Amy Lu's View

I never thought I would run a “virtual” race, but there are some definite advantages. Mainly, it’s a luxury to be able to run the race whenever I want (within a given date range) and to pick a day whenever the weather cooperates and a time that doesn’t involve getting up between 4:30-5:30 a.m.

But we do need a better word than “virtual” to describe how we’re doing things now to avoid being in physical contact with other people.

That’s not really a groundbreaking observation, but it really seems relevant to me in the context of “virtual” races I’ve been running this fall.

Of course we all know that “virtual” is primarily used to connote that something is going to happen via the internet in some way and that people aren’t going to be actually getting together in the same physical space.

No matter what the activity, “virtual” can make is sound like it isn’t somehow real. But I find this more irritating when it comes to a race–I want to be clear that I have actually run the specified distance. I didn’t just have an avatar do it for me or only visualize doing it. The virtual aspect really only comes into play with recording results. (Obviously, I still would have taken all the selfies and posted all the social media updates for an IRL race).

So I’m not missing out on the social media experience with a virtual race, but I do, of course, miss the inspiration and motivation of running with others and getting cheered on by spectators–even, or maybe especially, strangers. I miss the pre-race excitement but I also don’t miss standing around in the cold waiting for the race to start. I’m not sure if I miss or don’t miss trying to dodge other runners–that’s both irritiating and challenging.

Obviously I miss the post-race partying–even if it does end up being more post-race milling about and shivering. The “now-what?” post-race feeling is amplified after a virtual race and I don’t have anywhere to wear my medals.

I should also be clear that a virtual run has worked well for me for up to 10 miles–I even got a “PR” (Personal Record) on my Women Run the Cities 10 Mile. Actually, I’m not sure if I should consider that a bona fide PR or not–in some ways I feel like I was “cheating” because I did get to make sure I was rested and I got to choose my route, but on the other hand, I missed out on the inspiration and structure of an organized group run.

And I’m not sure how a Half Marathon would go and I can’t, at this point at least, even comprehend doing a full marathon without all the support and fanfare of a shared and organized event.

But just 5 years ago I couldn’t have imagined completing a marathon under any circumstances, so who knows? Running has definitely taught–and continues to teach–me that I can do things that can seem impossible and that I’m stronger, tougher and more flexible and resilient than I ever realized.

Celebrate our 25th Wedding Anniversary from the comfort of your home!

Yes, our 25th Anniversary was just over 4 months ago, but due to a terribly rude pandemic I have not been able to fully leverage its social capital.

But I can still use it to try and guilt everyone I know into attending our terribly romantic play that we are performing via Zoom.

That’s right, you can be in your pajamas while watching us perform a sweet, funny and insightful little one-act about the humor, joy and heartbreak of marriage. Not only can you watch in your pajamas but you can enjoy your favorite snacks and alcoholic beverages during (and immediately before and after) the show. (I’ll be drinking as soon as our show is done–no need to wait until we get served at Green Mill).

Our show is “Post-Its (Notes on a Marriage).” Yes, the premise involves Post-it Notes. And marriage. It’s a take off on the classic play “Love Letters.”

Oh yeah, and there are other plays and monologues performed and directed by our dear and talented friends in the lineup for the evening. Our show is just one in a collection called “Talking Heads, or (One Acts in the Key of Zoom).

We are taking a big risk in trying to do something we don’t really know how to do. (Hmmm, that could also describe what it was like when we got married).

Get your ticket for “Talking Heads” now: https://dreamlandarts.com/talking-heads/ and watch us in a one-act via Zoom October 9 or 10.

We could fail spectacularly with our Zoom show, but we’re thrilled to be able to engage in this art form that we love so dearly but haven’t been able to experience in these last six months. Yes, we’re amateurs and this is all just a hobby for us and our losses pale in comparison to so many others… but thank whatever deity or universal force you choose that we’re getting to do theater again!

And to reiterate… you can support (and maybe enjoy?) all this artistic and romantic exploration from the comfort of your own home for very little money. Not only is this convenient and cheap, it’s a chance for our family and friends who can’t come see us in person to FINALLY get to see us perform (and Chad direct). Think of it as a belated 25th Anniversary present to us.

Honestly you can even buy a ticket but never log in or log in and completely ignore us and we’ll never know.

Just tell me my hair looked great.

Yesterday the world was in perfect balance–at least when it comes to the length of daylight and night. As it was the Fall Equinox, we had an equal amount of dark and light.

The Equinox feels like a beautiful metaphor for equanimity, but it makes me anxious. I love fall–the beauty of the trees changing color is so intense and fleeting it almost hurts–but I hate that the days are getting shorter and colder. And I’m dreading that winter is on its way. I’m not a fan of winter, especially now, when getting together with people indoors is not going to be a good idea (not to mention that winter makes running unpleasant at best).

So clearly I could (and am) doing a lot of complaining about the changing of the seasons, but I am also trying to respect the lessons fall has to teach me. Not only to pay attention to and savor transient pleasures, but to think about balance.

Actually, our church had a service exploring balance about a month ago. It encouraged me to think about the many different meanings of balance and when balance may not be a desired state.

Because that’s my default understanding of balance–it’s “good,” right? A balanced diet, work-life balance, a balanced checkbook, emotional balance, a balanced perspective–aren’t these all things to strive for? If you lose your balance, you’re likely to fall.

Yes, balance is often a beautiful, healthy, peaceful state–but maybe too much balance would get boring? Would the trees ever get to display their magnificent fall colors if they weren’t swinging from one extreme to another?

Hmmm, now it feels like I’m just spouting cliches and making excuses for my bad choices.

Maybe the balance I’m looking for is a mix of honesty, hope, originality, courage, compassion, connection, drama and peace.

And the perfect lighting/makeup balance that will make me look as good as possible on Zoom calls.

I am not always so good with follow through.

And, I like to take action and have resolution.

This combination means I sometimes err on the side of getting things done rather than doing things right.

I’ve really taken my friend Mark’s advice to heart “Right is good, done is better.”

(Although he also rather contradictorly said “If you’re going to do it at all why not do it right?”–in reference to doing the dishes, which I frequently do a sub-par job at but definitely think that’s better than no job. Why not do it right? That takes more time and effort!)

So I consider it an accomplishment that I not only obtained Biden/Harris lawn sign, but actually got our Biden/Harris lawn sign in the our lawn.

(We still have a “Love your neighbor–Your black, brown, immigrant, disabled, religiously different, LGBTQ, fully human neighbor” sign in our driveway. It’s been there so long I’m wondering if it’s too dated to put out. The sentiment isn’t dated but maybe the terminology?).

Anyway, I did a sub-par job in taking complimentary selfies with said lawn sign and to show off campaign shirt (I’ll just leave it at NOT very flattering selfies).

One lesson learned: taking a selfie of a lawn sign on a hill is challenging!

I also learned taking a selfie that can capture a rather long slogan is tricky.

And yes, Chad and I do have matching t-shirts (after days of agonizing which shirts we should get).

Of course one could ponder if the question is “Why do it right?” but rather “Why do it at all?”

Yes, the lawn sign is good…but a selfie (even a flattering one) probably isn’t necessary…

Okay, the lawn sign probably isn’t going to even accomplish all that much in our NE Minneapolis liberal enclave. Our lawn sign is the definition of preaching to the choir–a choir no longer practicing because of COVID.

I didn’t know what a hosta was until I was in my mid-20’s.

My hosta ignorance made the B Dalton’s customer I was attempting to help rather hostile. She couldn’t quite believe I didn’t understand her question about where to find the hosta books (was “hosta” the author?)

No, I wasn’t mocking or gaslighting her–I just didn’t have any experience with or interest in anything related to gardening or landscaping. Really, I had nothing to do with plants–indoor or outdoor (unless an artificial Christmas tree counts). Yes, my dad loved his big-ass vegetable garden, but my goal was just to avoid spending any time in it. Gardening was hot, dirty, and between the bugs and the weeds, itchy.

I still feel pretty much the same way about gardening, although now I do have much more of an appreciation for the efforts and skills of others. I love admiring my neighbors’ flowers and am a big fan of homegrown vegetables. (Sadly, I didn’t even like to eat my dad’s vegetables–except tomatoes–when I was a kid. I was about as far from a vegetarian back then as I could be).

I even now know that we have several hostas in our yard (along with an impressive variety of weeds).

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My mom wasn’t interested in gardening, either (probably my role model whether intentional or not). In light of this, it was particularly irritating to me when a therapist I once saw to help me deal with her death suggested I try gardening to feel a connection with her. To be fair, that wasn’t all he said, and I was also not very receptive to getting help right then, but still, what a cliche. I felt like he was just spewing platitudes without really listening to me. I would have found it less ludicrious if he told me to take up pole dancing in her honor (although pole dancing wasn’t a common hobby 20 years ago).

Gardening (or NOT gardening) is on my mind as the summer wraps up and harvest time approaches, and I am inspired to tackle my next “Frog and Toad” blog post inspired by their story “The Garden.”

The recap: Toad decides to try gardening because he admires Frog’s garden, but he soon gets impatient when the seeds he plants don’t immediately grow. He tries to encourage them to grow by singing to them, reading poetry to them, playing music for them, and pole dancing for them (yes, just trying to see if my reader(s?) is/are paying attention). Frog finally tells Toad to chillax and leave the poor seeds alone, they do eventually grow, but Toad seems to decide gardening is too much work.

I definitely identify with Toad as he tries too hard to make his seeds grow. It’s not so much that I’m impatient, I’m (more or less) okay with waiting, but I just want to know how things are going to turn out. Are the seeds going to turn into plants or not?

But what I find most interesting is how fun all the things Toad does to make his garden grow seem. Singing, reading poetry, playing music–performing. Those activities are definitely more in my wheelhouse than gardening. And it makes me think about how I could benefit from focusing less on the outcome of my pursuits and being more appreciative of the process. Who knows if Toad’s performances helped his plants grow or not, but hopefully he enjoyed his artistic endeavors (even if they were hard work).

Maybe someday gardening will speak to me, if I start seeing the plants as a captive audience. (Still not sure how I can re-frame the f#$@*&%g bugs).

Yesterday was my Half Birthday.

Yay?

I don’t usually celebrate my Half Birthdays, which maybe is a missed opportunity since I make such a to-do out of my birthday proper. Or perhaps I am so all in on my actual birthdays that I get it mostly out of my system.

But this year was a Milestone Birthday, so perhaps a half milestone (50.5) deserves some additional recognition.

I think I’m more aware of my Half Birthday this year because time and life is just so surreal because of COVID-19. I can’t believe that almost 6 months have gone by since I and the rest of the general population became aware of COVID and it began to significantly impact everyone’s life.

Pausing to acknowledge that a whole half year has both flown and crept by since a life milestone (even if it is completely arbitrary) in “Unprecedented Times” seems right. I’m grateful, confused, anxious and perplexed–for and by everything of my first 50 years of life, and the weird .5 since then.

I’m thankful for the people who have been with me on this journey, even if I’ve only recently seen them via a computer screen or behind a mask. And I’m blessed to be healthy–not only COVID-free, but able to have my body mostly do what I want it to.

Because…wait for it…”I kick and I stretch and I’m 50!”

Okay, actually, I don’t kick or stretch…but I run and I…well, run, and that should be close enough.

And how did I NOT know about this Molly Shannon SNL bit until a friend just recently shared it with me? How did I almost let my Year of Turning 50 go by without capitalizing on this?! Okay, I think I was dimly aware of it from back in the day when it premiered, but since at that time 50 felt eons away, it didn’t click for me.

But NOW it’s clicked, and for the the last 6 months that I’m 50, I will try to kick (it) and stretch every day–even if, or perhaps especially, if it’s not literal but metaphorical (although I’m sure literal stretching, if done properly, would actaully be really good for me). And there are certainly many ways, big and small, that I can stretch myself (Using my Babbel app to learn some Spanish? Watching something without aliens, stand-up comics or superheroes?). I would also feel quite mighty if I could Kick It in a number of realms from work to putting away the laundry.

And maybe, just maybe, I”ll show up to some virtual meeting with you in a rockin’ red polyester pantsuit.

Before and After…

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Our dog StanLee is adorable and sweet and lovable.

He can also be a complete asshole.

Chad and I know this, but we were still almost in tears when we recently had a bad “parent-teachers conference” with his doggy daycare. (We do not blame the teacher for saying this–she wasn’t mean or rude, just keeping it real). Simply put, StanLee is super anxious and insecure and often acts out by being obnoxious and aggressive with the other dogs (nothing dangerous but definitely annoying). The staff usually manage this by moving him from room to room (the “big” dogs are often able to put him in his place) and giving him time outs.

We weren’t really surprised by this. Frankly, we were surprised StanLee B. got to stay in doggy daycare in the first place. (During his first day of assessment we kept expecting them to call and say he was kicked out). But we were lulled into a false sense of security that his “rough playing” was working for the other dogs.

StanLee really wants to play with other dogs, so we’re sad he’s so bad at it. But we’re thankful that we can get him more training. Yes, StanLee is getting MORE training, this time with Leigh, the “teacher” we had our Come to Jesus talk with. (I’ve dubbed her “Sergeant Leigh”).

We (okay, Chad) actually were pretty successful with StanLee’s first round of intense training and made good progress, but he’s dealing with a lot. It’s like he did a Couch to 5K–which is great–but we want to get him to a Half Marathon. He’s got a lot to overcome in our quest to have him not be an asshole.

As part of his training regime, StanLee is now going to special socializing sessions on Sundays. Sergeant Leigh calls it “Sunday School.” It reminds me of puppy Breakfast Club.

StanLee seemed to really dig Puppy Sunday School, but unfortunately ripped a nail at the end of the day. He seems fine now but last night was a little tense as we made him wear a Cone of Shame and a Bootie of Frustration to keep him from licking it.

So we continue on our quest to help SLB be a Dog Who Is Not An Asshole Who Can Play With Other Dogs* and Go Out In Public and MAYBE One Day Meet Our Cats.

We’re open and optimistic… we’re even trying CBD oil with SLB (and who knows maybe we and the cats will try it to).

*OMG we have a new puppy neighbor who is a dachshund named Gus. I may die from cuteness overload.