Tag Archive | Los Angeles

Running Home

Since the culmination of our adventure in Tahiti Brad and I have spent hours brainstorming where we’d run to next. We know that wherever we go we want to run there. The journey of sweating out every hard-earned dollar to get to Tahiti made the payoff so palpable—so visceral—so fun. We’re searching for the next destination and getting our sneakers and savings account prepped.

For awhile we’ve gazed further west toward New Zealand. You see there is simply no good reason not to go to New Zealand. Whatever your preference of climate, you’ll find it somewhere in NZ. And let’s all cut to the chase with five words—Lord of the Rings tour.

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You can actually visit The Shire.

Do you like snow-capped mountains?

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Or bucolic countrysides?

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Did you know the human population of NZ is 4 million and the sheep population is 40 million?

Maybe you’re a big city kinda gal.

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Auckland at night.

New Zealand fulfills the scuba diving requirement.

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And, I mean, look at their national symbol of pride?

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It’s like the coolest, cutest, weirdest thing ever. Can we all agree that a kiwi bird is basically a real-life Muppet? A bird without wings. Of course. Why would anyone need wings in New Zealand? There’s no reason to ever fly away.

And now you think I’m going to tell you the mileage from Tahiti to New Zealand and our plan to get there.

Wrong. We’re not going to New Zealand.

That’s not entirely true. I have every confidence that one day Brad and I will get there and have an incredible Kiwi adventure. But like every epic hero’s journey, ours too leads back home.

Don’t let the sunshine and palm trees fool you—Los Angeles does not always make living easy. Rent prices continue to rise. Home values continue to rise. The sprawling landscape demands significant travel and mileage. Cars break down faster because of said mileage. Of course, there are so many benefits to living here as well. Rent may be high but I’m still living in an apartment with only one building separating me from the beach. And I can get a helluva deal on fresh avocados year round. The value of delicious and fresh produce all year long can’t be understated actually.

The sunshine is in fact quite amazing. Palm trees are iconic. Most of all, things are happening here. There’s a feeling in the air that Los Angeles is evolving into a creative epicenter of this country. There’s a museum for just about everything, incredible theatre, great food, music. Every industry is represented here in varying degrees. When I changed my focus from acting to writing I didn’t have to relocate to get a hands-on look at the publishing industry. It’s still not New York, but publishing is here too. Publishing, film, television, finance, academia, science, technology. Innovation surrounds us.

For Brad and I, perhaps the biggest draw is the outdoors. Oh the outdoors. I can wake up tomorrow and toss a coin as to whether I’d prefer to hike along an ocean-side ridge, or up in the mountains where at some points in the year you’d hike through snow. It would take years to hit up all the campgrounds near enough to trek to on the weekends, not to mention the outlying wilderness that may require more of a three-day weekend. We can scuba dive, surf, hike, run, camp, bike, and more—all barely leaving our neighborhood. I can drive home to Sacramento for a long weekend. We can steal away to San Diego, Santa Barbara, Palm Springs, Big Sur—if we need to get out of the city for a day or two.

I think you get my meaning. We love Los Angeles. I love Los Angeles more than I truly ever thought possible. But we have a conundrum. We want to plant roots but the price of the soil is so unwelcome. What will happen, then? Are we doomed to the renter’s market for the rest of our days, paying someone else’s mortgage without putting a cent away for ourselves? Should we put a pint-size amount of money down on a small condo in the valley and walk around with the elephant of a mortgage and HOA fees on our backs for the foreseeable future. Neither seem like great options. We don’t want to be house poor. So what then?

My mom visited last weekend to help us with direction on our fringe show, The Designated Mourner. She started looking around our teeny apartment and telling us about the ways they economize space on Tiny House Nation. A revelation followed.

Our apartment is about 500 square feet. Living space is probably closer to 400. Essentially, we live in a tiny. As my mom told us about the clever tiny tricks she’d heard about, a light bulb went off. Brad came home from a run while Mom showed me an episode of Tiny House Hunters and I quickly announced to him, “We’re buying a tiny.” He did not object.

Our little apartment reverberated with excitement in the ensuing conversation. This idea was a real possibility. It felt like opening a door after pulling on locked doorknobs for months. Yes, a very tiny door, but ornately carved with love and care—full of magic. We could break our backs for the next four years saving for a down payment on a house that would subsequently shackle us with a mortgage for the next thirty years, or we could spend four years saving for a tiny and once we’d done it be free from rent, free from a mortgage.

Free.

Free to run to New Zealand. Free to save for our future child’s education. Free to pay off my student loans before I die. Free to go to grad school. Free to save for retirement, or a car, or a boat, or a rainy day. Free to not work quite so many hours giving us more time to pursue our artistic dreams. Free! Free! Free!

Can you tell I’m excited?

Brad and I spent a year in the early part of our relationship living together in the teeniest studio. It couldn’t have been more than 300 square feet. I think back to that little room with only the fondest memories. Sometimes I think we bicker more now than we did back then. When you don’t have an actual door to close between you, you’re more or less forced to address whatever it is that’s compelling you to retreat. So you do. You address it. And you’re patient. And you’re flexible. And you compromise. At least we did. These are all requirements of tiny living and Brad and I passed that test years ago. In fact, now that I think about, I think we have that studio to thank for our ability to argue with an even temper, and thus the success of our relationship, really. There’s no reason not to join this movement. There’s every reason to stop paying for someone else’s future and start investing in our own.

We’d all but given up on the dream of home ownership as residents of Los Angeles. Our only hope, we thought, was a windfall of success as writers or actors and you don’t have to remind us that that’s not something to be banked on. We didn’t need to give up. There was a very big American dream waiting for us in a tiny package. We’re putting our sneakers back on, and we’re running toward it.

We looked further west and considered more travel adventures, but for now it’s time to go home. We’re running home—from Tahiti back to Los Angeles. All with the very exciting promise of a future that will foster our travel dreams, maybe even with a bit less running required.

This time we’ve upped the mileage to $10 per mile (maybe $20/mile once we get used to saving so aggressively), and we’re both running back ALL the miles. If you recall, the journey to Tahiti was more of a relay race. We ran a cumulative 4,109 miles. Running home is going to be harder. We have to run a total of 8,218 miles. Time to get going. This is real. This is happening.

There’s a huge future waiting for us in a tiny home.

 

Some tiny inspiration:

 

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Have you ever thought about going tiny? What freedoms do you think it would give you? What would be your greatest fears of downsizing?

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The Hardest Thing I’ve Ever Done: Running the LA Marathon

It’s official. Running is a mental illness. I’m counting down the days until marathon running is entered into the DSM. It’s only a matter of time. Four days ago I finished the LA Marathon—however reluctantly. Nothing in my life has challenged me physically and mentally like those 26.2 miles. The experience was leaps and bounds more difficult than my first marathon.

Let me get the bummer stuff out of the way. The LA Marathon just isn’t for me. As much as I love Los Angeles (and I do, deeply), running across it did nothing for me. I thought the experience of bipedally moving from the east side to the west, unencumbered by traffic and a vehicle, would instill a great deal of civic pride in my heart. It did not. The first six miles were great. Brad was still running with me. We trotted through the streets of downtown Los Angeles discovering little gazebos and walkways that you just don’t notice when you’re in a car. I felt fresh and strong, and the city looked great. Once the race got really hard (which I’ll get to in a minute) the city lost its luster and no amount of drag performers in WeHo or palm trees on Rodeo Drive could cheer me up.

I wanted to run the Walt Disney World Marathon because I knew that no matter how hard the running got or how bad I felt physically, I would be in my happy place. I thought the environment would act as a stimulant when my legs wanted to give out, and I was right. My old pal Mickey got me through. I loved running through the world of Disney because the whole place made me happy. I love Los Angeles but my associations with the city are not that pure. There are certain neighborhoods and streets that feel like happy places and others that feel like haunts. I’d pass down a street near where I used to live years ago and think, “Oh that was a tough time in my life.” Who wants to be reminded of such chapters of one’s life when doing the hardest thing you’ve ever attempted to do? Total bummer. No, LA has way too many complex emotional associations to make for a good marathon environment.

Another benefit to Walt Disney World was that I did not know the geography. I had no idea how far it was from Animal Kingdom to Hollywood Studios so I couldn’t think about the many miles from point A to point B. Not knowing the terrain forced me into the moment and the mile at hand. Very beneficial. In Los Angeles, however, I am all too acutely aware of how far it is from Hollywood to Brentwood and so when running down Sunset Blvd I felt completely crushed by the thought of making it allllll the way to Wilshire. Are you kidding me? I have to run to Crescent Heights? I’m only at Sunset Junction! Not possible! When it comes to running those kinds of distances, ignorance is bliss.

I live in Venice and I work in Glassell Park. For those of you who don’t know LA geography, Venice is as far west as you can go, and Glassell Park is about as far east as you can go and still say you’re in Los Angeles. In short, I traverse the entire city from west to east and back again—every—single—day. Why did I think going from the “Stadium to the Sea” would hold any novelty for me? It felt like my commute.

My last beef with the LA Marathon is logistical. WHY IS IT SO HARD TO ORDER ENOUGH BATHROOMS TO ACCOMMODATE 26,000 PEOPLE? I swear. It seems that every race I do skimps on the port-0-potties and I seriously don’t understand it. There’s no way to irritate a runner faster than a) run out of water or b) not provide enough bathrooms thus causing said runner to have to wait in line when she should be running. This is exactly what happened. I may have had one too many garlic knots the night before at C&O Trattoria but I had to make two bathroom stops during the marathon. Guess how long I waited in line? Go ahead. Guess.

20 minutes.

What?! That is unacceptable. I was already having a painfully slow race but to add an extra 20 minutes to my time, and then another 10 minutes for the second bathroom stop, that is heartrendingly significant. We all paid a lot of money to run this thing. Can’t we go to the bathroom in a timely manner? Oh and the first john I used ran out of toilet paper. Not cool. I mean there just aren’t a lot of options in that scenario.

So those are the reasons both personal and logistical that I won’t be running the LA Marathon, specifically, again anytime soon. I’m glad I did it. I was curious. But now I know.

More bummer stuff—I’m ashamed of my time. Listen, I never ever judge anyone else’s running pace. I don’t believe there is a certain speed at which you become a real runner. It’s personal. A 10 minute mile may be slow to one runner and unattainably fast for another. To Meb, an 8 minute mile is a very gentle jog. I can’t even imagine. We run to discover our capabilities and ranges, and learn to perform within them. Me? At my best, I’m a 10 minute mile runner on a 5k, an 11 on 10k, and an 11:00-11:30 on a half marathon. Knowing that range I believe in my heart of hearts that I should be able to do a marathon between a 12:00-13:00 minute mile. I believe I can do that.

This marathon clocked in at a 15:00. Part of that was due to the half hour I wasted using the loo, but even taking that out of consideration I generally clocked about a 14:00 on my Garmin. Here’s the thing. I’m not a 15 minute mile runner. I’m not a 14 minute mile runner. I’m just not. So even though I finished the race and got my medal, I feel beat. I feel like the course and the day got the best of me. Even though my mom keeps telling me I should feel proud, I don’t feel proud. Two in and I’ve yet to perform a marathon at my potential.

There was a litany of reasons specific to where I’m at right now as a runner that made this race so slow and painful. The greatest challenge I faced going in was that I was injured for about 50% of my training. By the time I hit the double digit training runs I was almost crippled by shin splints. Even on 3 mile runs I could barely get my time below a 12:30 minute mile. Brutal. I was this close to skipping the marathon after I barely finished a 16 mile run. It was an “oh what the hell” attitude that got me to sign up, not any kind of belief in my strength.

I was injured, and I was overweight. Look, I like myself. I like my body. Maybe if I were a bit more dissatisfied on an emotional level it would be easier to lay off the calories that have put this extra weight on my frame. But alas, I’m fairly confident in my skin and didn’t feel all that motivated to slim down for this race that I wasn’t even that enthusiastic about running in the first place. To be overweight as a runner is tough stuff. It makes your job ten times harder. It is precisely the same thing as a fit person with no body fat trying to run 26.2 miles wearing a forty pound lead suit. It would slow anyone down. I don’t need to lose forty pounds but I could stand to lose twenty-five. I think if I did that, that might be the only missing link to my elusive 5:30 marathon.

So what was it like to run a marathon with all of those things working against me? As I said on Instagram, I can’t imagine anything in the world—short of torture and maybe childbirth—harder than running that race. (I’ve actually heard several women tell me that giving birth was easier for them than running a marathon, so there you go). I hit a wall at mile thirteen. THIRTEEN. It’s normal and expected to hit a wall at some point but usually it’s around 18. Then you work through it until about mile 21, and you’ve got the last 5 miles on adrenaline. I hit it with HALF OF THE RACE LEFT TO RUN. Besides a few brief and fleeting runner’s high moments, I pushed against that wall for the entire rest of the race.

What does it mean to hit a wall? I think the best way to imagine it is literally. Imagine running in place, now push up against a wall. Now don’t stop. Now keep doing that for five hours. Now imagine there are thousands of people around you running right through the wall but you still have to push against it. Now imagine the feeling like you’re not getting anywhere even though your feet are moving in a manner that would suggest forward motion. Now imagine that this is your fate for all time. Like Sisyphus, you are to push against this wall for eternity. Now imagine you feel more alone than you’ve ever felt in your life. Now imagine the time you felt like the biggest failure in the entire universe. Now feel like that. Now magnify that feeling by ten. Keep pushing against that wall. Now imagine you’re nauseous. Now imagine your mouth is on fire but no matter how much water you drink your mouth is still thirsty, but you can’t drink more because then your stomach will be even more nauseous. Now imagine a car just rolled over your feet.

It’s kind of like that.

It is so difficult to put the struggle into words because I don’t actually remember any of it. I remember it intellectually, but I don’t remember the pain. Nature does this as a defense mechanism so we’ll repeat painful things like childbirth without hesitation, but I’m not sure Mother Nature anticipated the effect on marathon runners. I imagine her looking down on us from some celestial treehouse shouting “You guys! Stop it! I wiped the pain memory for making babies! Not for this! This is ridiculous!” Runners don’t listen though. I don’t remember the pain. Which is what has led me to my next question…

Which marathon should I run next?

At mile 20 I promised myself I would draft a document and have it notarized stating that I was not allowed to run another marathon. Ever. Three hours after I’d finished I started doing the math in my head to figure out how much I’d have to save to do Walt Disney World in 2018. I’m telling you. It’s a certifiable mental disorder. Despite the tears running down my face (there were many), despite the pain, the doubt, the struggle—I want to do it again. I understand masochism now. Something about pain and struggle brings us closer to our potential and a divine truth.

Can you tell I’m Catholic?

In all honesty, this race was a spiritual experience. Perhaps it’s the season of Lent that has me meditating deeply on the concept of struggle. When I ran up against that wall I wasn’t running on strength. I had none. I wasn’t running on willpower. I had none. I wasn’t running on grit. I had none. I had nothing. Nothing left. I had to pull from something higher than myself. And whether or not you believe that’s a real thing or just a mind trick, it doesn’t really matter and I don’t really care. It only mattered that it worked. And that higher power—that pull on a force of energy beyond myself—was absolutely the only thing that got me across that finish line. Oh and this song by The Killers.

“I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me.” You see this quote a lot in the running world. You’ll see it written on people’s bibs, printed on people’s shirts. Meb has it listed as the only thing on his Twitter bio. The first time I saw a runner with this passage printed on her running shirt I scoffed. Pfft. I’m a Catholic but I’m not really on board with the whole divinity of Jesus thing. It’s confusing. I’m a bad Catholic. I just don’t believe all the magic miracle stuff, but I do believe that Jesus was an amazing figure with an absolutely incredible story. I love all the rituals, and I love good stories. So what does that passage really mean? It doesn’t have to mean that the magic of Jesus helps win races. It can mean that if you want it to. If you need it to. If it does to you. To me it is the story of the universe—that there is a force which unites all of us. This thing—this energy—is there for us to call on when we need to endure. It is pure goodness and grit. It is mystery and it is power. It is outside us and within us. It never runs out. It never hits a wall. Whether you call it Christ or God or The Force or the Universe, I think the important point is that it is something eternally strong that exists outside of you, but flies like a kite with its string tethered directly to your own heart. And to the heart of every human walking the earth. I accessed that magic on Sunday. I let myself fly that kite, and it is the only reason I finished.

So what were the upsides to running the LA Marathon? Oh of course there were many. That divine revelation thing was pretty cool. Seeing so many friends on course made my heart explode. (Seriously guys, you have no idea how much you helped). I learned a ton. You can’t go halfway on something that hard and expect satisfying results. I didn’t— couldn’t—go all in on my training and I should have adjusted my expectations accordingly for finishing the race. Manage your expectations. Always a good life lesson.

I’m fired up for next time. I may have thrown out the contract prohibiting me from running again, but I left a few provisions. I won’t sign up for another marathon until I’ve dropped 20 pounds. And I won’t sign up for another marathon until I’ve found one that I’m really excited about. I may only have one marathon left in me and if that’s the case I have to see what I’m capable of. Where I run is just as important as how I run. Unfortunately I have top shelf taste. I’d love to run Rome more than anything. Hmm.

It was a true treat to run this race with my husband and Neiman. Even though we didn’t run it together, we were together, you know? Neiman finally broke his 4 hour marathon goal (see what I mean about relativity with pace? that is crazy fast), and Brad made his goal of running the entire race without any walk breaks and he made a great time too. Good job boys.

I learned about struggle. I’m a very laid back and casual person. I’m not Type A. I don’t like things to be hard. This serves me in that I’m a very happy person most of the time. What I learned about myself in this race is that I associate struggle with failure. When things got hard running this race the negative thoughts FLOODED in. I couldn’t keep them out. A true athlete encounters physical struggle, but they win the race by winning the game between their ears. I didn’t lose this marathon with my shin splinty legs. I lost it with my mind.

If running marathons were easy everyone would do it. Everyone doesn’t do it so the struggle makes the difference. If getting a book published were easy everyone would do it. Getting my book published is, as it turns out, very much in the not easy category, so I have to embrace the struggle as a sign pointing me toward success. Insert any dream or goal and the same is true. Struggle is the stuff. It’s the troll guarding the bridge that you either have to fight, escape, or trick into letting you pass. Rejoice when you encounter the struggle troll. Then kick his ass.

Oh and my skirt was really cute.

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There’s more to share but I think it’s time to move on. On to the next race. I’ll take a break from marathon running for a couple of years, but marathon—I’m coming for you. We don’t get to break up like that.

Some photos.

 

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Lovers getting married at Mile 11.

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Completely unappreciative.

Happy running friends!

Changing Seasons

In the land of eternal summer I long for things I can’t have. Things like red fall leaves and the sound of brown ones crunching under my feet on a crisp autumn day. I see glimmers but let’s be honest, the mercury hit 70 at the beach last weekend. Fall is mostly a fleeting hallucination here in L.A.

I feel the need for change so acutely and can’t help wonder if my yearning for a change in weather is a misplaced yearning for a change in my life, one that I’m too afraid to face so I keep complaining about the heat and lack of rain. It’s possible.

This post is going to be intentionally vague, sorry. Until I suss things out I don’t want to be too specific. To clear one thing up, no this change has nothing to do with my personal life. I’m still a madly in love newlywed and couldn’t adore my husband, home, kitties more. This isn’t about my hearth and home. If anything the solidity of my personal life has afforded me the freedom to muse of change elsewhere. I know my husband is there to catch me if I make a bold move.

It’s true that certain things come into your life for a moment, a season, a lifetime, and always for a reason. We know this. The hard part is determining what’s what. Let me rephrase that. The hard part is accepting what’s what. My heart knows when to let something go but my brain gets in the way. “Maybe if you just hold out a little longer things will turn around.” “Maybe you’re over-thinking/over-reacting/over-obsessing.” “Maybe by letting go you’re going to miss out on a huge opportunity.” Fear-based thoughts. The truth is I have a feeling that opportunities are in fact being missed by not letting go of patterns that distract me from what I’m capable of accomplishing. My potential is anesthetized by fear.

Fear of the unknown. Fear of failure. Fear of change. Fear of regret. Not new concepts, and so very human. No doubt if trees had feelings they’d be terrified of spending half the year dry and naked, wondering if the birds and sunshine would ever return. Tree wouldn’t shed a single leaf. But it does. Every year. It’s a good thing trees don’t have feelings or we’d never see the spring.

Then there are the trees of Los Angeles. I’m onto you trees. You’ve reflected our collective fears. We look around and see your hoarded green leaves weighing down your branches and we hold on ourselves, because it must be best. It’s what we see.

My land that never changes, Los Angeles, you mystify. I love you but your sunny perpetuity has tricked me into thinking I’ve nowhere to go. You slippery city you. I’m going places. I’m going to force change if not in you then in me, and I’m going to terrify you with my falling leaves. Don’t let the sun fool you into complacency. It’s a trick. An illusion. We must make way for the spring.

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But wait, new thought.

 

Perhaps this constancy in my environment is a gift. Yes, trees, I get it! You give me no swirling changing world to distract me from a swirling change within. I think that’s it. My gaze outward for change fails and fails, so what then? The gaze turns inward. Isn’t that what’s happening right now in writing through this? No harsh winters to freeze my thoughts, no scorching summers to melt my concentration (people of the Valley, I hear you, you scorch), no romantic autumns to lift me off to dreamland where nothing happens but nostalgia and swoons. No. I’ve called you the land of eternal summer but Los Angeles by the sea you’re something more like spring, a time when life is born and the world is new. Is that what you’ve been trying to tell me, trees? Eternal spring? That’s much nicer. You give me a constant fertile playground for my own creations, my own forms of change. I can accept that. I can paint on your springlike blank slate all my new ideas and dreams. I’ll still long for sparkling white snow and the smell of fresh rain. Maybe someday when we’re through with changing, we’ll retire to a sleepy little town and let nature do the work. Let the world change around us as we sit there and just watch. For now, no more time for waiting and watching. Time for changing. Time to sprout.

Growth concept

 

 

Runs Worth the Drive!

I read quite a few running blogs. Foremost because I like to connect with fellow runners/writers. The running community is just that, a community. Perhaps it’s because our sport is a lone one, we like to connect with each other whenever possible. Blogging does that. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t also want to see what other people were doing right. You see I often feel like I’m doing things wrong. I read other blogs that are clearly so incredibly popular and successful and I wonder what I should be doing. I read about bloggers getting complimentary entry into runDisney races (HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN??) and getting sent all kinds of swag for giveaways to increase readership, cross-promote, and network with potential sponsors. I see all of these things and feel there must be some sort of golden goose I can’t find. Last year I would say that all of that worried me. This year I said to hell with it. I didn’t start a blog to worry about all of that. I started a blog to write, to muse, to run, and to keep myself accountable on this adventure to Tahiti. So that’s what I’ve re-focused on in 2014. I stopped worrying about what other people were doing right, what I was doing wrong, and shifted my thinking to doing what I love: running and writing.

And wouldn’t you know it.

Things pick up steam. I’m going to make the moral of this story short so that I can get to to the meat of today’s news, so here it is, listen up. When you stop worrying about the destination and start focusing on the journey, you’ll discover yourself. Yes, the destination IS the journey. Also, life is too short to worry about being successful according to someone else’s standards, so always do what you love and do a good job. That will be a success.

That’s what happens. Really. I stopped worrying about the result of my blog and refocused on the content and it’s now more “successful” than ever. More importantly, it brings me great joy which was always the intention. I Now here’s my news!

Buick is partnering with MapMyRun for a summer campaign called Runs Worth the Drive which encourages runners to take strides outside of their habitual running locales and drive to new terrain, in addition to promoting a healthy and active summer. A few weeks ago Buick contacted me about being a featured blogger in this campaign!

Buick has loaned me a fancy new Verano Turbo this week with which I can drive to as many new running adventures as possible. I then map my route on MapMyRun.com and share my new runs with Buick and the rest of the world via social media. You can follow along at hashtag Driven2Run. It’s a pretty car.

 

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If you’ve been reading since the beginning (thank you), you may recall that the motivation for this blog was to write about the cross-section of running and traveling. Adventure is my middle name and my favorite thing to do on an adventure is to run. When I run in a new land I breathe it in deeper, feel the earth beneath my feet, and take pictures with my eyes. A new landscape gets in to your very pores when you run through it, and that’s how I take places with me. My most vivid memories of the city of Boston come from runs along the Charles or across Boston Common. I can practically smell the Colorado countryside right now thanks to the 3 miles Brad and I ran up a mountain. I love running when I travel. So the fact that Buick targeted Running to Tahiti for this summer campaign is pure serendipity and excitement. I now have not only an excuse, but real motivation to get my running butt out into greater Los Angeles and rediscover this beautiful city with my own two feet.

We get the Buick through next weekend, so next Saturday we’ll really adventure somewhere exciting and a bit remote to prove that the run is indeed worth the drive.

With all of that said I could use your help Angelenos. Where should we run??? Southern California is at our fingertips (or running shoes) and we could really use some suggestions. Please share either in the comments or on social media your favorite running routes in Los Angeles, greater Los Angeles, and Orange and Ventura counties. Use the hashtag #Driven2Run to follow the conversation.

Thanks to Buick and MapMyRun for inviting Running to Tahiti to be a part of this challenge. Brad and I so look forward to discovering SoCal anew!

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Turning 30, and Other Milestones

I picked up my wedding dress yesterday. It hangs in my closet like a quiet animated thing. It’s as if life sits in it, waiting to be breathed into motion 35 days from now. When I tried it on yesterday in my final fitting, I felt like I had slinked into a missing layer of skin. I stood there looking in the mirror and felt not like a princess, but like a princess about to become a queen. And that is exactly how every person should feel on their wedding day. Like they are transcending into a regal elevated version of themself. It’s an important role to play, and every role needs the perfect costume. This dress, oh this dress.

This major milestone is so near in the road ahead, it’s practically the next turnoff. It has consumed so much of my mind that it has almost overshadowed another rather major milestone in my life. Almost.

I’m turning 30 on June 18.

I know to most of my friends and family the general response to that is, “oh you’re still so young!” and that’s true. I am. Turning 30 is not a big deal in the sense that it makes me feel old. I’m not. It doesn’t. But that doesn’t detract from its gravity. When I moved to L.A. 8 years ago, I would occasionally look down the road at the big 3-0 and I thought I saw many things in my future. I thought I would be working full time as an actor or, ooooh, famous. I thought I would be in the possession of much money. I thought I might be out of debt. I remember, at 22, having a conversation about the biz with an agent I was interning for at the time. She was talking about pursuing the career of acting and patience and how it might not happen for me “until I was 30.” Thirty?!?! I thought to myself. She must be crazy! 

🙂

I think back to those musings of my 22 year old self and all I can do is smile, because I don’t have any of those things that I thought I would have. I don’t really want any of them (well, except for the money and get-out-of-debt thing. That woulda been great). I have so much more than my little 22 year old mind could have imagined. I have a love. The love of my life. A love that nurtures me and teaches me and gives me faith and purpose. I have a job. A job that gives my life meaning. A job that makes me proud to work every day even though I’m not quite on the fast track to pay off those college loans.

And I have art. I have a theatre company. I’m a part of a community of artists that I have to remind myself I’m worthy of. I have a little corner in Los Angeles that I belong to. A lens through which I can gaze out at this sprawling city with pride and love. It’s such an honor to have a community like that.

So on this, the week of my 30th birthday, I only want to celebrate by saying thank you. After my trip down the aisle, I’ll make my way back to Los Angeles (by way of Sedona, yay mini-moon!), and I’ll step into the role of producer for an upcoming show at Theatre of NOTE. I’m going to make a play happen, and it’s going to be awesome. The only thing I could ever ask for on my 30th birthday is for your tiny bit of help.

I’ve recently been blessed with an amazing fundraising producer who is going to take the reigns on gathering the juice to make this play puppy run. (Thank you Kirsten!) Before she works her fundraising magic, I did have one trick up my sleeve, and that’s to host a birthday fundraiser. Since I wont for nothing in terms of gifts, material or emotional, all I can ask for on my birthday is your small contribution to make this play happen. Here is the link to my online fundraiser.

https://www.crowdrise.com/RebeccasDirtyThirty

I have a modest goal of raising the first $1000 of the budget. We need a lot more than that, but $1000 will get the ball rolling. If any little part of you would like to send me a birthday gift, I would be so grateful.

Here’s to major milestones! Here’s to thirty years of living! And here’s to THEATRE!!

Happy Birthday to Meee!

Happy Birthday to Meee!

 

Some of my favorite moments of NOTE:

getting my hair pulled by Carl Johnson

getting my hair pulled by Carl Johnson in Holy Ghost

 

looking wistful in Mulholland Christmas Carol

looking wistful in Mulholland Christmas Carol by Bill Robens

 

PTSD by Tommy Smith, with Jason Denuszek

PTSD by Tommy Smith, with Jason Denuszek, damn that play was good

 

photo shoot for He Asked For It by Erik Patterson, my first mainstage at NOTE

photo shoot for He Asked For It by Erik Patterson, my first mainstage at NOTE

 

And the Crowdrise link again:

https://www.crowdrise.com/RebeccasDirtyThirty

And again 🙂

30 Days of Thanks – Day 8: Theatre of NOTE

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Yesterday my little blog here had the most views in it’s short history; a statistic deserving of Scott’s visit. Thank you for reading everyone. I know the bulk of those readers were members of my lovely theatre company, Theatre of NOTE. They are my extended family and like any family we have our share of occasional drama, but only to match the presence of love.

I am so thankful that I found a little black box in Hollywood filled with compassionate creative artists, and that they let me hang around. They are the most talented people in Los Angeles. And the wackiest. Both admirable attributes. The truth is, without you guys, I think I would have gone crazy. Probably left L.A. This town can be a vortex of ego and loneliness and you need a tether to keep you from getting sucked in. A community. For the past 6 years I’ve had the most wonderful tether.

Without NOTE I would have never met the love of my life. That one gets the theatre brownie points to last a lifetime no matter what ever else happens.

I’ve had some of the most incredible theatrical challenges both at NOTE and because of NOTE. Every year I eagerly await what new opportunities will come down the pike, either to perform in or just shows to see that I know will blow me away.

For all of the late rehearsals, the fundraisers, the company meetings, the dance parties, the terms of the AMC, the endless font of acronyms (just when you think you can’t come up with one more…) the committee meetings, the drama, the love fests, the long emails, the joy of being cast, the heartbreak of not, the love that keeps you coming back despite the heartbreak, the performance marathons, the NOTEwoods, the Scott McKinleys. I love it all.

It’s good to have a family. You all are so precious to me. Maybe more than you’ll ever know. I’ve always wanted to feel like I was a part of something, and here I do. It’s a warm and Thanksgiving-y feeling.

Go theatre club. Now turn in your hours!

At a company meeting. Packed in like sardines.

At a company meeting. Packed in like sardines.

Holy Ghost

Holy Ghost

Holy Ghost

Holy Ghost

Scott McKinley photobomb series

Scott McKinley photobomb series

NOTEwood

NOTEwood

a band

a band

PTSD

PTSD

Rehearsal for Mulholland Christmas Carol

Rehearsal for Mulholland Christmas Carol

Mulholland Christmas Carol

Mulholland Christmas Carol

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See ya tomorrow

running with dolphins

I firmly believe that a great run leads to a great day. That’s just one more reason why I prefer to run in the morning. It sets the tone for everything that’s to come. This morning’s run gives evidence to this claim. 

I woke up feeling groggy and frustrated. My alarm clock didn’t go off because my stupid phone decides to turn off for absolutely no reason every once in awhile and won’t start again unless you physically remove and replace the battery, so my alarm didn’t go off when it should have. This meant I could still run, but not early enough that I would be able to take the bus to work, which meant I would have to drive and lose my fantastic parking spot for the weekend. These are the concerns you think about when you live in a Los Angeles beach community during the summer. Parking is everything.

I decided to run nonetheless. What started out as a sluggish first 2 miles was made bearable by the gorgeous morning weather and the cheery disposition of my running partner. I really couldn’t complain. Then things really turned around completely when we looked out at the sea and saw a huge pod of dolphins running right next to us very close to shore. I see dolphins practically every time we walk out to the beach yet it’s still always a magical sight to behold. There’s just something about dolphins; knowing how smart they are, and the types of communities they build together and live in. They are crazy cool animals. I always want to swim out and join them. I didn’t however. This morning I was satisfied with running beside them.

The video doesn’t do them justice. There were many more and they were much closer than they appear. Sorry for the shakiness. I forgot to stop running while taking the video 🙂

With luck from the dolphins, it’s been a great day. Big relief came through on a project at work. Success! Sold some more items in my Etsy store. Yay! AND, I finally got my new wallet that I ordered a couple of weeks ago. I really adored my last wallet that I got in the Land a few years ago. I’ve tried for weeks to find an exact replacement but they just don’t make these anymore. I held onto it for too long methinks:

a little worn out, don’t you think?

It’s just so darn cute. Though I will miss my Mad Tea Party, I’m quite fond of my new one. It’s sophisticated, yet whimsical.

classic alice

Now I’m heading off to the theatre to kick off closing weekend of The Crucible. Just an all-around great great day. I don’t usually write “this is what happened to me today” posts. Generally I find them rather uninteresting. Today, however, compels me to write. Today was a relatively insignificant day full of significantly lovely moments. Nothing huge happened. I didn’t win the lottery, get married, or get pregnant. But I’ll remember today nonetheless. Days like this make up a good life.  

Amazing what running with the dolphins can do.