It isn’t easy to please everyone.  In fact, that is impossible.  So just go about pleasing yourself?  Hmmmm, sounds good, sounds reasonable, but unless you are Grizzly Man, even that is hard…..and well, we all know how hard that ended.  In fact, the wise German (har har har) Werner Herzog said about Timothy Treadwell was, “I discover no kinship, no understanding, no mercy.  I see only the overwhelming indifference of nature.  To me, there is no such thing as a secret world of the bears.  And this blank stare speaks only of a half-bored interest in food.  But for Timothy Treadwell, this bear was a friend, a savior.”

Unfortunately the savior savored the Treadwell.  Not funny?  No.  Fair enough.  Hence my favorite line of the movie (cue the thick German accent), “ I believe the common character of the universe is not harmony, but chaos, hostility, and murder.”  Now isn’t that just said like a true German?  Hold on a minute!  I am GERMAN!  Well only if you count that my father still speaks like that, sauerkraut was my second word and OCD was my third.

But I digress.  Where does being true to yourself end?  Never.  Exactly.  Miss Chocolate or Honey Sucker Lollipop Brown bear ate him up while he was apparently off in the wild doing what he loved.  We did not understand it.  I really do not understand it.  I saw this movie years ago and his Californian accented bleached fried hair with flippant manorizism still haunts me.  He’s weird.

“Mom,” he says, “Jason called me weird.”

“Good,” Mom says, “Better to be weird than normal, normal is boring.”

Wait a darn minute!  Do I mean that?  Do I really mean that?  At age 35, finally, yes.  The pursuit of happiness is just that- a random path away from normal toward your own weirdness that you will finally accept as your own normal.  This is why crazy people locked in white coats scream, “I’m not crazy, YOU ARE.”

I left a little piece of my soul, of my weirdness, on the ground in Houston.  It has taken me a long time to feel the pep, the spark, the fire- the edge.  For me, going to Houston, was war.  I had to put my body in a place and hold it where I did not know it could hold on….it didn’t hold on….but it survived.  It recovered.  Slowly.  But something in my gut was cut out.  Good news, guts are regenerative.

I’m back!

I don’t know if that means much.  I may run slower than I have run before.  I may never achieve what I set forward course I don’t really believe that because that would make me NORMAL, but I am back.  The fire is alive.  No one goes out and runs workout after workout solo dropping into ditches to puke or shit if they don’t truly love it.  What did Timothy say?  ”Oh my gosh! The bear, Miss Chocolate, has left me her poop! It’s her crap! It was just in her butt and it’s still warm! This is a gift from Miss Chocolate!”

The point is….the point is….running well is an art of luck, talent, and drive.  If you have too much of one of those, not gonna say which one, you won’t get too far.   It is like being a woman.  Being a woman is an art of luck, talent, and drive.

Beauty:  I find beauty in most women.  I watch them of all ages in my classes- looks of determination, a mind set of achievement, a focus on goals.  There is a look to someone who is bettering themselves, to someone who feels empowered to do so.  If you can’t see it, you really should stop and watch.  Oh men, have it- damn sexy- but that misses my point.  Maybe.  It is no wonder that I can feel beautiful drowning in my own sweat smelling like a sock, but ugly in a fucking dressing room surrounded by expensive things that I won’t be able to buy.  Beauty like it or not comes from within.  You can’t swipe your way to beautiful if you don’t yourself believe it.

Beast: Humans need to feel alive.  Women need to feel alive.  After giving birth and breast feeding and catering to small champions of the World, women need to feel alive- to feel separate- to feel engaged- to feel empowered- to move.  He says, “I’ll do that for you baby.”  You miss the point.  We are animals.  I know baby, animals.  No, Tarazan.  Look at the bear.  She doesn’t care.  See her stare?  Right now, she has to run.  She has to drive her heart and lungs and work her body into the earth to feel real.  I ran hill repeats up and down the grass for forty minutes to hear the cheers of, “Hey, you training for something or you just psycho?”  No and Yes or was it Yes and No?  I forget because right now I am the beast and you are looking like a bitch.

Bitch: What exactly does that mean?  I once walked through my college campus to have a young woman sporting a dog collar sitting on the ground scrap at me for money.  I declined her and she called me a Bitch.  The irony of the situation sent me laughing, but her spikes in her dog collar sent my flipping my flog heels and Jansport covered back fast past said stationary side walk person sporting dog collar who was female.  Huh-hem.  However, modern times move modern motions and bitch has almost become a good thing.

Hold on.

Wait.

Yep.

Good thing.

So when I say I want chocolate sprinkles on my fro-yo, I am no longer being a bitch, I am just simply being a Madonna.  I want my sprinkles!!!!

You can’t be a well balanced woman without the trilogy: Beauty, Beast, Bitch.  I am convinced.  Find your beauty.  Find your beast.  Feed your bitch.

Salute.

Just don’t feed the fucking bears!

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