Running For Kristen: Week 22

This week was ... um, weak, due in large part to the continuing eyeball saga (How do people run in glasses? I don't get it). Anyway, I'm not overly concerned because I'm sure next week will be much better. Stay tuned.

For 40 weeks, I'm setting aside $1 for every mile I run (which, let's be honest -- this week I walked) to donate to the Kristen EVE Foundation, which was set up after the other Kristen Forbes died of cervical cancer last June at the age of 23.

See www.kristenEVE.org.

This week, my 5 miles brought the total amount raised to date to $203.

I've Never Been Very Good at Math

Homework for my grad school project period breaks down like this:

Write 25 original pages of fiction
+ Read 2 books
+ Annotate 1 book (3-4pp)
+ Participate in online discussion of other book
= One month's worth of work.

So, I've been slaving away, writing and reading. Last night, I made two discoveries. One: The book that I chose to annotate for next month is 638 pages.

FAIL.

Don't get me wrong: I'm excited about reading it and happy I chose it. But, seriously? Did I need the added pressure of reading a book that's the equivalent of 2 -3 books in one when I'm already juggling my other reading, writing, and that whole OTHER life I lead, the one that involves actually doing some work from time to time? No. No, I did not.

Guess what else I discovered? Anyone who's been around me in the last two weeks knows how much I've been stressing to get out my 25 pages. I managed to get on a 5-a-day schedule and bust it out, but not without an immense amount of self-doubt and frustration along the way. (I also benefited from having someone who's like "Uh, no, it won't be a problem for you to finish this, so just do it, Silly," which was very helpful, but more on that another day). Point is that reaching that 25-page marker was quite the milestone.

And then I noticed something funny. I've become so accustomed to writing journalistic articles that it seems, somewhere along the way, I got very used to writing everything single-spaced.

Yep, single-spaced. Do you know where this is going?

It's an interesting moment when you realize you've actually written 50 pages, not 25. There's of course the: Daaang, look at that, go me reaction. But there's also the: Uh oh. In this rush to bust out pages, is any of this writing even any good? I knew this was a situation that called for sleep and inevitably I would wake up the next morning and one reaction would be overriding the other.

So, it's the next morning. And, um, yeah: I'm definitely wondering if any of this writing is even any good. We shall see.

The Eyeball Saga

As everyone knows, I had a pretty kick-ass time on my trip, which includes the pre-trip road trip (best friends and babies) and the actual time I spent in LA (ten days of geeking out on writing and reading; bliss).

There was one minor issue, though -- an issue that plagued me for the entirety of the trip and continues to plague me now.

It began in Medford, when I was visiting Tara and Mandy (best friends since birth), Carl (Tara's husband) and Preston (the sweetest baby ... ever). I kept feeling like there was something in both my eyes. I figured it was the drier Medford air that was causing them to be so irritated. Tara, the Queen of Eye Issues, gave me some eye drops and I switched from contacts to glasses.

Now, let me explain something. I have two pairs of glasses. One is really cute: purple, slanted, adorable. The other is my absolute back-up pair, the one I don't actually want to wear in public but will wear when I'm reading in bed at night. This pair was never fitted properly and hangs on my face at a diagnol. I am constantly having to readjust. And if I look down ever so slightly, the glasses slide down my nose and onto the floor below. I am forever pushing them back on my nose, fixing the warped angle. These glasses are the devil.

Wouldn't you know it that about a month before my trip, my cute purple glasses disappeared. Vanished. Gone. So I took my back-up pair, comforted by the fact that I never have to wear 'em during daylight hours.

Yeah, so, these ended up being the glasses I've had to wear during the eyeball saga. Life could not get any more ridiculous.

So back in Medford, I assumed my eye dilemma would solve itself by the time I got to Sacramento to visit Allison (best friend from high school), Danny (her husband), and Madison and Jack (their beautiful children). It did not solve itself. I was forced to continue wearing the glasses, which made me look like some sort of deranged artist.

Fitting, I suppose.

In LA, things went from bad to worse. What began as minor irritation became a full-fledged takeover of my eyes. I woke up on the second day of school to eyes so bright red, it was painful to look at them in the mirror.

At school, I approached one of the faculty members, asked if she could recommend an eye doctor. When I lifted my sunglasses to show her the problem underneath, she recoiled. Honestly, legititmately recoiled. I don't know if you've ever had the pleasurable experience of having someone recoil from you, but let's just say it's not exactly a confidence booster.

Several hours later, the director of the program takes me aside. "Kristen," he says. "I hear you might have pink eye."

Whaaaaat? How did we go from me asking for help finding an eye doctor because my eyes are clearly having some sort of allergic reaction or irritation of some kind to assuming I have pink eye?

He suggested I "go get that taken care of because this stuff can really get around," which basically had the effect of making me feel like a dirty whore. And was also mildly annoying considering the fact that I had already made an appointment for the following morning and clearly, on my own, wanted to "get this taken care of." They were my eyes, after all. I was the one experiencing intense discomfort while in a city that's not my own. But thanks for the concern ...

Anyway, the doctor instructed me to use these steroid eye drops for ten days, four times a day. Ten more days of me wearing my cartoonish glasses. Fabulous.

I did it, ten whole days. Then finally, I slipped into a fresh pair of contacts, expecting to feel intense relief at being able to pull them off ... Nope. My eyes still got red and irritated. After two days of wearing contacts and eye makeup for the rehearsal and wedding of my amazing friends Lucas and Leslie, my eyes were done. Red. Raw. Ready to make someone else recoil.

So, visit to the eye doctor: Take 2. New city, new doctor. She delivered the fantastic news, which is that I needed to go back on the eye drops and back on the clown glasses for another week. Fantastic.

Which is where I am right now, fighting these awful glasses that slide down my face every .5 seconds and longing for the days when I didn't have to worry about anyone crossing my path thinking that I am a crack addict and/or diseased person.

I go back to the doctor on Friday. Let me just make it clear right now that if my eyes aren't totally better by then, it's not gonna be pretty.

Why I Love My Mom: Part 537

On July 9th, I answered my ringing phone and heard my mom say, "Isn't this your vegetarian anniversary?

Ha! It totally was. On that day 14 years ago, I had my first meat-free day after a final meal of delicious barbeque chicken the evening before. I'm still not sure how I got away with it: I was 13, I was contemptuous, and I said to my family, "Actually, I won't be eating meat anymore, thank you very much" and they said to me, "Okay, weirdo" and that was that. I'm sure they thought it would be a passing phase, but somehow it lingered and lingered and lingered, until a day became a week became a month became a year became a decade became my half my life became 14 years. This is similar to how most things happen to me.

Anyway, I don't think anyone in my family has ever remembered this date before. And when I say I think, I actually mean I know. I'm always secretly hoping for a surprise party of some kind, complete with tofurkey and veggie dogs. No such luck. After all these years, I think they still think I'm a weirdo. Rightfully so.

Anyway. "How did you know?" I asked my mom.

"Well, I saw in the paper that it was Fred Savage's birthday," she said.

Ha! I LOVE my mom! True story: My vegetarian anniversary coincides with Fred Savage's birthday. Most people who know me well know three things about me: 1.) Robert Downey Jr. is my husband. 2.) Fred Savage is my husband. 3.) I have a weird habit of calling guys I like "my husband."

It is safe to say there is no one on this planet who loved/ loves The Wonder Years as much as I do. Kevin Arnold has a permanent place in my heart, as does the lovable actor who portrayed him. So every year, on July 9th, I celebrate the birth of Fred Savage and the death of my meat-eating days. And I celebrate alone, because nobody else cares about this kind of crap. Rightfully so.

But this year, my mom remembered. And she acknowledged it. And I love her for it.

The Dead, The Clean and The Hungry

Today was date day with my sister and we spent it the way any two normal sisters would: by taking a tour of a cemetery and going to a vacuum cleaner museum.

We thought the graveyard tour would take maybe 45 minutes to an hour; it actually took a whopping three hours. Let me tell you, that's a lot of time a.) on your feet and b.) with the dead. We certainly heard a lot of stories about the Portland pioneers who are buried underneath the elaborate tombstones, but man -- that was a lot of walking and talking.

To change things up, we then visited the vacuum cleaner museum we have both been dying (umm, no pun intended) to see ever since we heard about it years ago. You see, my sister and I both ... well ... we're weird. We love vacuum cleaners. As in, LOVE vacuum cleaners. As in, would own hundreds of them if we could afford it. I'm fascinated by the mechanics of a vacuum cleaner; for some freakish reason, so is she. We bond over our mutual fascination.

The vacuum cleaner museum was a bit of a letdown, mainly because we'd both built it up in our heads so much. I was expecting hallways with glass exhibits. It was actually just a corner of the vacuum store. There were some awesome-lookin' old vaccum cleaners, though. It just wasn't quite what I was expecting.

Exhausted from walking with the dead and depleted from our vacuum cleaner excursion, we grabbed some lunch, did some quick shopping, and called it a day before having friends over for a bbq at my parents' house.

Cemeteries, vacuum cleaners, and veggie burgers on the grill: All in all, a good day was had by all.

Friends and Neighbors: Erin Enright and Tim Bompiani

My most recent column is about a couple whose dog was injured in a hit-and-run car accident less than 24 hours after they adopted her.

Tigard-Tualatin-Sherwood Times

Beaverton Valley Times

Running For Kristen: Week 21

Okay, I'm officially back into the swing of running for the other Kristen, which I took a break from while away at residency (a poor decision, as it turns out -- getting back into running after not doing it for several weeks is neither easy nor fun).

To catch you up on the backstory, the other Kristen Forbes died last June of cervical cancer at the age of 23. Her family has formed a foundation in her honor -- for more info on that, check out www.kristenEVE.org.

For 40 (not always consecutive) weeks, I am setting aside $1 for every mile I run to donate to Kristen's foundation.

For more on how I personally became involved with all of this, check out:

The Other Side of the Lens

The Life and Death of Kristen Forbes

This week, I ran 12 miles, bringing the total amount raised to date to $198.