humor

“Do I Have to be Angry to be Intelligent?”

GoJulesGo Title Graphic_do i have to be angry to be intelligent__.27MAY2020png

“YES. That’s IT!” I thought, putting down the newspaper clipping.

I gazed around my bedroom, its dusty rose walls matching my new 15-year-old style: shabby chic. My artwork -mostly sketches of my favorite actors- filled the walls, and next to my desk, where I spent long hours writing fan fiction, sat a collection of intensely sincere CDs by singer-songwriters I worshipped.

On top of the stack was Jewel’s Pieces of You, an album I listened, warbled, and cried to for roughly 99.98% of 1997. Which is probably why my dad thought to hand me that particular news clipping, featuring an interview with Jewel herself. The title quote was, “Do I have to be angry to be intelligent?”

Jewel Pieces of You album cover
I can’t for the life of me find evidence of this quote, so you’ll just have to trust me.

I thought back to my 8th grade class, who, at the end of the school year, had voted me “Most Likely to Host QVC.” As a sensitive, straight-A student who’d never once thought about peddling jade brooches while sporting a fake tan, I was flummoxed.

“Why?” I finally worked up the nerve to ask my classmates.

“Because you’re always smiling!” they replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

I inwardly scoffed. I shared a home with not one, but two, bonafide geniuses, and while I never reached their intellectual heights, being smart was THE MOST IMPORTANT THING.

QVC
And QVC? Not on the list. Photo credit

By the time Jewel’s quote found its way into my hands a year or two later, I felt completely misunderstood. Just because I was smiling and non-threatening, did that automatically make me clueless and dopey?

“PREACH!” I wanted to cry as I read the article.

Jewel, a fellow blonde who, like me, loved art, animals, nature, and poetry, had had a similar struggle in being taken seriously. And while I use the word “struggle” loosely, fully acknowledging the privileged place from which I write, this issue has resurfaced in my life time and time again.

In fact, by the time I was an adult, I had almost entirely stopped reading -once my favorite pastime- because the books I wanted to read weren’t the “smart” ones.

Harry Potter series
Oh, thank god. Smart people are reading these. Platform 9 3/4, here I come!

After what felt like a brief hall pass to study creative writing in college, I had to choose a career. I wanted to work on screenplays, but was that “smart”?

img_20200524_172655
Of course not! All smart people know that writers wind up living under bridges and disappointing their parents!

So, naturally I picked a career that looked intelligent, even if it was laughably opposed to the artistic, spiritual, independent person I actually was.

Corporate office
Cue 14 years in Cubicle City. Photo credit

During my 20s and 30s, not a single person genuinely questioned that choice. In fact, it was usually admired and celebrated – or completely ignored because it was sooo obviously the right decision. Just like going to college, having a steady corporate job meant you were smart. And smart, much like extroversion and facial symmetry, wins.

The first time I decided to rebel, I did it right here – by starting this blog!

cropped-gogp_banner_3-001.jpg
(Annnd working on it mostly from the aforementioned cubicle.)

It was 2011, and I was now a married homeowner (more “smart” decisions). I called it “Go Guilty Pleasures!” and aired all of my secrets – all of the embarrassing, ridiculous, wonderful things that I liked just because they made my heart sing. ‘NSync, Glee, reality TV, dogs in costume, slap bracelets… I had a lifetime of skeletons to reveal.

The blog may have seemed over-the-top silly (and, er, probably still does), but that was the point. I was on a mission to prove, if only to myself, that “smart” and “silly” weren’t mutually exclusive. And if they were? Well then, dammit, I was choosing silly.

Jules Brain May 2020

Still, though, a part of me was haunted by this notion that I’d never seem intelligent because I was too busy having fun. In 2016, when I became vegan and enrolled in a Humane Education Masters program (so I could seem smart about my new lifestyle), I spent two and a half years studying the world’s atrocities – from human rights to environmental protection to animal rights.

IMG_3713
Yeah, okay. I see it now. Always smiling.

More often than not, I felt enraged by the suffering of my fellow beings and the planet we shared. I wanted to cry and scream and tell people how their choices were impacting ev-e-ry-thing.

But I didn’t.

In biting my tongue, I felt like a failure. I began to wonder if my entire life philosophy -the Golden Rule- needed revisiting.

IMG_3707
“I don’t care how YOU like being treated! Look how YOU’RE treating animals!!” -Thing I Never Said

“My brother called the other day and, for the first time ever, it’s like he read the news. He was PISSED [about the state of the world],” a friend recently said. “I was like, ‘Finally!'”

I stayed silent, wondering for what felt like the ten thousandth time: Do we have to be angry to be intelligent? By now, my age-old question had grown to include: What role does anger have in our lives and in our advocacy?

Is it okay to allow anger to fuel us? Where is the line? Do we break into animal labs and set executives’ houses on fire? What about lecturing our friends?

Or is anger simply a step on the journey? One we use to help pry open our own eyes so that we can better understand ourselves and the plight of others? If someone chooses to operate -and address others- from a place of anger, is this the easy choice or the hard one?

When does anger stop being inspiration and start becoming toxic?

For instance, how would you have reacted to this post had I come in guns blazing, instead of telling a story and then posing the above series of questions?

I get it. When things are f&#*ed up, anger is the first choice. It’s the natural choice. Sometimes we need to light shit on fire (IN THE METAPHORICAL SENSE, people). Anger can inspire change and the courage to point out injustices. But I’m not convinced that anger is the final stop. After all, anger may help shine a light on society’s faults, but will it fix them?

Again recognizing my limited and wildly privileged perspective, I can tell you that working through and past anger is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do – and I do it every. Single. Day. If I can’t? I try to avoid public gatherings and conversation topics entirely.

Because I think you deserve better from me.

Because I think my campaigns deserve better from me.

And because I believe we all deserve to live from a place of peace.

Isn’t that…smart?

Jane Goodall
Photo credit

~*~*~*~*~*~

How has anger helped or hindered you?

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

humor, Just For Fun, Lists

Do You Have the Right Quarantine Skills?

Go Jules Go Do You Have the Right Quarantine Skills Title Graphic 13MAY2020

Recently, my friend Dakota asked, “If you could acquire any two skills during quarantine, what would they be?”

Apparently, running three marathons in nine days didn’t count.

Uncle Jesse double rainbow Maston 2020
It’s okay, Dakota Rainbow Cloudjumper. Uncle Jesse and I forgive you. (In all seriousness, Dakota and his wife, Chelsea, are two of my biggest cheerleaders and I LOVE THEM SO MUCH.)

Based on Dakota’s prompt, I wrote a blog post within minutes. Before I could hit ‘Publish,’ SOMETHING MAGICAL HAPPENED.

A deep-seated wish come true.

A phoenix rising from the ashes!

A…much better version of the post I’d already drafted…what the f#%@?!

After 3+ years of waiting and peer pressuring hoping, my bloggy BFF, sparring partner, and doppleganger, The Byronic Man, HAD A NEW POST.

This is the part where I could have put up photos of B-Man in drag, but I’m a good friend.

And it looked like not much had changed: HE WAS STILL INSIDE MY HEAD. So, I’ll let him cover the quarantine goals category, and I’ll gladly move on, my party hat slap bracelet firmly in place. (Although it’s worth noting that I already had the rest of this post written as part of my original draft, including the retro B-Man shout-out.)

img_3648
When bloggy BFFs collide. After a run. In the rain. …Whose idea was this anyway?

Acquiring new skills seems kinda hard, anyway. Besides, if these are end times (and who says they aren’t?), what are the most marketable skills we already possess? How can we prove to our quarantine comrades that they shouldn’t eat us first? I’ll take a crack at it, and then I want to hear from you!

Go Jules Go’s Quarantine Survival Skills

I…

1. …give fantastic compliments. Did you know you’re the only person I write this blog for?

Go Jules Go title graphic In the Middle of the Woods Naked_3JUL2019
And would I ever lie to you?

2. …can make anything out of raw cashews.

3. …can sew. …Assuming you only need cute Christmas ornaments.

GotC-bacon
They’re vegan.

4. …have long arms = strong selfie game.

Babs Jules NYC May 2019
YOU CAN’T EVEN TELL I’M THE ONE TAKING THIS.

5. …will carry 15 extra pounds up a mountain if it means we get to have potato quesadillas in the morning.

img_20190913_152126
FACT.

6. …know how to say 1,000+ words in French. None of them go together, but never mind that.

duolingo_french_owl_p3g1Kr8
Pain! Chouette! Chapeau! …See?

7. …write excellent thank you notes. This can only help our diplomacy efforts with neighboring communities.

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It’s the thought (and not the penmanship) that counts, right?

8. …know when to hold ’em and when to fold ’em. Wait, we’re talking about fitted sheets, right?

Seasons-Sheetings-2012-FINAL
It was a whole thing. What? You weren’t here in 2012?

9. …understand the ancient art of numerology. Sort of. I’m pretty sure we can stop worrying about 666.

666 angel numer
Toldja.

10. …am a follower. Even though my head was clearly made for a crown, I’m most comfortable standing in someone else’s shadow and won’t upset the group dynamics.

mvimg_20200430_105916
We are all in this together.

11. …don’t really understand the ancient art of numerology and think that ending on #11 means we won’t die. (My superstitions could save us all.)

IMG_2335.jpg
Then again, maybe don’t rely on me for survival.

~*~*~*~*~*~

So, what are your top quarantine/end of days skillz?

~*~*~*~*~*~

humor

Not Your Momma’s Marathon Advice

Last year, I got some really good phenomenal advice – which is generally how I like the transaction to occur. You, Oh Wise One, give advice, and I, inferior and questioning little human, smile and nod.

Jules Valentines Day Feb 2020
Whatever you say, boss. I’m already drunk.

“You have to remember that where you are right now is exactly the right place from which to teach,” this Sage Advice Giver said. “There is someone out there at this very moment, experiencing what you did a few months or years ago, and they need to hear from you, just a step or two ahead.”

“Huh,” I replied, nodding, still not completely convinced.

“Think about it,” Ms. Guru continued. “If you had just held your first basketball and Michael Jordan announced he was your new coach, what would happen? Everything would sail over your head because he’s like 14 feet tall you’d have no idea what he was talking about, you’d be intimidated, and you’d probably throw in the towel thinking how you’d never get to his level.”

Michael Jordan
Jeez Michael, you don’t have to rub it in. Photo credit

“Mmm,” I said, starting to catch on.

“We need coaches and mentors who are still on the same playing field. There are people who need and want to learn from you, right where you are, just as you are, today.”

And there it was.

In that instant, everything changed.

I, Go Jules Go, lover of chipmunks and pouring the last, saltiest, kettle cooked BBQ potato chip crumbs down her pie hole whilst googling Stephen Colbert’s astrological sign, was reborn.

O Magazine Oprah advice
I felt like Oprah.

Fast-forward to present day, when one of my good friends mentioned that she’s toying with the idea of running a marathon in 2021.

“I have no doubt in my mind that you could do it with far more ease than you think,” I texted.

“Well that’s good to hear! My only goals would be to finish and not die,” she replied.

“You have the best attitude and strength, physically and mentally [of anyone I know]. It’d be a done deal,” I went on, feeling only slightly guilty about the blatant peer pressure.

Erin Jules marathon hats FootZone Oct 2019
AND you have the look, EK.

As we went back and forth, I began to think of all of the things I wished I had known about marathon running several years ago, and how great it would have been to have received that advice from, well, someone like me. Someone whose goal was also to “finish and not die.” Someone who didn’t run track growing up, who didn’t (and still doesn’t) understand the phrase “zero drop sneakers,” and whose childhood influences were more, “Let’s watch TGI Friday and order more cheesy breadsticks” than, “What do you want in your green smoothie?”

Jules-green-smoothie
This wouldn’t be half bad with vodka.

When I ran my first two marathons in 2014, my life was a Made for TV Special: divorce, job lay-off, new romance, new failed romance, moving back in with my parents (…at age 32…). I’d never run before and, fueled by chaos and cute men, I went too far, too fast, quickly paying the price with an I.T. band injury.

IT band injury
I.T. Band. The lamest band in the history of time. Photo credit 

While I completed two marathons, it was ultimately painful and punishing.

When I decided to pack up and move across the country in 2019, I knew everything would be different. I would run again, taking advantage of central Oregon’s outdoor splendor, and it would be good.

Jules Crater Lake Aug 2019
So good. Oh crap, is it time to start running?

Last fall, settled in my beautiful new home, I began training in earnest with one simple goal: to make this the most painless experience possible.

Jules half marathon training Sep 2019
Annnnd I definitely didn’t fall twice on this training run. Nope. Not me.

Now, after having just run three marathons in nine days sans injury (chyeah I did just say that), I’m happy to report: MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. So let’s do this.

Not Your Mommas Marathon Advice Go Jules Go title graphic 6MAY2020

Expect to have 14 different races in one marathon.

Running 26.2 miles is kind of like watching Tiger King. You are now on an emotional rollercoaster full of ups and downs you simply could never have prepared for.

Tiger King
Would you rather: Bottle feed a full-grown tiger or run a marathon?

SLOW DOWN, Buck-o.

On race day, you’ll be raring to go. Go slower than you can even stand to (and then silently judge all of the jackals who take off like their race bibs are on fire). Your body will thank you later. Like on mile 23 when all you want to do is find a bean bag chair and a box of wine.

bean bag wine chair
Or better yet…

DO WHAT WORKS FOR YOU.

I’ve been known to eat Nutter Butters and falafel wraps before and during long runs. But please don’t do anything weird on race day. Don’t try new food or compression socks or chaffing sticks or, god forbid, shoes.

tour-de-fail-t-shirt
And please please pretty please don’t wear the unwashed, chemical-laden, ugly-ass race shirt you just received for THE RACE YOU’RE CURRENTLY RUNNING. Sweet baby Jesus, does no one believe in jinxing anymore?! How about rashes? Do we believe in those?

Incorporate as many plant-based meals into your diet as possible.

This will reduce inflammation and help your body recover in ways you can’t begin to imagine. (Don’t believe me? Check out The Game Changers.) I was vegan for almost four years before running three marathons in nine days last month, and that never would have happened without a plant-i-ful diet.

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Oh, what’s that? You’re looking for someone who can help you with this? Hmm…

Miles 20 to 26.2 won’t kill you, but you might want them to.

You’ll never hate the fraction 2/10 more in your life. No amount of physical training can prepare you for those final miles. You have to want it, mentally. Unlike U.S. banks, you have to think, “THERE IS NO BAIL OUT PLAN.”

Lori Philly half marathon high five Nov 2014
Also, it is 100% okay to throat punch any person who says, “Almost there!” when you’re anywhere within this mile range. (Photo: My sister gettin’ ‘er done during the 2014 Philly half marathon.)

And most importantly, know…

You don’t have to ‘look’ or ‘feel’ like a runner (whatever the hell that means) to crush a marathon.

Just. Start. Running. You WILL have shitty training runs. You won’t want to leave the house. Do it anyway. Because, often when you least expect it, you will also have AMAZING runs. You will feel highs you didn’t know you could feel without potential jail time.

img_20200405_162020
Did someone say jail time?

Happy, Injury-Free Running!

~*~*~*~*~*~

How do you feel about giving advice? 

~*~*~*~*~*~

 

humor, I'm Going To Chop My Ear Off Any Day Now, PSAs

The Power of Panic

Go Jules Go title graphic The Power of Panic 29APR20

“No, I won’t go! I can’t go! I’ll do anything!”

As we neared the sprawling, single-story, brick building, the butterflies in my stomach morphed into fire-breathing dragons, clawing at my insides, tearing through my heart, desperate to escape. My skin felt clammy and I started to sob.

“Please don’t make me go!”

My mom turned her right blinker on, steering our blue Dodge minivan towards the dead end street just before Terrill Middle School.

Terrill Middle School
That architecture’s enough to scare anyone. Photo credit

“Just calm down. Breathe. We’ll take a minute here.”

We were living in some nightmarish middle school version of Groundhog Day. Each morning was the same. We’d agree to drive through Burger King for an egg and cheese “Croissan’wich,” and as I lost myself in the familiar comfort of melted American cheese and processed pastry, I’d feel certain I could make it to my 6th grade classes without incident.

Burger King Egg_and_Cheese_Croissanwich
Spoiler alert: It didn’t work. Photo credit

I can’t remember what triggered the first panic attack. In fact, I don’t remember anyone even using the phrase “panic attack” to describe what was going on. All I knew was that I was a chubby, sensitive, soccer playing 11-year-old, who, every time she approached her new middle school, succumbed to sheer terror.

Jules-Shadow
Much like my new dog, Shadow, every time I tried to “love” him.

My parents and the well-intentioned administration tried everything to get me to go to class. They sent me, a gold star-covered Honor Roll student, to the principal’s office (where I was both impressed by his en suite bathroom and horrified that he seemed to have used it right before I was sentenced to sit with him). They made me take IQ tests that I was sure I failed, arranging red cubes on a counselor’s tiny desk.

rubix cube wrong
But see, I KNOW that’s wrong. So. Genius! Photo credit

Finally, they made me sit in the guidance counselors’ conference room, where they closed the heavy tweed curtains so I couldn’t look out onto the courtyard at the students passing through windowed corridors, oblivious to the girl trapped by her own fear. I wasn’t allowed to read, write, draw, nap, or do anything except sit in that empty room. They thought if they took away my one true love –books– I might finally relent.

Baby-Sitters Club books
Well, Jules, let’s see how long you’ll last without knowing STACEY’S TRUTH.

“Ha,” I thought. “I’ll sit here until I can vote if it means I don’t have to walk those halls…with those jerks…”

The prior year, I had had my first real encounter with The Mean Girls. The group who’d once been my ride or die squad turned on me for reasons I couldn’t fathom at the time, going so far as to arrange a fake shopping date to buy the latest toy, only to leave me standing in the store, alone, next to an empty shelf where the toys had been (the girls had bought them all before I showed up). Later, I realized my gap-toothed smile, big belly, and questionable fashion choices didn’t jive with their burgeoning popularity.

gojulesgo-kid-Halloween-1993
Huh. I don’t get it.

My parents sent me to therapy, where I also sat silently, daring the therapist to figure out what was wrong with me. How could she know what I didn’t even know? The entire year unfolded like this, and I can’t imagine how hard it must have been on my parents.

“You have to cut this shit out and go to school!” my father, a well-respected educator himself, shouted one night after finally snapping. He threw something down the hall in my general direction while I cowered on the ground. I’d never seen him lose it before. Didn’t they all know that if I could just fix it, I would?

Pop-Jules-Burger-King
Let’s just go back to Burger King and EVERYTHING WILL BE OKAY.

My heart goes out to that little girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders. After having several panic attacks in my adult life, I finally realized that the source of my fear was simply the fear itself. Anyone who’s ever had a panic attack knows that you’ll walk through fire before facing the ‘thing’ that triggered the panic in the first place – however irrational that may look to the outside world. Most adults describe the feeling as “being sure [they were] going to die.” How the hell is an 11-year-old supposed to cope with that?

jules-impossible-burger
Well, ha ha. At least none of this led to an unhealthy relationship with food.

That year shaped the rest of my young life. Thanks to those unrelenting panic attacks, I missed most of 6th grade and attended only two hours of high school. When I was 16, I got my GED and started working full-time at a local independent bookstore.

Jenn-bday-Jules-Amelia-Bedelia
Finally! A place that sees how cool I am! Hey, look how cool I am!

Now, as every corner of the world swirls with uncertainty, grief, and fear, my inner 11-year-old nods, holding out her small hand, wanting to offer the only comfort she can.

I know how you feel.

~*~*~*~*~*~

If you’re looking for courage, camaraderie, and/or inspiration during these unprecedented times, I hope you’ll consider joining me live this Friday, May 1, 2020 (5:00-6:00pm PST / 8:00-9:00pm EST) for a free, interactive Zoom seminar!

https://zoom.us/j/96166072219

Save Me From Myself Seminar FB sample ad 3

~*~*~*~*~*~

humor

The Secret to Running a Marathon (During a Pandemic…Or Ever)

Go Jules Go How to Run a Marathon Title Graphic 14APR2020

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

Two dozen ice cubes hit the bottom of six water bottles. I paused halfway, switching hands, my left fingers already numb from reaching into the ice bin for the eighth time.

Uncle Jesse’s collar rattled as he pranced from paw to paw, letting out a low whimper every few seconds. His evangelical nature revealed itself every time I began our sacred ritual: Water bottle…yes…backpack…YES…leash…YES!…sneakers…PRAISE JESUS YESSSS!!!!

Uncle Jesse running Lake Michigan
Can I get an “Amen”?!

I wonder if he knows what he’s in for today, I thought, pulling a package of tortillas from the fridge.

With water bottles filled, I turned to sustenance, folding a few falafel balls into a wrap for me, and a sweet potato into one for Uncle Jesse. It was getting harder to believe the entire world was on lockdown, with Mother Nature beginning to show her sweeter side, beckoning restless souls to pack a picnic or meet some friends for happy hour around a sun-soaked table.

OH GOD I MISS THIS.

I checked the weather one last time. High of 60 with “abundant sunshine.” I was still getting used to the latter. Springtime on the east coast usually brought warmer temperatures by mid-April, but also a lot more rain. Bend, Oregon, on the other hand, still saw frigid nights and little precipitation.

Uncle Jesse double rainbow Maston 2020
And when it does rain in central Oregon? This happens.

As I packed my hiking bag, I went the extra mile (pun sooo intended), grabbing an empty shopping sack and stuffing spare socks, a shirt, Band-Aids, an extra hat, and a hand towel into it. I cast a glance at the calendar where I’d been counting down the days until this moment.

8 miles @ Maston

Crazy hilly 13 miles @ ?? Butte

REST

Easy 5 miles @ Shevlin Park

18 Miles @ Tumalo Reserve incl. ?? Butte (seriously does it have a name?)

REST

Every square of 2020 was filled with pencil scribbles tracking my progress, even though the Bend Marathon, originally scheduled for April 19th, had been canceled in March, courtesy of COVID-19.

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As a final step, I put two extra sandwiches, water, and a can of Coke into a cooler bag. I clicked my race belt on, grabbed my hat, and put on my dusty and trusty Altra trail running shoes.

Jules Altras by Deschutes River

“Allons, mon chien!” I declared, tossing Uncle Jesse’s leash and my ear buds into the shopping bag as we headed outside. Neither four months of marathon training nor eighteen months on Duolingo French would be in vain!

Jules Uncle Jesse snowy run by Deschutes River
How do you say, “I run until I cry” in French…?

I took a gamble on a new trailhead about 25 minutes east, near the Badlands, and landed in an empty parking lot just before 10:30am. Scoooooore. It was rare to find an empty trailhead on a Saturday morning, even during a pandemic. While a huge part of me felt guilty every time I got in the car to find a quiet place to run, it still felt safer to pick an open, abandoned trail than play ‘dodge-a-pedestrian’ while running on my neighborhood sidewalks.

Badlands trail sign
Besides, when you’re talking 26.2 miles, you’re eventually going to run out of sidewalk.

Before COVID hit, I’d spent countless hours trying to find the least-used trails in a 30-mile radius – research that now paid off handsomely.

Uncle Jesse on trail in OR
#IntrovertForTheWin

I moseyed over to the trailhead map, popping my ear buds in and snapping my water-filled backpack around my chest. Delighted to find a network of trails long enough to cover 13+ miles (meaning I wouldn’t have to do more than two loops on the same trail), I started my audiobook, locked the car, and began jogging. Uncle Jesse eagerly darted from side to side, making sure no stick went un-sniffed.

Uncle Jesse butt shot sandy trail mountains

The wide, sandy trail was packed down, mostly flat, and totally deserted. A cool breeze wafted by as if I’d placed an order. Wow. Okay. This will work. I’d spent so many training runs trudging through thick sand, narrowly missing mountain bikers, and/or getting snowed on, that this felt like running inside Darren Criss’s smile while petting puppies.

Darren Criss puppies zipper pouch
OH MY GOD HOW DO I NOT HAVE THIS?

The first hour flew by, even if my pace was nothing like flying. I was 6 years older and 20 30 40 (thanks, COVID-15) pounds heavier than the last time I thought I could run marathons.

Jules-Hamptons-Marathon-27Sep2014
Jules’s 2014 marathon recap: “This experience was f&*#$%^ awful!”

But I was also four years plant-powered and properly trained now, with a rock-solid faith in both my legs and my mental fortitude. I was a week ahead of schedule [for the originally scheduled Bend Marathon on April 19th], so if I couldn’t make the six hour cut-off time today, I’d simply try again next weekend, with no one the wiser.

Scott Jurek Badwater finish
So basically I feel like Scott Jurek now. Photo credit

While I may have missed the adrenaline rush of cheering squads, the aid stations, and the course markings of an official race, I didn’t miss the hard pavement, early start time, or collective anxiety, which usually peaked 20-30 minutes before race time in the form of mile-long port-a-potty lines. I especially didn’t miss the well-intentioned, but severely misguided “Good job!” and “You got this!” cries of much faster runners as they whizzed by.

Go Jules Go prep for half marathon Nov 2019
I also didn’t miss doing this the night before.

Hour two was harder than the first, as I began to realize there was no shade whatsoever; parts of the trail grew sandier while my backpack seemed to grow heavier. In hell, a mountain of sand and nothing but warm Gatorade and Donald Trump speeches will await me. Around the same time, I accepted that I would chafe in new, exciting places, despite wearing entirely road-tested gear.

Jules Salt Lake City trying stream water Jun 2019
Well that’s gonna be fun tomorrow.

I stopped just before hour three under a rare, shady tree. Uncle Jesse stared at me with big, questioning brown eyes. I pulled out our wraps and we ate them quickly. The other bonus to jogging vs. running long distances seemed to be that I could eat whatever I wanted without gastrointestinal distress. GU? Electrolyte chews? Energy bars? You can keep ’em! On all of our longer training runs jogs, we had simply stopped at the halfway mark and eaten sandwiches.

Jules Broken Angel burrito
Refried bean burrito for breakfast and falafel wrap for lunch? Don’t mind if I do.

The high desert sun grew more intense, though there was still a strong breeze, and our water grew warmer as we neared hour four, running along a dreary stretch of power lines. I made the executive decision to turn back to the car for more water, cursing inwardly as my toe collided with another lava rock hidden in the thick sand.

Uncle Jesse sandy trail
So…much…sand.

“And the making of a hero…,” the British narrator continued on my audiobook, Natural Born Heroes. Though I’d normally hang on Christopher McDougall’s every word, I tuned in and out, distracted by trying to retrace my steps.

Marathon mountain view Apr 11 2020
I was also distracted by this view.

Just as we neared what I was (…pretty…) sure was the path to my car, I spotted a man and his dog – the first person I’d seen all day. Guhhhhh. I did an about-face and started off in the opposite direction. The unexpected detour meant it was almost five hours in before Uncle Jesse and I reached Suba-Ruby.

Subara car commercial

If we’re not even close to 20 miles, I’m calling it, I thought, defeated. I glanced at my Fitbit. 21.5 miles. I grinned maniacally.

“Oh, less than 5 miles. We are making this happen,” I said aloud. Uncle Jesse tilted his head in response.

Uncle Jesse head tilts on backseat car cover 25Dec2019

I took a few gulps of deliciously frosty water from the cooler pack, quickly refilling Uncle Jesse’s Water Rover and my go-to bottle. I gleefully swapped out my ill-fitting bigger pack for my beloved little Camelback, and we set off to conquer the last few miles.

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Is it legal to marry an inanimate object?

During the final 45 minutes, stiffness settled into my legs and every minute crawled by. I refused to look at my watch until I couldn’t bear it. Knowing I could do all 26.2 miles offered little comfort; I still had to do it. I imagined sitting on the couch with my cheap bottle of Trader Joe’s bubbly, eating whatever the living f#@& I wanted, watching my long-awaited Redbox rental, Little Women – including all of the special features, dammit.

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Nerd alert.

When we finally rounded the bend back into the parking lot, I had to do two more tiny loops before my watch signaled that we’d hit our target distance. I let out a small laugh.

Marathon Fitbit screenshot Apr 11 2020
Booya.

“You’re a marathon man now!” I shouted to Uncle Jesse, 10-year-old Vegan Wonder Dog, who had already climbed into the backseat and was staring at me with tired, but alert, eyes. Par for the course, his expression seemed to say. He hadn’t missed a single training run.

Uncle Jesse snow romp 2 Cascades 2019
Sheer determination.

I poured water on a towel and wiped off my wind and sunburned face, wedging my “2020 Bend Marathon” trucker cap on, having finally earned it. I fed Uncle Jesse another sandwich, snapped a photo for the obligatory social media show-off, and we headed back home, where we sat on the hallway floor and shared a pint of Coconut Bliss ice cream.

Go Jules Go Uncle Jesse post marathon April 11 2020
He hogged it all.

Though I laid low and downed a couple of Aleve the next day -mostly for my back which wasn’t used to carrying such a large, heavy pack during runs- by Monday we were right back at it, running jogging eight miles like it was nothing.

Jules vegan sweatshirt
Plant-powered. For. The. Win.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I’m almost 38, overweight, drink like a [quarantined] fish, and have no business feeling this great after running a marathon – much more than I can say for my younger, thinner, meat-eating self.

Also I love you. And if you’re a nurse, that love is, like, getting weird.

~*~*~*~*~*~

humor

I Heard You Had Nothing Better To Do

…What’s that?

…You’re impressed that I tore myself away from the seven pounds of macaroni salad I made last night long enough to write a blog post?

Me too!

Go Jules Go Title Graphic I Heard You Had Nothing Better to Do 8APR20

In between carb orgies and dry heaving every time I check my 401k balance and/or the news (thank god for John Krasinski), I’ve kept my quarantined self busy here in central Oregon by…

…Creating Oregon Trail: The 2020 Edition.

…Trying to convince my friend Sarah to go into the mask-making business (look at this beauty!).

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Sarah and I met wearing even less fabric than this.

…And launching my new humor writing course!

That’s right! You no longer have to weep each Wednesday when you reach the end of my blog posts. Now you can spend SIX WHOLE WEEKS bathing in all things comedy with yours truly. Or maybe you just want to be online BFFs while we ride this ‘rona thing out, and you’re willing to pay for it. That’s cool, too.

I was pretty excited when one of my favorite former professors, Kris Tucker, reached out to ask if I’d be interested in teaching a humor writing course for her Creative Writing with Kris series.

“I’ll have to think about it,” I said.

My only demand? Making the promo code “COVID19.”

If you know anyone who might want to use this unexpected downtime to hone their ha-ha’s, please share!

Gotta run. This macaroni ain’t gonna eat itself.

I love you so much. Please stay safe and healthy.

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And gorgeous.

~*~*~*~*~*~

How are you keeping busy while CRUSHING THAT CURVE?

~*~*~*~*~*~

humor, PSAs

My Quarantine Diary: 26 Days and Counting

Go Jules Go has been social distancing since Saturday, March 7th. What follows is her personal account from inside an unknown bunker in central Oregon. Please disinfect before -and after- reading. 


Day 1

Thank you, Past Jules, for investing in that Scott 12-pack when you normally only buy one roll at a time.

Day 3

Have been introduced to “new” phenomenon called “stress baking.” I contend that I invented stress baking in 1991 when I realized no one could ever love me like peanut butter blossoms could.

No, we love YOU, Jules. Go ‘head. Have another one. You know you want to. Photo credit

Day 6

Local library announced that book return has been closed indefinitely. F$&*. No longer have excuse not to finish, “Memoir Writing for Dummies.”

Oh, you thought I was kidding?

Day 7

Attempted to explain Zoom to Babs (mother). Will to live beginning to wane.

At least these ladies get it.

Day 9

Watched first quarantine episode of “Last Week Tonight.” No live audience. No laugh track. Felt lost.

Day 11

Go Jules Go: Dog Enrichment Toy Inventor and Mastermind. New business venture?

Day 12

Re-watched “Outbreak.” Beginning to worry that all life-long obsessions -chipmunks, beheadings, Patrick Dempsey and pandemics- will prove to be modern society’s downfall.

In my mind, that is 110% Ross’s exact monkey from Friends.

Day 14

Waved to stranger across the street. Was nice.

Day 15

Sweatpants have become stretch pants.

My quarantine wardrobe. In its entirety.

Day 16

Got Cinemax trial subscription just to watch “Contagion.” Key takeaway: Both Matt Damon and I will always find ways to embrace our Dad bods. (See: Day 19.)

Day 19

Can now rest ice cream bowl atop middle stomach layer. Convenient!

Day 21

Re-counted toilet paper rolls. 6. How did this happen?

Day 23

Quarantine in effect until at least April 30th. My birthday. Plans to sleep in Justin Timberlake’s bushes and make day special now thwarted.

I shall comfort myself by wearing favorite shirt. (Photo: ‘NSync concert  circa 2000)

Day 25

Dark days lie ahead. May have to cut Uncle Jesse’s hair myself.

We’ve tried this before. And we don’t like to talk about it.

Day 26

OH MY GOD HOW ARE THEY GOING TO FILM THE “AMERICAN IDOL” LIVE SHOWS?!

~*~*~*~*~*~

humor, PSAs

Meanwhile in Oregon…

Go Jules Go Meanwhile in Oregon title graphic 18MAR20

Hey! What’s up? Oh, me? Nothing much. You know. JUST THE USUAL PANDEMIC / UNPRECEDENTED CRISIS WHERE I PANIC ABOUT TOILET PAPER EVEN MORE THAN USUAL AND WONDER IF I’LL EVER SEE MY PARENTS AGAIN AND WHY GOD WHY DIDN’T I INVEST IN PURELL and… sorry? What was that?

In all seriousness, I hope if you’re reading this, you’re safe and sound AND FLATTENING THE CURVE; DEAR BABY CHIPMUNKS JUST STAY HOME. I’m proud, but not surprised, to say that my adopted central Oregon community is rallying like it’s Black Friday and our favorite child just asked for a Tickle-Me Elmo. Everyone wants to help, and it’s a beautiful thing to see.

Speaking of beautiful things to see, here’s a clip from last night, when I shamelessly invented a new “dog enrichment toy” for my Genius Doodle, Uncle Jesse (who turns 10 on Friday!!! and just EASILY ran 20 miles because we thought we were training for a marathon in April, but obviously it was canceled because plague #plantpoweredpooch):

~*~*~*~*~

So…how are you?

~*~*~*~*~

 

humor

#NeverInNewJersey Round 2!

Not too long ago, I wrote a post describing the glaring differences between life in New Jersey, where I lived for 37 years, and life in Bend, Oregon, my hometown as of June 2019.

None of these things would have happened in ye olde Garden State.

Thanks to Rainbow Cloudjumper, I even have the hashtag #NeverInNewJersey to complement this ongoing trend.

I knew it wouldn’t be long before I had an entirely new set of examples. (For examples A-D, click here!)

Go Jules Go Never In New Jersey Round 2 Title Graphic 4MAR2020

#NEVERINNEWJERSEY EXHIBIT E

This catalog, from Central Oregon Community College, landed in my mailbox the other day. I giggled as I scanned its front page offerings.

COCC brochure
Talk about knowing your audience.

I can’t remember exactly, but I seem to recall my local New Jersey Community College brochure looking a little more like this:

COCC brochure Go Jules Go NJ version

#NEVERINNEWJERSEY EXHIBIT F

I recently went to a clothing/item exchange where a group of eight women all brought things from home that they no longer used or needed. When I arrived, I was shocked to find my friend’s living room transformed into a GoodWill-style shop. It was ridiculously impressive and I walked away with an entire bag full of quality wares. This isn’t even the #NeverInNewJersey part (though it certainly gets an honorable mention)!

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As I was unpacking my spoils, I noticed a strange scent. Was that… could it be… cologne? One of the items I brought home was a lightweight running top that was likely menswear.

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I should note that all of the clothes had clearly been washed prior to donating. My friends are STAND-UP CITIZENS [who, with such exceptional taste, also read this blog].
It was probably the faint remnants a pleasant, manly deodorant, but the point is, it stood out so drastically because: NO ONE HERE WEARS COLOGNE. I sat next to a guy at a film festival last week (benefiting the local environmental center and which required filmgoers to bring their own cup if they wanted anything to drink…#NeverInNewJersey honorable mention #2) and almost choked on his spicy aroma.

Coming from the land of gold chains and Axe body spray, I never thought I’d say this, but: I don’t miss it one bit.

Jersey Shore
Oh! Get outta here with that stank juice, son! Photo credit

#NEVERINNEWJERSEY EXHIBIT G

All you need to know to understand this final exhibit, a Facebook group chat, is that I now live in a town boasting a beautiful river and waterfront amphitheater.

Never In New Jersey group text Go Jules Go

~*~*~*~*~*~

Stay tuned – I’m sure it won’t be long before I run out of alphabet letters!

~*~*~*~*~*~

humor

Would You Wave Back?

Go Jules Go Title Graphic Would You Wave Back 26FEB20

Hot tears form in my eyes and my heart races.

“Can you explain what’s not working?”

“Just tell me what’s wrong!”

“I don’t understand why this is an issue for you.”

I swallow, surrendering to the tears, my face as red as a stop sign. In fact, I wish I had a stop sign so I could hold it up instead of trying to find the right words. I know I’m crying, but I’m not sad! I’m…mad. I have a million things I want to say, a million eloquent, valid points, but they simply won’t rise to the surface.

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Guhhhh…

All I can seem to utter is an emotional, “I don’t know, it’s probably just me. I’m sorry.”

Does this sound familiar? Every time I’m faced with a difficult situation, my body immediately goes into fight or flight mode. Picture your worst stage fright coupled with a funeral, and then those two things have a baby with the ugliest argument you’ve ever had. That’s kind of how my body reacts when it senses anything resembling confrontation.

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It’s not pretty.

Meanwhile, my mind has been turning over well-spoken, rational explanations for weeks, possibly months. Long, one-on-one conversations with close friends affirm that I have a sane, solid handle on the matter. Yet all of that goes out the window the minute someone signals it’s “showtime.”

In fellow introvert Jessica Pan’s moving and hilarious memoir, Sorry I’m Late, I Didn’t Want to Come, she tells the story of trying to overcome her introversion by giving herself a series of daunting tasks over the course of one year, ranging from hosting a dinner party to stand-up comedy. In one challenge, given to her by a coach, she has to talk to strangers in London’s Underground. Not just talk to them, but ask the ridiculous question, “I’m sorry, I forget, could you remind me, is there a Queen of England, and if so, what is her name?” She was shocked to find that people actually responded.

“Nobody waves,” her coach explained. “But everybody waves back.”

Sorry I'm Late Jessica Pan
Read it, for reals.

I used to think something was seriously -I mean seriously- wrong with me. In fact, the feeling was so deep-seated that I didn’t even realize I still carried it until recently, after reading both Susan Cain’s Quiet and Jenn Granneman’s The Secret Lives of Introverts.

Also solid reads.

Turns out… I’m (we’re) normal! There are other people like me (us)! I always knew I was an introvert, but some part of me never let go of the notion that it was something to fix. Gotta give that presentation, gotta speak up in meetings, gotta tell charming stories at that dinner party… And I did. And I do. Sometimes it’s even kinda sorta okay! But it’s never, ever without sweaty palms and a racing heart.

While it’s deeply soothing to know that this reaction to stressful situations -including those uncomfortable confrontations- is actually just part of the introvert package, I can’t help but continue to wonder what my life would look like had I been born an extrovert.

How many more relationships, promotions and opportunities might I have experienced if, instead of crying and stumbling through awkward moments, I spoke my piece with confidence? …Would I be willing to trade my entire identity -including my introspection and “hyper” sensitivity, as some have called it- to find out?

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And what about my Redbox (solo) date nights?

Maybe I (we) don’t need to answer that question. Maybe, for now, it’s enough to know that if and when we wave, we have nothing to fear.

~*~*~*~*~

What do you think? Do extroverts have the advantage, especially in their love and career lives?

~*~*~*~*~