How's Hike Skool Billy?

As school begins to pick up for the year, and the teachers go "back to work," I thought I'd share some things I've learned the past couple of weeks... in no particular order.


1. Grieving is hard, awkward and way too emotional for me, especially when it was a hero of yours.
2. Heroes come in all shapes, sizes and times in your life.
3. Everyone who thought my life was chaotic before should hang out with me now (if I have the time) to realize what a lunatic I'm becoming.
4. I don't think owning a home will be fully enjoyed until month 8...when I can finally have my tweezers in a drawer, not in a case, in a bin, in a box, in the garage somewhere...
5. Cooking dinner is peaceful. Cleaning up, is not.
4. Painting looks way cooler on HGTV.
5. My mom gives Martha Stewart a run for her money- all day long.
6. Family truly is life's greatest blessing.
7. Having a family dog is like having another sibiling.
8. Losing said dog is way more awkward than #1, because non-dog people don't get it and think you're being a baby. (See photos below of Zoe-mister.)
9. Speaking of babies, being pregnant does not look fun. (No offense to the wonderful mothers out there.)
10. I tried to get Brian to promise me we don't have children until 30, his look at my outstruck pinkie confirmed my mental state.
11. Living with a man is no walk in the park, but the large hugs and soft kisses make it perfect at the end of the day.
12. Days all blend together when you have too much on your plate.
13. Brian thinks our plates are "old school." My brother's comment of "these look familar" (from our childhood) also confirmed.
14. Working in an office that is conveniently located a flight of stairs away from said plates and kitchen make meals easy and cheap.
15. Hypothetical couch, 4 paces from kitchen makes "lunchtime" naps altogether too strong of a possibility, especially if leftovers win over salad and the itis is slowly taking you over.
16. Somehow couch ends up being desk, filing cabinet and waste paper basket all by end of the day.
17. A "day" of working often includes house "work," cleaning "work," cooking "work," wedding planning "work," appointments, and, of couse, actual work.
18. Pinterest falls into almost all of above said "work" categories.
19. Pinterest is not only a conversation point, but a new lifestyle of crafts and how-tos.
20. Amanda Passage is the most successful pinterester thusfar.
21. Weekends with Amanda Passage (and friends) are just what the doctor ordered when the rest of life is making you (hypothetically) crazy.
22. My good friends all around the country can be skyped into a weekend with us by group chat.
23. Texas skype provides cheap, blurry service, like their tequila.
24. You and Tequila (make me crazy)  by Kenny Chesney, is Brian's favorite song, and he conveniently makes GREAT eye contact during his serenades to me.
25. Brian is a (very lucky) saint for wanting to marry me.

Zoe LOVED car rides.

Fresh air and no worries. <3 

Zoey Bear.

The most perfect Golden ever to walk the planet.

26. Speaking of Saints... God, heaven and all of the saints, now have two of my favorite girls, and they're all pain-free and happy.

27. Life is crazy, but wonderful.

To the Woman I love, and lost.

Linda Crowley Jourden, 70, of Brighton, Michigan, passed on Sunday, August 7, 2011 after a long, hard-fought battle with cancer.
Linda was born on April 25, 1941, in Detroit, Michigan.
Linda is survived by her husband, George Jourden; Her children, Robin Williams, Robert Gilman Jr., Allan (Sandy) Gilman and Michael Crowley; George’s children, Theresa (David) Barry, Tammie (Steven) Fuller, Tina (Brian) Funni and Tracey (Henry) Burke; Her siblings, Dennis (Barbara) Groom, Patti (Dennis) Bracken and Cheryl (Ron) Hornyak; 16 grandchildren and many nieces and nephews.
Linda will be remembered for her laughter, smile and selfless approach to life. Her and her husband enjoyed travelling, riding motorcycles, and visiting with friends at their Florida residence.
Upon her wishes, there will be memorial dinner, in her honor, on Monday, August 15, 2011, at Baker’s of Milford, from 5-7pm.  All friends and family are encouraged and welcome to join.
Linda was very close to her granddaughter Emma Rose.  She was instrumental in discovering Emma’s diabetes.  In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the American Cancer Society, or the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation.

As most of you know, Grandma Linda was not my biological grandmother. She didn’t birth my mother and therefore we didn’t share the same bloodline but, we did share the same heart.

Since my birth, Grandma was always there for me. We often played, and sought out trouble together. From the time she and Grandpa bought us the original Nintendo game counsel, which still resides in their Michigan home, to the day of her last chemo treatment, where we shared her favorite raspberry wine, we laughed until we cried, or she snorted.

She was thee COOLEST of cool. In my youth, my dad would always lecture us about the “garbage” television she let us watch, deep into the night, WAY past our bedtimes. Our #1 favorite, as my sister can attest to, was Walker Texas Ranger. She really did have the hots for Chuck Norris. He was the toughest, strongest, good guy on television. He was always on at 10pm after Law and Order, which we also never missed.

During my teenage times, our birthday gifts from Grandma and Grandpa were always the same. Grandpa gave us a boring old check, which isn’t so boring now at 25, and Grandma would give us an I.O.U. for a sleepover, birthday lunch and shopping the next day. As many of you know, being an adult, most of your days are planned weeks, and even months in advance. Somehow, every time we opened that card, we had our mother scrambling to fit it in to drop us off on a Friday night, or arrange to have Grandma pick us up within a week or two. Waiting longer was NOT an option.

Growing up into my high school and college years, she always took a special interest in my life. She made it a point to know all of my friends, ask how they were, and what they were doing with their lives. She knew all of my boyfriends, the nice ones AND the losers, but always held out judgment when everyone else was chiming in.

During the past couple of years, we grew especially close. She was one of my best friends. We called on the phone and chatted. We talked of our lives, our love and our goals. When I finally moved home in April, after being gone almost six years, we visited at least once a week. We sat and watched the races with Grandpa, or we sat on the patio and watched the birds. She took an extra special liking to my fiancé, Brian, and constantly gushed about the new home we were in the process of buying, and the marriage we are planning.

Unfortunately, she missed our house closing by 26 hours. And yes, she will miss ours, Carly’s and Devon’s pending weddings.

As sad and heartbroken as it makes me, to lose such an integral person on one of the biggest days of my life, and I’m sure her nieces feel the same, I can only be happy to have known her, fell in love with her, and now have the most peaceful, blessed angel watching over me as I walk down the aisle.

Dear Gram, I think the world of you and your strength… in case you didn’t know. <3 xO

Rain is a Good thing...

When we left our Sunday meeting with Sandy, the Realtor, to "talk" about putting an offer on the house I very distinctly remember saying something to Brian as we came to a stop at Main Street and Grand River.

"I want you to look at me and take me seriously (for once). We do not need to get engaged right now. Let's focus on making this house into OUR home and then we'll figure out the next steps. Everyone is going to have their opinions, but it's you and me now. Let's do what we need to do."

A simple end-all comment, followed by silence, "I'm not moving into a house with just my girlfriend."

So, as a woman, my mind began to race. I consulted friends and my mother about this statement and they all convinced me I was reading too much into it. (Story of an OCD girl's life.) Afterall, I had been the one to advocate Brian moving into the home first and settling for a few months and then joining him, so it was simple they said, he'll take his time getting adjusted and his answer could mean you're not moving in until Christmas or after. Fine. Sigh of relief.

When I say relief, I don't mean I didn't want to marry Brian, of course I cannot WAIT for the day. My life was just spinning so fast. And also, being a girl, I felt I always had to be on cue to look cute, paint my nails (which is a bi-annual thing for me) and be ready for more incredible emotions, which I wasn't sure what they were going to be like. Enter ugly cry face.


With Memorial Day on the radar, and in the same city, Brian and I wanted to do something small and relaxing, maybe enjoy it with some friends. Originally anticipating to celebrate it with Brian's brother Chris and girlfriend, Christina, Christina had to end up working, so Brian's plans were out. I suggested we get together with two couples we're close with, enjoy a picnic and fishing, which had me exuberant beyond normalcy, and hang out at the park. Once I arranged the plans with the women, and we all agreed on items to split up for the picnic menu, we were set to go to Proud Lake Recreation Saturday afternoon.

In conjunction with... 

Brian, having a good group of friends whom he was closer with before we began dating, and spent his weekends driving to GR, also planned a bonfire for Saturday night, to get everyone together, all of our family and friends, to meet each other, hang out and have a few beers. (This is where to the normal person, it would start to hit you.)

D-Day

Saturday went off without a glitch of awkwardness. We had the car packed with picnic baskets, fishing poles and coolers. We drank beer in the driveway and playfully threw the football around with Mark and Shannon while we waited for the Heath's to show up. We went to the bait/liquor shop in Milford to get licenses (and more beer) and headed to the lake. Despite a bit of miscommunication on where we could technically fish and hang out, we found an entrance with some picnic tables next to the parking lot. Perfect.

We ate, caught up on each other's lives, oogled over Charlie- the newest pup addition to the Heath family, and laughed. What a break from the rapid lifestyles we all had, to sit around and enjoy the sunshine and a holiday weekend. After deciding to pack up the food and make the (not-so-close) hike to the river, we all grabbed some items and began to head toward the trail. Brian, conveniently, was messing around with something and not ready, although the rest of the group, sans Ashley and myself, were en route. He urged us to go ahead and he would catch up, which to me was actually a relief. As you may learn, Brian is very particular about his belongings and takes incredible care of them. This most often times equates to ridiculous hold ups on our way to events, places or in the middle of tasks. So him telling me to go ahead and not wait, was something quite normal.

The hike was instantly terrible. All of the rain the past couple of weeks made the mosquitoes RAMPANT. It was annoying and frustrating to walk along with your hands full and having no defense to the worst insect on the planet. We got to the shoreline and ran for the bridge, where most of us took cover as the insects didn't loom there.

About ten or so mintues later, after much silence and deliberation of how we were ever going to enjoy this, Brian discovered bug spray in one of the tackle boxes. HALLELUJAH! Everyone took a nice strong spray or too of the stuff and it was like a sunshine after the rain, instant smiles.

Fishing, was pretty much a dud. Said bridge had a dam underneath it and the current was pretty hefty. Shannon and I, determined to get a fish, dropped the line a couple hundred times near the shore and the weeds, but always came up short. Brian, showing off his veteran casting skills managed to get his line caught in the large oak tree and nothing less than snapped his (brother's) pole right in half trying to get it out. Muffled laughter and exchanged smirks, everyone but Brian enjoyed the entertainment. He retreated from the fishing scene and hung out for a bit with Ashley and Charlie, talking very privately about something.

As the day was winding down, it began to rain, so instinctively we began packing up and getting ready for the trek back. Brian, the only man I know who loves to take pictures (who doesn't do it for a living) insisted we take 'couple' pictures on the bridge overlooking the water. A couple of griefs and we agreed. This is where it gets hazy...

I don't remember the order we went in, as I didn't think much of it. It was going to be another photo opp where I looked terrible, was wet, had been outside all day and wasn't incredibly enthusiastic. Both the other couples went and Brian and I were up. Brian handed his camera to Ashley, switched the setting and headed towards the middle where I was. Ashley, attempting to take a picture, was confused. Brian walked back (with his back to me) whispered some things to Ashley and headed back, pulling the camera case out of his cargo pocket. This is where it started to hit me.

Ashley already had the camera in her hand, why NOW would he be getting the case out, we hadn't even taken a good one yet?

As he unzipped it, I saw the box inside. I FREAKED. I kept looking to Shannon, who was now on the shoreline away from the bridge, waiting for us to be done. I was CRYING. I was laughing. I was making muffled screaming noises, as if I was in danger. I have NO CLUE what I was doing, but I couldn't bring myself to look back in Brian's direction. Now, since the commotion had began, a group of about 8 fisherman had made their way to the bridge, in hopes to cross. Ashley, kindly asked them to wait. Of course I know all of this because I was so zoned in on everything going on around, except to my slight right.

Brian grabbed my hands and got down on one knee, I made one last look to Shannon, still without words, to see if she knew what was going on yet. Instantly her face dropped and she filled with tears, I turned back...

"Amanda, you're my best friend and my everything. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?"

That part, he'll argue went different. And I'd be the first to admit, it probably did. My mind, heart and breath were racing. I NEVER saw it coming. He had been so cool and collected all day, where was this coming from?

After the reality, the "YES" and the kisses, we turned to four other friends who were just as surprised as myself. Brian had told nobody of his plans. He conjured up the whole scheme by himself. I was FLABBERGASTED.

We took pictures, cried, laughed and continued to soak in the rain.

I called my parents, whom Brian had taken out to lunch the previous day to ask for my hand, and they said they were anxiously awaiting the call all day. I told them, "I didn't catch a fish, but I caught a fiance." (Gimme a break, it sounded way more clever at the time.)

On our way back to the cars, and in between family phone calls, I yelled up to Brian, walking with Joe, and said I wasn't the only one who had gotten engaged, did he want to call his parents? "Oh no, he wanted to see their reactions, because he hadn't told a SOUL of his plans."

Lots of laughing, crying, phone calls, champagne and Jameson later, we had a house full of family and friends. Despite the rain, the day was absolutely perfect. I couldn't have asked for anything better. And I couldn't have shared it with more special people in my life.

My crazy so-called life continues.




These pictures were from my camera, after the actual act of him proposing. His camera is still looming in the "should be uploaded but won't be for six months."

The bridge where it all happened, conveniently behind the oak that houses Brian's fishing line.

So happy.

After the fact.

I'm engaged?

My sister, the future MOH, showing up to the party.

She's a BRICK (vinyl sided) ----house.

Welp, it's June 8th, 2011... 

This means a couple of things.

Most importantly- My dear grandpa turns 71 years old today. Happy Birthday Handsome!

I've been out of Grand Rapids for 46 WHOLE days.

Brian & I are anticipating closing on our first home in 22 days.

I will become Mrs. Amanda Sarkella in 486 days.

WOAH- WHATTTT?!

I can only learn to breathe, relax, smile and laugh at the thought of the statements above. Less than a mere two months ago I packed up my life into boxes and bins and moved 150 miles for the man I love.
Now, by faith, timing, stars aligning- call it what you want to- my life continues to excite and surprise, even myself.

We'll start with the house...

Brian and I began looking at houses last fall in more of a "what will be one day" type mindset, deciding what we liked and didn't like, could live without, would enjoy and HAD TO HAVE included. We toured a few homes, visited some without even getting out of the car, and more or less let it go for a bit.

When I finally moved home, we had decided it was time for him to get out of the house and experience life as a "man on his own" for the first time ever, so we tossed around the ideas or renting, buying or land contracts with apartments and condos for a bit as well.

With the aid of a family-friend Realtor, we began the crusade of homes again, usually striking out before we even made it in the front door. Then, like they say, it happened out of thin air...

...We celebrated two very close friends of ours birthdays on Saturday, May 21st. We played paint ball for the first time ever and after it and all of it's hilariousness, we went to a friends where Brian finally relaxed for the first time in a while, let loose, and drank a bit.

Sidenote- For those of you that know me, or us, this is a rare occurrence for him- as he's usually feeling the need to "DD" or drinking isn't really a big thing for him.

Birthday girls Amanda & Shannon at Futureball in Whitmore Lake, MI

Throughout the night I kept kindly reminding him that we had an appointment the next afternoon with our Realtor and that he should continue to have fun, but I was going to drive us home "soon." When I finally convinced him that another game of beer pong wasn't needed and we should go, we ended up leaving Livonia about 3:30am. I could only imagine his head later on that day, in the sun, and attempting to make decisions.

When we finally got around to the drive out to Brighton to meet Sandy, our Relator, at the first home, Brian's minor "hangover" was causing a slight lack of attention or concern for most anything. (We've ALL been there, this was just a particularly bad day to experience it.) I was anxious that this day would be very poor and we might want to call it off, but we proceeded on. When we pulled up to the first home, which I don't even remember picking out as one of the ones we would like to see, I looked at him and said I had a good feeling. We walked inside and everything was immaculate. Clean, cared-for and perfectly arranged to be moved into immediately. Brian and I both instantly fell in love. (Well I did at least.) We kept particularly quiet throughout the tour of the home, and more so in the gorgeous backyard. Expressing an interest in the home, but being very apprehensive in the "first time buying" process, we left and agreed to go look at the next.

We specifically drove separately that day, to be able to discuss our opinions in privacy. 

I remember anxiously jumping in the car, then pretending to act "cool, calm and collected," to not give myself away. I said to Brian, "If you could describe that home in three words, what would you say?"

Now this part, like the proposal that you'll hear about later, is slightly blurry. My mind was racing and I'm not sure I heard his EXACT response, but I remember him mumbling adjectives that confirmed my thoughts. I then exclaimed, "ASK ME WHAT I THINK!" like a 2 year old princess starving for attention.

I proceeded to tell him it was "our home" and I just knew it. There was something about it that really got to me. He said he could definitely see that possibility, but like every other purchase he makes in life, he would have to "research, dissect options and compare it to alternatives..." ((Ugh.))

The second home was old, awkward and "SMELLED TERRIBLE" according to Brian, with his keen sense of smell that day.

The third home, was not much bigger than Brian's current bedroom in his parent's home, so that was instantly out.

Meanwhile, we had been chit-chatting throughout the day and found ourselves calling the first home "ours" and comparing each home to it. We talked as if we already owned the darn thing.

While we were departing the last home of the day, our Realtor asked us to get in the car (where the AC was cool) to discuss the first home. She noted our extreme interest in it and said that if would like to make an offer we should do so soon, in that with the incredible deal and recent price drop, it was sure to be eaten up shortly.

Brian, probably internally panicking at this point, said we needed to "talk" privately and could we meet back up at her office that evening. Knowing throughout life that this defense mechanism was often used by my parents and Brian alike, to calmly tell me no, I was sure I only had one last chance to plead my case.

We got into his car and I went. to. town. I mean I pulled out ever aspect, detail and pro that house had. I conveniently guided my relentless pursuit towards his desires, lifestyle and dreams. (Sorry sweetheart, even though the basement is "perfect" for a man cave, it might be a while.)

He chuckled at me, had a few legitimate, concerning questions, but for the most part was completely on the same page as me- prior to my pseudo-Broadway performance.

Lots of meetings, contracts, addendum and emails later, we're in the process of buying our dream first home.

The area is perfect, the neighbors are delightful, the yard is plentiful and our family and friends love it. (Because any new place is a GREAT place for their dogs, parties, "get-togethers," etc.) It has so much potential for decorating and "accessorizing," as my mother is already planning. And we're RIDICULOUSLY excited to get into it.

I haven't even begun to decide "themes" or colors, which is probably a conversation I should have with B, although I'm not sure he cares much. But as the date quickly draws closer, we're open to any ideas, suggestions or DIY tips for it.

...And since it's not quite OUR home yet, even though it has been since day one, I'll hold off on pictures until we can start the album with the SOLD sign. <3

The Rest is Still Unwritten...

When I turned a ripe 18 I made several exclamations about my distaste for living in the small farm town, now covered with subdivisions and growing commerce, and how I would NEVER return home. I wasn't bitter, and I didn't have a poor outlook for any particular reason. It was just a solemn vow I made to myself. I just needed to do it for me. To say I've accomplished something and made something of myself.

Recently, that outlook changed drastically.

Friday marks the end of another chapter in my life. Friday, after four and a half years in Grand Rapids, I will pack up my belongings in the cubicle of my first career job post-college. I will turn in my keys to a company I have worked for for two and a half years and gave me my first shot. As the thoughts haze through a bittersweet stage I can only be excited for what opportunities I was given, what I got to learn, experience and be a part of and yet, what is to come for me. 

I have accepted a position with the University of Michigan Development & Events department in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Literally, with the aid of a friend, my resume got into the hands of the right people and within a week and a half an offer was made. I feel extremely blessed, fortunate and lucky to have been put in this position and cannot WAIT to see what the next chapter of my professional life has to offer.

Career aside, I can think of one big, blonde guy who is as absolutely as ecstatic as myself. Obviously a severe majority of the reason for my move, it will be the first time in almost two years I will live within 15 minutes of my boyfriend. An odd concept for myself to digest, I have grown to love, laugh and play with a guy, and made it work 150 miles apart. (Shocker- in all forms) Being so close is going to take some adjusting- inherently to my social life as a bachelorette in a city, to a small town girl back home after so long. I'm not ready to "run" into everyone from my past in the grocery store and the library just yet, but the distant thought of comfort makes me smile. Plus, Applebee's is going to get some new regulars after 9pm as Shannon needs to work on her HS Trivia odds... #rainman

My friendships won't dwindle, as that's always been a major staple in my life, and everyone knows that I can't sit still on the weekends. I'm thrilled to have met the people Grand Rapids living has brought into my life. I know I sound like a broken record but the blessings I've received in the people that I've come to know as friends in this city, I will be forever indebted to. I moved here knowing approximately 1.5 people and leave with a plethora of laughs, memories, tears and photos. From my GVSU days to my Outback days, from my pre-drinking age to my bar star years, to my good friends whom are scattered around this area to my co-workers, my life is so complete with every one of you and all of the memories we've shared. Thank you, Thank you, Thank you... for everything you've ever shared, helped or given me.

This city has brought a whole new aspect to my life, my outlook and my attitude. Once a huge "East side" advocate, I now find myself quite content with having experienced both sides. The weather, the commerce, the night life, the amazing opportunities for youth and young adults, the arts, the religion, the politics, the venues... absolutely everything has been simply wonderful. Brian and I shared many of our "firsts" in this city- museums, carriage rides, outdoor NYE celebrations, Art Prize, Griffins games, piano bar... the list goes on and on. Therefore I am assured it will remain important to us in our continued romance and adventures yet to come.

...And the DREADED "breakup"

99% of the people I've spoken, texted, emailed or confered with over my decision to accept this offer and move home has had an intial response, "What will Amanda do?" 

(Preface: I do not speak in third person. If you're new to my blog you'll quickly gather through the archives that Amanda is my roommate of over three years, my best friend and to most- my heterosexual life partner. Our relationship is quite odd and sincere in a multitude of ways. We hardly fight- rather at most, agree to diasagree on certain topics. People often think we're sisters and some have gone to the extreme of asking if we're twins. We co-exist freakishly natural. We spend time at home every evening, working out, going out, involving each other in our work outing as are usual "go-to" dates, we talk pretty much on and off all day on gchat, and spend at least one day a weekend in each other's presence, usually trekking on another adventure. I SWEAR we're not gay, although that is a favorite word in our lives, we just work out in never talked about perfect way.)

We haven't talked about it really- which is a common theme for a lot of large emotional situations between us. We're human and we're female, which pretty much sums up crying at least once a week to some Lifetime movie, or cute internet discovery- meaning, we both know how it is. She's told me she's happy for me, and I know she means it, it's just hard to realize that it'll never be the same- as much as we try. I could go on for pages, day and what seems like a lifetime of all that we've been through. I'd probably laugh and cry just a little more than I am now writing this, but everyone's who has seen us interact knows how we are. It's hard to think of not coming home to gush about our days, work drama, boys or Facebook discoveries, but we'll manage- I think. But in lieu of my departure, a few words for you Ging:

To my twin, friend and heterosexual life partner,

Thank you for everything. Without each other, I know we could have made it in this town, although advocating our East side love and king bed together truly made the ride worth it. My life, my love, my friendships and my faith wouldn't be where they are now without you. Thank you for being a staple in my everyday life. I will miss dinners, drinks, dancing and laughing our way through this life on an everyday basis, but it will only make our weekends that much more fun. I want you to know I think the world of you, who you've become and what you have to offer this life. If it wasn't for your job, and your awesome co-workers, I would put the pressure on hardcore to come "home" with me, but we both know it would be a losing battle. Our debauchery will continue on a limited basis, and for that I'm very excited. I still hope to party with KK and the clan at tailgates and shoeless bars, and use some personal days on events you may need a "date" to for work. I can't wait to continue planning all of our group activities with you via gchat and discover more towns like Lima. Keep the Dream and the 312 spirit alive for me. 

Love you. Night.

So homeward bound I will go. Friday marks the last day of work. Saturday marks the day where I pack up all of my clothing and bathroom belongings to take for the initial move. Easter Sunday I will spend with my mother's family in East Grand Rapids at my aunt's house then move back in with my old roommates, Theresa and Dave, until Brian and I figure out our next move. 

Monday, I turn a new page.

Y'all got drama, "The Saga Continues..."

And by Saga I mean running.

Yes, I said it, running. Running isn't so much running in my case, but more of a combination of walking, jogging, trying to breathe and also not black out at the same time sounds about standard. It's not glamorous, that much is true. The only person that actually looks magnificent doing it thus far is Amanda, my roommate, whom seems to glide on the surface, instead of galloping like a herd of horses, or me. But nevertheless, we'll use running in the context, but you get the picture.

How it all began at this point is more of a gray matter, than black and white. My (newly) 50 year old mother was smack talking about completing half marathons at her age and doggin' me on my "has-been" status in the land of athletics and so that, in addition to my new lifestyle, my awesome friends and our bucket list item of running in the Disney Princess Half Marathon, we hit the pavement.

Interesting "sport." Looks way cooler than it actually is. I still suck at breathing through my nose, as we discussed, and can't turn my mind off long enough to enjoy any other scenery than approx a foot in front of me. I mean sometimes I stare at my feet in fear of perhaps tripping- which I've manage to do down an entire flight of stairs and OVER a hurdle in my lifetime, so my horrors are warranted. But I cannot even begin to explain the feeling of crossing a (legit) finish line.

Me and the "crew" began training and exercising in the beginning of March, in lieu of a St. Patrick's Day themed 5K in East Grand Rapids on the 19th. Everything went well. The timing with the freak sunshine and slight warmth was perfect for beginning the treks outdoors and giving the pavement a shot. We geared up, decked out in green and pinned on our first-ever "bibs." The race went well for the first time. We all finished, even despite the "gentle" hills that the course map described. (gimme a break, gentle.)

On a quite important side note- the feeling you get when you cross a finish line is irreplaceable. I swear to God I hope that wasn't beginners luck or just because I actually "finished," but it was cool. The picture than Brian was able to snap though, not yet (and hopefully ever) released to the social media world was beyond amusing to everyone but me. It looks like I was being chased by a Colombian drug cartel with several members chanting my name while holding knives and large automatic weapons. I also may look like I ran 31 miles versus the actual 3.1, semantics.

The Beat Goes On.

So it's April, still fairly crappy outside until the last few days it seems. The running has dwindle as well. The treadmill is AWFUL- especially the one "provided" by our apartment complex, which has randomly shut off on Amanda before in mid run. Hilarious. But we did do something last week that has once again sparked my curiosity, ignited my motivation and pushed on.

We went to a spinning class.

Spinning was instantly painful in ALL of the wrong areas. Not two minutes into peddling Amanda and I exchanged a "we're screwed" glance. Once you start you're not allowed to stop until the class is over. You walk in, get your heart monitor wet, and strap that puppy up under your breasts, and sports bars, as the flamboyant male instructor pointed out. The shades go down and the lights get shut off. The disco lights, strobes and house music start playing. It's pretty much like clubbing on a stationary bike. Think about it. The paper attached to your bike instructs where your heart rate should be for the remainder of the class, and the RPMs glare at you, egging you on as well. For 25yr old age group our instructor said to be in the 80-85% heart rate zone to burn fat, which granted my rookie status, my sexy physique, my screaming butt/crotch pain and my nerves, I was pretty sure I was more borderline heart attack range, than having to worry about not exerting enough.

After the pop-singing instructor and some of his favorite "jumps," which consists of intervals of standing up with intense resistance, then sitting down quickly and repeating, the hour actually went by fairly quickly. It was a weird sense of accomplishment when the bike read I had burned 982 calories in a mere 60 minutes. It didn't feel like I earned that one at all- especially after photo finish shot in the archives that probably didn't burn half of that. But alas, we did it, another notch in the excercise belt for 2011.

Onward and upward...

May 14th marks D-Day for the first 10K for us. Should be a riot, I think? I'm not sure if I got in over my head yet, but the goal of finishing still remains, competitive or not. My mom and aunt should be coming to town to walk/jog it as well, so as long as I finish before them I'll be content. (Kidding- kinda.) The 5/3 run is rumored to be a fun one, complete with a celebratory tent at the end of the route for everyone to enjoy each other, refreshments, snacks and a sense of accomplishment. 


Here's to hopefully another GREAT finish line snapshot...

Why Me?

SO the year started fantastic. I got a promotion at my job, the winter storms hadn't caused any severe mishaps, I was (and still am) falling more madly in love and I had two vacations, to more tropical climates, planned within the first two months.

January went off with only a slight hitch of my 25th birthday meltdown. The number stung so hard and for no apparent reason at all. Thoughts came barrelling through my normal routine of who I was, who I'd become, where I was going and how I was going to make my impact on this world before I woke up middle-aged and with regrets. I absolutely refuse to be complacent and "normal" in what people expect of their lives. I'm a thrill seeker. I like challenge and I like (healthy) risks. As my future begins to mold and unfold, taking another's wishes and goals into account, makes my type-A mind go into overdrive of planning and setting myself (us) up for success. Eventually, after throwing myself the weirdest pity party of all-day tears and laughter, and speaking with my closest friends, I settled down enough to start being (slightly) normal again.

So February comes along. As my counterparts are receiving their valid US Passports, I received a letter stating that I was issued the wrong renewal forms, and because my initial passport was before my 16th birthday, I was in need of a totally new passport- with two weeks until flight time to Mexico- a trip that had so much anticipation, excitement and nerves behind it already.
I decide to make a drama out of getting it by encountering battles with no-name organizations like the United States Post Office, the United States Department of Justice, a company called Sameday Passport out of Chicago and Fedex. It ended with a small extortion of my bank account, a lot of anxiety and a day late into Cancun. But I got there, and I'm thankful and still believe you learn from everything and things happen for a reason. - It just took me a lot of deep breaths and a few sips of watered down Mexican cocktails to reassure myself.

It's now only February 14. This past week has felt like two entire months on it's own.

On the day we arrived home from Cancun, I was experiencing some indigestion and stomach pains but took light to it, due to our incessant obsession with room service in Cancun and our unlimited poolside refreshments. I believed it to be just the normal run of the mill stomach issues for me. Never have had a normal digestion process. Stomach pains and cramping have been something of slight regularity, so I made mention in passing to Brian and my friends I was traveling with, of seeing blood, but never thought much more about it.

The next morning I spoke with my mother at my teeth cleaning appointment (dear doc, sorry you had to witness my mouth 6 hours after getting home from Mexico. Whoops.), explaining that my body was excreting moderate to heavy amount of bright red blood, but I was sure it was to go away. She expressed her concerns but has come to realize in the 25 years of trying to make me listen, that I've inherited both her and my father's stubborn trait and I would do what I was going to do.

I left the Dentist's office in haste of a good soup and salad in America. It had been days since my body has seen proper nutrition and I was craving vegetables and leaves. Brian and I headed to lunch and after a couple bites I was in the bathroom in pain and started to get a bit nervous.

I spent my entire day thereafter being incredibly lethargic and sleeping. I came around in the evening and made my way to my grandparents house, who also happened to be in town that week. We talked of our lives, my trip, the weather and everything else we could think of. I sat on the floor next to Gram's chair, feeling very relaxed and safe, yet never mentioned what was going on- something I never do. (My grandparents probably know more about me than they care to admit, because somehow I always blurt random life happenings out in hopes they share their experiences and/or knowledge.)

I finally made it home about 7:30pm and exhaustively hugged my mother. I was in the works of grabbing misc. things around the house that belonged to me and without fail, I needed to use the bathroom. It hadn't gotten better, and had most definitely gotten worse. I, like the 4 year old I am, grabbed my mother's hand and made her look. Her startled look and onset worry instantly made me feel like the child I was being. Off to the ER I was to go. No if's and's or but's (no pun intended Noren) about it. She pleaded to go with me, but I assured her she needed her rest before work the next day, and Brian would go with me.

Seven very long hours later, I had a good looking doctor put his fingers in my backside, take blood and stool samples and tell me it was outside of his expertise and I needed to see a specialist. Awesome. Back to square one- actually negative after the probing I received. And it was only Tuesday.

Wednesday. In and out of sleep, I played phone tag with my Aunt Tracy, whom works in the Spectrum Health systems in Grand Rapids. She helped get me an appointment with a general surgeon in GR who would be the starting block in my road to discovery. After my initial consultation, and his complete puzzlement, he set up an array of tests and procedures to start slaying the dragon. (At this point I haven't eaten anything solid and still having rough cramps that mimicked menstrual pains.)

Thursday. Bri and I went to the Gerald R. Ford Museum to kill some time and get my mind cleared. I wasn't able to eat or drink until my test at 3pm, so I needed to keep busy. After learning about the only US President who was not elected to the Vice President role, nor the President role, I was quite content with heading downtown to Blodgett. Pretty quiet day in the grand scheme of things, which is all I could hope for.

That's when D-Day hit. Friday. I had an early afternoon colonoscopy scheduled. Unlike the rest of the 25 year old women I associate with, this procedure was no threat to me, being that I've had one done a few years ago with IBS-like symptoms as well. So I suited up, in an awkward gown and grippy socks and went under for what I thought would be a quick 30 minute scope. I instantly woke up through the sedation screaming in pain. I cried. I acted like a baby. and then I swore. I think I said every word that came to mind, even if I didn't know it's full meaning. I grabbed both nurses hands and acted like I was giving birth to 8 kids. at once. They gave me another shot to ease the pain, but it was too late. I had already felt it all. The shooting pain, the crippling shocks, the everything that isn't prepared for.

In recovery, Brian knew something was wrong. My pillow was covered in black from the mascara I had applied to impress my 70 year old surgeon. I continually heard the nurse explain that I was fine and that "young women just reacted dramatically to sedation." The fight in me was gone, I had nothing left for her- which is comparable to me being at a loss for words, usually non-existent. I whimpered and cried and tried to explain to him what I went through and was feeling. Of course the procedural nurses and the doctor were on to their next victim, so it was me, battling the wicked witch of the endoscopy department on my lonesome, with Brian in a cluttered cloud of "what the heck is going on?"

After I convinced the kind woman to leave me alone and discharge me, I was escorted to the car and off Brian and I went to South Lyon, back to the arms of Mom- who will always and forever make everything better. I had an OK weekend. Several bouts of afternoon pain ranging from cramps & bloating to body numbing surges, but I came back to GR wide-eyed Sunday evening, ready to take on the world... and my desk, that I had now vacated for over a week.

Nice try.

About 1pm this afternoon I doubled over in pain. The nausea overcame me and the fever rose. What the heck? I followed the diet that I have been reading and researching about. I was completely hydrated. What was going on? I called the doctor and he called in a prescription to help ease the digestive pains. I retreated to my apartment feeling defeated on this bright sunny day. I took my first pill and tried to sleep. No such luck. The pill actually had the opposite effects on my digestive tract and stopped everything. So now, instead of awful pain and constant bathroom sprints, I had a build up of pain and no movement. WHAT THE HECK?!

So here I am, 7 P.M. on a Monday night. I'm lost, I'm confused and consistently asking myself, Why me? What did I do wrong to make myself get like this? Where did I choose the wrong path? And why isn't this adding up to a pattern I can detect and consequently change?

And that, is completely horrible thinking.

I didn't do this to myself on purpose. Auto-immune diseases aren't confirmed by any certain cause. Absolutely I've added to it. With my rockstar, party-hard lifestyle through college and into my mid-20s. The top 3 irritants of irritable bowel diseases? Alcohol, nicotine & caffeine. Gee, nothing to do with my line of work or my social circle... during worknights- mostly. kinda. never.

How was I so ignorant to miss the signs? The constant stomach aches and all the gross things that happen in the bathroom that it's not politically correct for women to openly discuss? Where was my brain when my body was talking? Why was partying more important than how I felt?
Such a shame. What a letdown. I'm such a strong, independent, leader-type and I can't even follow my own rules or standing up for myself?

So here's the part where the quarter life crisis I had just a mere month ago comes back around. I need to work something new into the plans. I need to be open to change and willing to learn. I need to re-learn life in means of eating to live and not lavishly dining on expensive vodkas and highly saturated foods because I can. (The urge for fine dining and cocktail parties hasn't left- and I don't think it ever will.) But I can do this. And I will.

My friends will be the first to announce how I can't turn down a bet. The football game, the approaching a stranger for conversation, the awkward comments that break the silence- you name it, I'd probably give it a go. So here's the point where I challenge myself. It definitely won't be easy. But I'm optimistic.

I have a great family, a wonderful boyfriend (who now knows every intricate awkward detail of my life) and a helluva group of friends. And you know what? A great rest of the year to keep on rolling.


Why NOT me? I'm more than capable.