show</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jessie, who I can only describe as a masochistic, dancing machine, super hottie, took us through 60 of the brutal-est yoga-esque minutes in my life. Fast feet. High knees. KICK KICK KICK. Crescent...deeper, deeper, deeper....HOLD. Chatarunga. Repeat. Push up. Plank. Mountain Climbers. FASTER. Slower. Hold. FML. My muscles cried, my coordination was tested, I desperately tried to breathe and keep up. It was like a cracked out dance party with weights. And somehow, she made it look good. Real good.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The thing of it is, I feel like I am dying during these types of classes. My breathe is short, my shoulders hurt, my quads quiver, and I generally feel miserable. But somehow, the day after, I'm never sore (at least not from barre). In the moment, I cannot push through. I cannot seem to hold things quite deep enough for quite long enough, and I bail on the weights from time to time. I know...get comfortable with being uncomfortable. I get it, but cannot seem to do it.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Did I barf? Nope. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Would I go back? Maybe. Will this be my sweat of choice? No. </span><br />
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Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-67950780642108173662014-05-08T16:30:00.001-05:002014-05-08T16:30:21.523-05:00Ragnar Cape CodAs my luck would have it, I woke up sick the day I had to fly to Boston. Sore throat, stuffy nose, foggy head, yuck. Not that I was going to let that put a damper on my trip, especially when god invented DayQuil.<div><br></div><div>Two uneventful flights later, I was rendezvous-ing with my other Ragnarly peeps and headed to the startline hotel for some NyQuil and sleep.</div><div><br></div><div>Today after our meetings and race prep, we headed into Boston to check out a few of the sights.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU3t_r32zHFPV2lMibWAeGjRTnxlMi-0dDN7WCxN5RcqR404eJdz6PYeh3JUzMRlRlaZbsK7-NiVZpUOOiYkh0FlQcGrYqzVEN6i4RQeKrORN2y9We-Osjv1PeacGIkgrD0Va6sC4xK_s/s640/blogger-image--2050968758.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU3t_r32zHFPV2lMibWAeGjRTnxlMi-0dDN7WCxN5RcqR404eJdz6PYeh3JUzMRlRlaZbsK7-NiVZpUOOiYkh0FlQcGrYqzVEN6i4RQeKrORN2y9We-Osjv1PeacGIkgrD0Va6sC4xK_s/s640/blogger-image--2050968758.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I can only assume that when it Boston, you are automatically a Red Sox fan.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdtSjXofUzEB3F0QxQuTKRnj1QNogsXN1VDp3EOzTiwSlhNFswIVpsFUm8idTwVAaSGGusQV_sBdmvcYSVKhz09fMKa078ZBYeIFSpXyzMIwiElrQwwNA_J8N-wTZt7GxAzbC6qGvK6V8/s640/blogger-image-532866211.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdtSjXofUzEB3F0QxQuTKRnj1QNogsXN1VDp3EOzTiwSlhNFswIVpsFUm8idTwVAaSGGusQV_sBdmvcYSVKhz09fMKa078ZBYeIFSpXyzMIwiElrQwwNA_J8N-wTZt7GxAzbC6qGvK6V8/s640/blogger-image-532866211.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqMHREwg6SX9rUNv2SBg-o20yyFfd5s2YiZHbZb_xYSTBBGjOX_9AuWJ9gPpy8aRUNqLfZLU-1NRKZ76SOT-oOvjHiJaEvRtdcseLgnpr-920eoAlrRuETLwO8jCKjrxm5p-_Qgu2T6Qo/s640/blogger-image-666103202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqMHREwg6SX9rUNv2SBg-o20yyFfd5s2YiZHbZb_xYSTBBGjOX_9AuWJ9gPpy8aRUNqLfZLU-1NRKZ76SOT-oOvjHiJaEvRtdcseLgnpr-920eoAlrRuETLwO8jCKjrxm5p-_Qgu2T6Qo/s640/blogger-image-666103202.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The closest I'll ever get to the Boston marathon finishing line...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizehzlM-TbafMJK3IfA8NltRj7r-fgt8hZvATrkYL5HUD9NY52a66T4MC79lnfod9AuFyOOFyy-eiNeuhwjy1Q1B2IJevfs2abVBPmT3843JFd7a3_Se9qb-82VBFdrlVbPK8wDbaEtU/s640/blogger-image-686270738.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhizehzlM-TbafMJK3IfA8NltRj7r-fgt8hZvATrkYL5HUD9NY52a66T4MC79lnfod9AuFyOOFyy-eiNeuhwjy1Q1B2IJevfs2abVBPmT3843JFd7a3_Se9qb-82VBFdrlVbPK8wDbaEtU/s640/blogger-image-686270738.jpg"></a></div></div>Boston Strong</div><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Dinner and early to bed wrap up my day as I have an early morning, and a <i>long</i> day, tomorrow.</div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-21036122110171783702014-04-29T11:29:00.000-05:002014-04-29T11:29:00.426-05:00A year ago today<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A year ago today we put the final odds and ends into the moving truck and said goodbye to our lives in Madison. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember all too well saying goodbye to my bestfriend and crying for the first hour of the drive. I remember feeling ready to leave Madison, but not feeling like Minneapolis was the right move. I remember wishing we could turn around and cancel the entire move. I remember people telling me how many amazing opportunities there would be for me in Minneapolis, and how great the city is. I remember the relief of knowing that we would never have to see our terrible realtor after closing. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wish I could say that so far this adventure has been amazing, but it hasn't. I'm still looking for the right job, I'm still getting lost everywhere I go, I'm still trying to make friends, I'm still trying to accept the fact that this is my home.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes, there are things I like about Minneapolis. Taking the lightrail downtown. Running to the Minnehaha Falls. Sushi at Wakame. Tangletown Crossfit. But I would not hesitate for a minute to pack it all up and move.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe someday this city will feel like home, but it doesn't yet. </span></div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-31607355339538133882014-04-24T21:25:00.000-05:002014-04-24T21:28:48.995-05:00Some things you never sayIn this day and age, I think we can all agree that there is an incredible amount of pressure on women to look a certain way.<br />
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You skin should be effortlessly flawless.<br />
You waist should be small, your curves should be ample (and perky!).<br />
Your legs should be long and lean, and there should most certainly be a gap between your thighs.<br />
Your hair should glisten.<br />
You should never smell bad. Or sweat.<br />
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The list goes on and on.<br />
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It's not easy to be woman when ever actress, model, and "reality tv" star, seems to role out of bed runway ready. But what kills me, is how the average woman interacts and treats other women.<br />
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Yesterday at work I had the pleasure of helping a guest who was shopping for a friend. A friend I quickly learned had just had a baby. Fitted clothing were not an option because she didn't want her friend to feel self conscious about her new, post-baby, body. She reiterated to me that her friend had just had a baby, only this time she said:<br />
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<i>"She just had a baby...so she looks like you, you know?"</i></div>
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No actually, I don't know. But I was too stunned to do much more than smile and nod. And then I proceeded to try on the clothing she had chosen so that she could see what the clothing would like like on a post-baby body.<br />
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Lest there be any confusion, no, I have not recently (or ever) had a baby. I have no delusions of being thin. I'm curvy, I always have been. Given the day, I might even have a <strike>bit</strike> lot of the dreaded muffin top peeking out of my waistband.<br />
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Yes, I know I could stand to lose a few pounds. Yes, I know I could stand to clean up my diet a bit. Yes, I know I so far from society's ideal woman we might not even be from the same society. But I work out (a lot). And I work every day at making better food choices. And I do my damnedest to thumb my nose at the unrealistic expectations of society.<br />
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But what kills me, is why one woman would say something like that to another woman. Shouldn't we all be on the same team, working to build one another up, not tear one another down? Do we not realize the impact of our words and the hurt that they can cause? Why do we not work on building one another up rather than take any chance to tear each other down.<br />
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I challenge all the ladies out there to say something sincere and kind to another woman tomorrow. And the day after that. And every day after that. Take a moment to compliment their amazing shoes, their great shirt, the sparkle of the ring, their hard work at the gym/studio/box, their "Madonna arms." As a society we need to work on building each other up.<br />
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Be kind to one another, because society and media is hard enough for all of us.<br />
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<img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhq0GgPhehIsOZkM5RDYuhH4oImQUBocGSFrgaAoHF_uyB3WPFM4aW83FzCP6finjfjH1yp3RSEu4IBK_PuOm45GZYHOUdZYL4FmNlBXHEpNkNelrxkT4A_89qYv-bHcqDWe4_i7SQ5P8/s200/blogger-image--1524088524.jpg" width="150" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDUBxYVYraaFcxORZf1ivhP5aLsVI77w_k6uDs0JFfQs0uIitnGAyzGQf0hLUjIJWA-zIo9fMdwerH3wGkxQbGgGLEVRtB5V0ABHneFPV0db-wdHV6ubgzFcJBv1hQQYNkosevyK_t-T4/s640/blogger-image-2037260988.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDUBxYVYraaFcxORZf1ivhP5aLsVI77w_k6uDs0JFfQs0uIitnGAyzGQf0hLUjIJWA-zIo9fMdwerH3wGkxQbGgGLEVRtB5V0ABHneFPV0db-wdHV6ubgzFcJBv1hQQYNkosevyK_t-T4/s640/blogger-image-2037260988.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDUBxYVYraaFcxORZf1ivhP5aLsVI77w_k6uDs0JFfQs0uIitnGAyzGQf0hLUjIJWA-zIo9fMdwerH3wGkxQbGgGLEVRtB5V0ABHneFPV0db-wdHV6ubgzFcJBv1hQQYNkosevyK_t-T4/s200/blogger-image-2037260988.jpg" width="150" /></a> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDsSDAiw-A0EqR62rk6lf-YEMOnu3gEPoubZ7YnLf1YgA7VgTkPl_kyY9DJAtq0ABAAEu7ooB-NaZsXEna1QMXvEan7Hf2seGPtrRtzVPBqUdadOO0x1NKkvSvz4j-TzVZvWiPHaufv8Y/s640/blogger-image-2104116551.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDsSDAiw-A0EqR62rk6lf-YEMOnu3gEPoubZ7YnLf1YgA7VgTkPl_kyY9DJAtq0ABAAEu7ooB-NaZsXEna1QMXvEan7Hf2seGPtrRtzVPBqUdadOO0x1NKkvSvz4j-TzVZvWiPHaufv8Y/s200/blogger-image-2104116551.jpg" width="150" /></a></span></span></div>
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And if this is what a post-baby body looks like, what's the big deal?!</div>
<br />Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-52096400376225717942014-01-15T22:10:00.000-06:002014-04-24T22:17:37.068-05:00Well that was fast.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Remember last October when I was cautiously excited to take on a new career? It was an industry I knew and love, products I was familiar with, but a new spin on things. I was taking on the sales side of things versus marketing. And I was taking it on with a rep group that seemed incredibly excited to have me. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Full disclosure. W and I both knew of this rep group. We had worked competitively with them in the same industry for over a decade. They did not have a good reputation, nor were they well liked. But seeing as I had be looking for a career in Minneapolis since before we made the move, I decided to give it a try. You can't believe everything you hear, right?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Turns out, the rumors weren't true. The reality was much, much worse. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My second week on the job, my boss, one of the principles of the group, told me I was full figured and too big to fit in our lines (not true, I was a L), followed by stating that at his age he can say whatever the hell he wants. He also told me that seem week that he wasn't sure I was going to work out. Seeing as he had been in the office less than 3 days with me since I started, I wasn't sure what this was based on, but I was determined to prove him wrong.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few weeks later I headed on my first business trip with the group, to LA for the fall '14 preview with one of our brands (the very same trip where I developed </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 15px;"><a href="http://www.trikatie.blogspot.com/2013_11_01_archive.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Trigeminal Neuralgia</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">). Things seemed to go well, despite the searing pain in my face.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 15px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 15px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next week I <a href="http://www.trikatie.blogspot.com/2013_11_01_archive.html" target="_blank">totaled my car</a>. Which was far from awesome, but was made infinitely worse by my boss telling me that I need a car and that not having one is reason to let me go.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 15px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A week later we had another sit down where we discussed whether or not I was able to handle the stress of the job. The stress of the job? Yes, that I could handle. The stress of a boss telling me I was fat every other week, a totaled car, a nerve disorder, and another threat of being fired? That was maybe a bit much. But I begged and pleaded for him to give me an opportunity to do the job and prove that I was a valuable part of the group.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 15px;">Did I mention the time he told me that I was a "big girl" like the purchaser he was trying to send samples to, but where she was muscular and worked out, I was just big? That moment was not just shared with me and my boss, but with two of my office mates. I'd like to think we bonded over that moment.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-weight: normal; line-height: 15px;">It had already occurred to me that taking this job was obviously a very, very bad decision. That I had unknowingly put myself in a very unhealthy and unhappy situation. But I felt it was in my best interest to dig deep and hang in there until I could get my resume out there.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-weight: normal; line-height: 15px;">The office closes for the holidays, so I took the opportunity to work from home and study up for the upcoming shows and events. I came back to work energized, knowing that my ability to work an event was solid. Set up and take down? Piece of cake! I was confident that I would turn things around that week.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-weight: normal; line-height: 15px;">And things went well, other than the fact my boss ominous hovering over me literally gave me an anxiety attack one of the days. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-weight: normal; line-height: 15px;">Or so I thought.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-weight: normal; line-height: 15px;">I came in bright an early the following Monday, ready to send out my follow up emails and confirm my appointments for the next week...only to find my boss sitting in my office waiting to let me go.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-weight: normal; line-height: 15px;">Things just weren't working out for him. He thinks the world of me, and would be happy to </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-weight: normal; line-height: 15px;">write a glowing letter of rec for me. Blah, blah, blah. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-weight: normal; line-height: 15px;">I managed to gracefully pack up my desk and leave the building without telling him where he could put his letter of rec.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-weight: normal; line-height: 15px;">I've had a few days now to think things over. I wish things could have ended on my terms, but I know it was for the best. The environment was hostile and unhealthy. Saying it wasn't a good fit is an incredible understatement. All I can do now is learn from the situation, and move on.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-weight: normal; line-height: 15px;">As my girl Kelly would say...</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span></span></span></h4>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So if you know of an amazing marketing or events opportunity for a hardworking, passionate, creative, gal in the Twin Cities <a href="mailto:katietris@gmail.com" target="_blank">let me know</a>! Bonus points if it's in the outdoor or cycling industry!!</span></div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-80906237481015601292013-12-30T16:49:00.000-06:002014-04-24T18:51:24.739-05:00Subie Deux<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEith2B5b4xe3aHj1WIlrvwZ16pl1zyE1D7WR2Gob2RLL8fsxnoeqYlTkEu40uuffF1NXrmoSfpveLRlAntn3UD1UkcnxiiumUnvFV0uIuN5_1Q8Ow5yw-syxYZ9jgoD8-PL2u6G0xL7brM/s640/blogger-image--918995466.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEith2B5b4xe3aHj1WIlrvwZ16pl1zyE1D7WR2Gob2RLL8fsxnoeqYlTkEu40uuffF1NXrmoSfpveLRlAntn3UD1UkcnxiiumUnvFV0uIuN5_1Q8Ow5yw-syxYZ9jgoD8-PL2u6G0xL7brM/s320/blogger-image--918995466.jpg" width="320" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I was finally able to pick up my new car tonight!! I'm guessing the dealership was motivated to get it out the door before the end of 2013, but I'm not going to argue. It will never be <i>my</i> Subie, and it might not be a Volvo, but I think my new Subaru Crosstrek is pretty slick. Sunroof, XM Radio, built-in GPS, heated seats. Oh and the first time I put it in reverse? Yeah, that's how I learned about the back up cam. Yeah, I'm pretty excited. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Welcome home, Subie Deux. You've got a lot to live up to!</span></div>
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<br />Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-25865353442262483272013-12-23T21:35:00.000-06:002014-04-24T18:38:43.986-05:00Wyatt wouldn't let me put up a Festivus Pole...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So we settled on a Christmas tree.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We'll be spending our first MN Christmas by ourselves. I'm looking forward to a quiet few days, but will miss seeing my grandpa, and I'm sure W will miss spending time with his fam.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, and A Festivus for the Rest of Us!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">XO,</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Katie</span></div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-52973820255962276682013-12-13T18:25:00.000-06:002014-04-24T18:51:44.205-05:00Can't a girl get a break?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As if totaling my beloved Subie and living with chronic, explosive, facial pain wasn't bad enough, everything else seems to be conspiring against me as well.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Insurance took so long sorting out the value and issuing a check, that actually finding a new car is becoming near impossible. I'm now on a waiting list, fingers and toes crossed, that the car I want is available by the end of the year.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Meanwhile, my boss is laying an egg over the fact that I don't have a car yet. Oh. And he is less than pleased that I didn't go with his suggestion. Because apparently a Volvo wagon is the only acceptable job with which one can do the job.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm trying to dig deep and get through these last few weeks of 2013...</span>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-61091738412476940852013-11-18T17:58:00.000-06:002014-04-24T18:52:05.280-05:00The day my dear Subie died.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are so many things I am seeing and learning in this city, some of which are pretty okay, many of which make my head want to explode. But for the purpose of this post, I will stick to the facts.</span><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Minnesota drivers are the worst drivers I've ever encountered.</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3n5-D7E7mFFA7BpXz9FKXc4DmbUzMDfoMQia-VL0YfLZh2aa5ayoKKtQkVVoEflnq_H5kvYnxY8nHbtLpAY-IJGXOQQg0EH4LF8N6wXmcTZLXqk4OLNthHhNgyggHCe1dWtqp2BOpo6Y/s640/blogger-image-1546120693.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3n5-D7E7mFFA7BpXz9FKXc4DmbUzMDfoMQia-VL0YfLZh2aa5ayoKKtQkVVoEflnq_H5kvYnxY8nHbtLpAY-IJGXOQQg0EH4LF8N6wXmcTZLXqk4OLNthHhNgyggHCe1dWtqp2BOpo6Y/s320/blogger-image-1546120693.jpg" width="320" /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last week I was heading to an appointment downtown'ish, when a mini-van ran a red light and drive straight into me. Fortunately it was on side streets and no one was driving very fast. By some stroke of luck, after they pried off the door of my car, I was able to walk away without so much as a scratch.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wish I could day the same thing about my dear Subaru.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know, technically, it's just a car. But to me, it's so much more.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My Subaru and I had been partners in crime since October 2003, when I walked to the dealership to pick it up on Halloween day. And if a 10-year relationship wasn't enough to tug on my heart strings, my grandparents helped me pick out and pay for my car. It had sentimental value far beyond the the memories that I made driving it.</span>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-32119156242009171942013-11-08T15:12:00.000-06:002014-04-24T18:22:56.043-05:00Trigeminal Neuralgia <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What could possibly be more stressful that attending a sales meeting with a major account? How about developing inexplicable, uncontrollable pain while at said meeting.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After flying half way across the country with my creeper boss, and spending the afternoon walking around LA with him (because apparently I need a babysitter...), I finally head to bed. And being that I have the hotel room all to myself, I am beyond excited to settle in for a snore-free night of sleep. But that was not the case. I was woken up by searing pain in the right side of my face. So random. So painful.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After a restless night of sleep I head into the first day of meetings. My brain is throbbing and the side of my face feels like I am being stabbed or electrocuted. Maybe both. I'm trying so hard to grin and bear it, because this is my first time meeting one of our major lines. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This pretty much sums up my LA business trip.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">W picks me up from the airport Thursday afternoon and we head straight to the ER. An hour later I've been diagnosed with a Trigeminal Neuralgia and have a fist full of drugs to cope with it.</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.ucc-ny.com/PMS" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghHkUonu-uWRjW4wtS2osZ6z35VK4-xQH40nq4cRisbA-L06YD4YEQyqtGr4tnRmQ4duZ-2az-KggDg6WY1xQEsfe80LpSmLiUolUcB4QA0lFHdPBaPy3HU0IEnSXuyPv5rkO-uGoD1OI/s1600/trigeminal-image.jpg" /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From what I understand, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 15px;">Trigeminal neuralgia is a nerve disorder that causes a stabbing pain in parts of the face.</span> TN is sudden, intense pain in the Trigeminal nerve, the same nerve effected by Bells Palsy, typically on the right side of the face (check, check, check). The pain can last a few seconds or a few minutes (check and check). </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In most cases, like mine, there is no known cause of the disorder. An treatment varies greatly. At this point I'm taking an anti-seizure medication and some serious pain meds to get by. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I guess only time will tell how this effects me on a daily basis.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-89453714376012827652013-10-24T08:02:00.000-05:002014-04-24T17:27:25.574-05:00Run Faster...<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Moonshine, banjos and feral dogs. This should be interesting...</span></div>
Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-57962647921607355222013-10-23T14:46:00.000-05:002014-04-24T16:56:23.689-05:00Ragnar TN or BUST!<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">After only two days, week one at the new job is officially in the books. Technically, I have work to do while I'm out of the office this weekend, but my mind is already in Ragnar-mode.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I am currently at the airport, waiting for my flight (ew, Southwest) to Nashville for SWAT for Ragnar Tennessee. As much as I enjoy being a part of a Ragnar Relay team, I think I have come to enjoy working the events even more. Is that weird?</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I wish I could say that I am flying to a beautiful, tropical, destination, but Nashville will have to do this weekend. Tennessee is a beautiful state, don't get me wrong, but the daily high is only in the 50's this weekend, with the nights dipping into the 30's. Brr. At least it will be sunny. There has been a serious lack of sunshine in MN the past few weeks and I am in desperate need of some vitamin D!</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I was SUPER spoiled at Ragnar GR that my shifts were all during the daytime, so it's no surprise that for Ragnar TN they have me working straight through the night. Seriously. 4pm Friday until 5am Saturday. Seeing as I am NOT a night person, this should be interesting. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">If you need me, I'll be piloting the struggle bus from Chatanooga to Nashvile this weekend...ALL ABOARD.</span></div>
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Let's do this!</div>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-64509981074556564612013-10-09T17:54:00.000-05:002014-04-24T16:55:09.482-05:00Fears, Nerves, and Advice Needed<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm not going to lie. As excited as this new opportunity is, there are a lot of things I'm really nervous about. There's the standard issue new-job-jitters, but this is more than that.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm nervous about seedy motels and lost luggage. I'm afraid of getting sick or injured on the road. I'm nervous about long, lonely drives, especially at night, and car troubles. I'm afraid of driving through really awful weather (did you hear about the 50+ inches of snow the Dakotas got last weekend?!). I'm afraid of my car getting broken into. And so on.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have vicariously lived the life of a traveling rep for the past 5yrs through W. He totaled a car in northern Wisconsin, passed kidney stones at a hospital in Indiana, had his car broken in to in Nebraska, and was stranded in Minnesota because of a late season blizzard. He's driven through the night to get to places, driven 8-12-14 hours alone on the road to get somewhere. Having worked on the road for over a decade he's pretty much experienced it all. And if he hasn't, I have other friends and colleagues that have. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I accepted the position, and this new adventure, I knew all these things, and to some extent accepted it. That comes with the territory (no pun intended).</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But what I can't seem to wrap my head around is how to balance life on the road and an active, healthy lifestyle. I'm afraid I'm going to stop exercising, eat like crap, and end up morbidly obese and miserable. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now I realize that this is actually one component to life on the road that I can actually control. I can choose to exercise and run. I can seek out healthy restaurants and make smart food choices. It all sounds good and empowering on paper.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But how? How do you stay motivated? Find the energy? Make the most of a food per diem? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's great in theory to look up running routes of Crossfit gyms in the cities you're in, or to ask for suggestions online, but after a long day of travel, visiting accounts, and then catching up on office work, how does it actually work? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm hoping that someone out there can relate and share some real life advice...</span>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-24742758128145381472013-10-03T16:52:00.000-05:002014-04-24T16:53:15.099-05:00A New Adventure<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was about this time last fall when W decided to pursue a new career, which eventually brought us, for better or worse, to the Twin Cities earlier this year. I would argue for worse, but that is left to be seen I suppose. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Starting in late October 2012 I began feverishly applying to every job that even slightly aligned with my skills and interests in the greater Twin Cities area. People kept telling me how many amazing opportunities there would be for me up here. Liars. By the time we loaded the UHaul and hit the road, I was no closer to be employed than the guy on the street corner waving a "Will Work for Food" sign. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With little else to do, and a very empty piggybank, I conceded to work part-time at a local(ish) bike shop that an industry colleague of mine was managing. It was sort of fun to get my hands dirty and wrench on bikes again. At least for a bit. And planning their shop expansion, brands, and floor plan was right up my alley. I loved networking with the reps and talking product. But being on the sales floor long term is not for me. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mid-summer I applied for an intriguing job with a rep group I have known, and competed with, for years. I applied...I followed up...I followed up again. Nothing. By the end of August I had given up hope and was thoroughly put out by the situation. So imagine my surprise when at the END of September I finally got a call to interview. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I interviewed last Thursday, and I knew it went well. I mean, it should have gone well, they did give me the interview questions ahead of time. And yes, I studied and pre-answered the questions. Who wouldn't? I was confident that I would get a second interview. But what I was not expecting was to receive a job offer on Tuesday. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I officially accepted the job yesterday, and gave my notice to the shop today. And it felt good.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They say always do it in writing...</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My new adventure as a territory rep starts on October 21st. Wish me luck!</span><br />
<br /></div>Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5352325517111881209.post-39361284638609919632013-06-13T12:16:00.001-05:002013-06-13T12:16:58.950-05:00Crossfit: Week 2Better late than never, here is the recap of my second week of Crossfit.<br />
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</b><b>Tuesday</b>,<b> </b>being my 5th time at the box, I felt confidant in coming in and starting my warm up. Run 400m, 10 sit ups, 10 push ups, 10 pullups, 10 back extensions, 10 squats. I got this. Dare I even say that pull ups were starting to feel better. Granted, I was still doing jump-ups, but the motion itself felt so much better. Like my muscles knew where to go.</div>
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After the warm up we started working on the new skills for the day, which included back squats, wall balls, wall climbs and hand stands. I opted not to attempt a handstand, although I'm fairly certain I can actually do one, because I was really self-conscious. The idea of my shirt creeping up and exposing my flabby, white, muffin top was enough to sideline that. I did, however, try and succeed at the wall climb (basically walking your feet up the wall into a handstand). </div>
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300m Row</div>
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15 Wall Balls</div>
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10 Push Ups</div>
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5 Pull Ups</div>
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While I won't be recruited to a rowing team any time soon, I can hold my own on the rowing machine. If I concentrate, I even have decent form. Wall Balls, are another story. At a whooping 6lbs, I was given the littlest, lightest medicine ball at the box. I'll fully admit that even that felt heavy by the third round, but even more than that, I am still struggling with my squats. Some combination of lack of mobility and lack of strength, makes squatting really hard for me (can any other runners relate??). Keeping my knees wide and my butt out is haaaard. Jump ups and push ups (from my knees) rounded out the workout. I was really pleased to not be the last to finish. I wasn't first by any means, but came in somewhere in the middle of pack at 12:27.</div>
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The biggest upset of the day was learning that Tuesday's instructor, Dori, was teaching her last day for the summer. I really liked Dori's softspoken, yet motivating personality. Plus she is really observant and kind. Great instructor! Turns out, in summer she stays busy with her own <a href="http://paddlesculpt.com/" target="_blank">Paddlesculpt</a> business...looks like I'll have to check that out this summer, too!! </div>
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<b>Wednesday</b>, despite tired legs and swampy air, I headed out for a short 3m run. It was National Running Day, I couldn't not run. It ended up being my fastest, best run in MONTHS. I came homing feeling pleasantly exhausted and like I was actually making progress. Maybe there's something to this crossfit thing?!</div>
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I should back up and mention that at some point Tuesday I noticed that my abs were feeling more than sore. Given the wrong movement, like a sit up, I was noticing a sharp pain in my right lower ab. Since it didn't consistently bother me, I pretty much ignored it. </div>
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<b>Thursday</b> is when the wheels seemed to completely fall off the track. The day's warm up included 400m run, 10 GHD sit ups, 10 extensions, 10 wall squats, 5 pull ups, 5 broad jumps. On my very first GHD sit up it felt like someone stabbed my in the ab. Sharp, searing, awful pain. Rather than say something, I moved to the floor to do regular sit ups. Still painful, but I did them anyway. Because I'm stubborn and stupid. Broad jumps hurt. Even my jump up pull ups hurts. </div>
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I knew I had pulled or tweaked something, but didn't want to say anything. Skills for the day included ring work, lateral hops and rope climb. On the rings we worked on stability holds, ring dips, ring rows and ring push ups. Let it just suffice to say that all things ring-related are hard, but the push ups are impossible. At this point, even the act of engaging my core to support a movement was becoming unbearable. But I still did my best to keep up, and not say anything.</div>
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Oh, the rope. I haven't gone near one of these since like middle school. And it wasn't good then, either. The crossfit claim is that rope climbs have nothing to do with upper body strength, that it's all in the legs. I would argue that if you don't have the strength to hold on to the rope, and I don't, it doesn't matter if your legs can propel you up the rope or not. But I tried. And then settled in Up-Downs instead, which were more than difficult enough for me.<br />
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<b>WOD</b><br />
10 Minuites, on the Minute<br />
3 Back Squats<br />
20 Lateral Hops<br />
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Starting at 0. and the top of every minute, meant another round of 3 back squats/20 lateral hops. I kept the weight low on my squats and focused on form because of my squatting difficulties and my sore ab, but holy shit, do lateral hops add up fast. After only a few rounds I moved from the 12" hurdle to just hopping over a line in the mat. And that was still exhausting.<br />
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After everything was done, I decided I should probably ask about my abs and what sort of modifications I should make to let things rest and heal. Jill forbid me from doing any sit ups, and had me try a plank. After less than 10 seconds I had to stop because the pain was back. That's when she said her best, non-medical, advice was full rest for a few days. No running, no crossfit, no anything. I left knowing she was right, but wanting to cry. I had just started to build some momentum and feel like I could actually maybe <i>do </i>crossfit, and now this?<br />
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Who seriously pulls their ab msucles?!<br />
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The next 48hours were miserable. Coughing hurt. Sitting up was near impossible. Laughing was out of the question. I was waking up every time I rolled over. As much as I wanted to go to crossfit on Saturday I knew the smart decision was to keep resting.<br />
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Two steps forward, one step back.<br />
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<br />Katiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09155922615652691053noreply@blogger.com1