STEP ONE: Make an excuse to get out of it.

If step one fails, proceed to alternate guide

ALTERNATE GUIDE

STEP ONE: Briefly acknowledge the host of this forced gathering. Exchange pleasantries. Compliment their undoubtedly unflattering attire.

STEP TWO: Allocate the source of food. This is important. Constantly eating will allow you to have a task that does not involve other people. It is also a great escape route.

STEP THREE: Make yourself familiar with the person serving drinks. They are your only true friend in this setting.

STEP FOUR: From your position near the food, casually eavesdrop on conversations to see if any are worth interjecting yourself into.

STEP FIVE: Hide your frustrations in a locked room. Bathroom is ideal, but dangerous as others may need to use it. Pantry is better, if present. Laundry room is also good choice.

STEP SIX: Have at least one conversation. It will probably be about someone else's kids, or how good the food is.

STEP SEVEN: Step outside. This prevents the obnoxious tragedy passing as a playlist from invading your brain from the inside out.

STEP EIGHT: Leave. Tell no one. Say no goodbyes. Give zero hugs or well wishes.

STEP NINE: When at home, once you are noticed to be gone, respond to text message from friends, blame chronic headache problem that you just invented.

STEP TEN: Go to bed and swear to never go to a social engagement again.

My mom passed away last year after a 10 plus year battle with Alzheimers. A side affect of this shitty disease is the victims often never know they have it. Weird as that sounds, my mom was one of those who couldn't remember she had the disease so we never talked about it. Whenever I'd ask her about how she was doing she would say, "fine, I'm fine, there is nothing wrong with me, but you know your uncle..."

We never openly discussed the progression of her illness, the obvious things like memory, continence, walking, taking, and eating. She eventually made her way to a memory care facility after home care got complicated. After she moved in she never acknowledged that her entire surroundings had changed, the bed she slept in, the people who cared for her, the Elvis impersonator who amused her. It was mind boggling to image, but true.

In the end though, the biggest tragedy of all this is that we never said goodbye to each other. Sure, the day she passed I told her I loved her, but we never shared a goodbye, a hug, a thank you for all she'd sacrificed for me. We never sat and talked about all the wonderful family memories that we created.

So, if I could have one chance, a do over, it would have been to find the time early on in her disease to talk about the fact that one day we won't be able to communicate and that day will be too late. So let's sit down and do it now, when we can share a hug and a cry together.

This is your guide to saying goodbye to your mom.

Running is cheap and a fantastic way to maintain some base level of fitness. What's more, knee injuries tend to occur equally among those who run, and those who don't.

If you're only running a couple of times a week, the risk of you suffering from any kind of running injury is very low, and the likelihood of your overall quality of life being high will increase.

Still, you might know all this, and you might even run from time to time, but that doesn't mean you're enjoying it. Every session is a struggle, and you're not sure the endorphins are worth it.

If you're here for a little extra motivation, you've come to the right place.

INDEX

For runners who find running boring, please go to 1.

For runners who find running embarrassing, please go to 2.

For runners who find running painful, please go to 3.

For runners who find running exhausting, please go to 4.

For runners who find running unnecessary, please go to 5.

For runners who need a sense of achievement, go to 6.

1.

"It's boring."

I here ya buddy.

Now, you're probably going to need some headphones for this part. Of course running with a friend might be ideal, but we can't always conjure up the perfect running buddy at exactly the right time.

The trick is not to make the 'run' the whole point. Kid yourself you're just utilising time efficiently. You can listen to the news (Global News Podcast, anyone?), a podcast (99% invisible?).

You can listen to sad songs, the kind you'd sing along to. You can listen to empowering songs, old rock songs that remind you of being sixteen. I highly recommend getting into an album by someone you like.

Songs about sex are also fantastic for when your running. There's nothing like gently fantasising about a steamy session to reach a new PB.

You might also enjoy the silence, or instrumental music, which will leave you more mental space to plan and think out your next steps—for your novel, your work, your life, your wife. When you're feeling down, there's nothing like a run to give yourself a little fake therapy sessions—and the hot bath afterwards will be the epitome of tender loving care.

2.

You're self-conscious.

Honestly, this is probably the main reason I wouldn't run if I hadn't started young. It was the reason at fourteen, when I was being dragged out on runs by my dad, I turned to him and said:

'Our neighbours talk about us running. I heard them mocking us.'

And my dad rolled his eyes, laughed and said: 'Who cares?'

I shrugged. I did.

'If you stop doing things because you're worried what others will think, you'll never do anything,' he said.

And this is the only thing which has proven to be true.

I usually meet no one at all on my runs. For the most part, running is 90% not embarrassing—and definitely worth it. The embarrassment is mostly inside your own head.

However, embarrassing encounters while running can and do happen. Usually the other person is not embarrassed at all and really doesn't care that you're out puffing. They might congratulate you or say:

'Oh, you run!' but chances are they'll soon forget.

In the very unlikely event anyone did think about it more than once, or cared at all, they would swiftly be shut down by anyone around them. What psychopath cares about someone else running to the extent of gossiping about it?

You cannot make sure you will always be wearing your best running outfit, that your skin will be glowing and your armpits deodorised. Sometimes, the sunscreen will melt into your eyes and sting them red, and you'll stink. But trust me. No one except you cares. There is nothing about running which should make you embarrassed. You can and should be really proud of what you are achieving.

3. Running is painful.

You should not be running if it is painful. You should not be doing anything which could cause you harm. This article is not for you, there is no point running if it is not safe for you.

There have been rare instances where I did not want to run and was slightly hypochondriac that I imagined pain in my knees and shins when there actually was none. I know this because a minute of running would be painful, but thirty, forty minutes in, I'd be feeling free and flying high.

But I am going to assume you need to take care of yourself and should not be running—or reading this article.

4. Running is exhausting.

Listen to your body. If it wants more sleep, if it wants to eat more, let it. Give it what it asks you. For some people, a little coffee before a run does wonders.

There are also times of day which are better for different people's bodies. Late morning, early afternoon, all of these might *your* time. I find running early in the day can zap some of my energy for the rest of it—especially if the run is long. Others find that it energises them.

Nutrition really will change the game. If I am not eating enough protein—which happens regularly since I am terrible at feeding myself, then I will be tired and my muscle will tighten and ache for longer. Similar thing with sleep.

I shouldn't need to say this, but do space out your runs. Don't overrun—either by running every day when your body doesn't want it, or for too long. Give yourself some structure, in terms of breaks and time out running. A short run from time to time is much better for muscle building.

My sibling's muscles weren't growing, and they were pushing themselves harder and harder. They thought they weren't pushing themselves hard enough. But they had a special muscle/athletic lactate test and the results actually showed that they needed more easy work outs and more rest in order to grow more.

5.

If you're someone who thrives from the gains and that sense of achievement, either join a running club, where you will be trained to maximise your potential, or even just follow a running training plan. You will be astonished by the progress you see.

Running—especially running fast—is a fantastic lower body impact sport for building muscle.

Running faster and having better overall aerobic fitness is also a very exciting process. Setting milestones and goals makes running more fun and will improve your self esteem.

6.

You're right. Running is not necessary to your life. It can mildly improve your life—a short run from time to time will boost your mood and make you feel stronger. But don't do it because it's necessary. It isn't and shouldn't be considered as such. Do it because you enjoy it—an eight minutes of walk-run-dance to start your day.

Sonya Renee Taylor once said: “Health is not a state that we owe the world. We are not less valuable, worthy, or loveable because we are not healthy. Lastly there is no standard of health that is achievable for all bodies. Our belief that there should be anchors the systemic oppression of ableism and reinforces the notion that people with illnesses and disabilities have defective bodies rather than different bodies.”

Running is a way to love your body, and an easy way to feel better and take care of yourself. It is not worth it if it does not bring you joy—joy being the best way to take care of yourself.

Go do something you enjoy.

I have posted and reposted the lovingly longuish telling of our story multiple times on Prose for various challenges. I thought I'd write a new story this time: my prequel, if you will.

A year before we met, I graduated from college with a degree in Humanities in International Relations. Subsequently, I spent the summer at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts, considering a career on stage or in front of the camera (I had done musical theater since fourth grade as well as modeling, commercials and a film.)

It was great fun, but practical me decided I needed more stability than an acting career could offer. (I didn't have the burning need or confidence one needs to persevere in the performing arts.) So, knowing I loved languages, and having decided in fourth grade that I would be a teacher, I applied to three PhD programs in Hispanic Literature. (I ended up in Philadelphia because North Carolina and New Mexico seemed so far from home (New York) when I had to make my decision while homesick across the ocean.) In the meantime, I got a job waiting tables (oddly, the cliché of the starving actor) at a hotel reataurant to earn money for a trip to Spain.

For four months I worked six or seven days a week, 10 am to 8 pm. For the first month, I was in bed asleep within an hour of leaving work. (Waiting tables is exhausting. ) Eventually, once I got used to being on my feet all day, I started taking an adult education Spanish class once a week in preparation for the trip. (And occasionally having drinks with work or classmates. )

Towards the end of December, after working for four months, I tendered my resignation. Within a week of the New Year, I was in Madrid.

During the six months I lived in Spain, I stayed with a welcoming family (with whom I still exchange Christmas letters); did a lot of reading, writing, museum wandering, and city street walking; and, visited some ten different cities from Cordoba to Santiago de Compostela, while traveling for a month on my own.

I fell fleetingly in love twice (good practice for my Spanish :-) Once with a sweet Swiss farmer who realized he loved me after he left me heartbroken, silently weeping as I waved goodbye to a train, destination, Zurich; once with a German medical student who was trying to make the woman he really loved jealous. Lots of angry tears (into my pillow). No waves goodbye. Maybe a slammed car door.

And then I was home, working as a temp for the summer, before classes started, in the Latin American division of a bank, going to museums and concerts alone, meeting up with exes and realizing there was a reason we broke up, writing in my journal about the future and looking forward to what it might hold.

I felt like I was in a holding pattern, waiting for my life to begin.

One day, perhaps three weeks after I returned home, a coworker suggested I stop by a café in our building, Sweet Imports. "There's this cute guy..."

It's only in recent years that I realized she never went with me to point him out.

I went in, our eyes met, something in the universe clicked into place and...life began.

Thirty one years ago last June.

about one of the three reasons why i’m glad to be a part of my generation.

when i was fifteen i wrote a cruel poem about a really nice boy who shattered my heart. i posted it on a social media platform, that’s how benjamin saw it. the world is big but social media makes it small i think. he lived two hours from my house, but when we messaged it only took him a few seconds to respond. it was like real life. we video called all the time that summer when i was fifteen, and it’s so interesting to fall in love with someone without ever being able to touch them. i knew i loved benjamin when he called me crying the week we started dating just to cry to me. his dog had died. here’s a man i’d never touched, but he was a man who was more open and gentle and unashamed than any boy around me ever could be. we hadn’t even touched, and i knew i would marry this man. i’m seventeen now. it sounds funny to tell our story from the past tense, but that time feels worlds away because now he’s right at my fingertips. still, i’m glad we have an uninteresting story. i’m glad that communication is available.

the other two reasons i’m glad to be a part of my generation are that we have modern medicine and that i won’t be as harassed as women in generations before mine just for being bisexual.

I scanned the room for a friendly face and my eyes landed on him. He was tall and awkward and flashed a shy smile of big straight teeth as he looked up through a sweep of blonde hair across his brow.

At the sweet age of seventeen, I was an outlaw hiding out in Alaska. After years of juvie, I said ‘fuck this’ and sought out a man I had remembered as Dad.

A senior with no credits, this alternative school took me in. Dusted me off. Pulled me up by my scruff and limped me along to a high school diploma.

Tony was my first friend. He was smart, kind, fun- but such a dipshit. We made out a few times and got in a little trouble a few times, and I decided I didn't want to go down the not so good path he was skipping on. I loved him on a deep level. A love that we both recognized immediately. A love bigger than we were at the time.

At last, it was not meant to be. We graduated high school by the skin of our teeth and said our goodbyes.

Thirteen years later the stars aligned for us. He showed up on my front porch and flashed that smile at me just the same as the first time I saw him and my heart fluttered back to 2006. His awkwardness was no more- in front of me stood a tall, muscly, confident man sure to make any woman swoon.

Our hearts had been broken by others, we had both had children, careers, made moves, gotten our shit together a few times over, and we ended up back in that small town in Alaska.

We were married six months later and conceived a son on our wedding night.

Now as I look at our drooly face baby boy with sweeping blonde hair smiling up at me, I can't help but remember the first time I met his father, my almost star-crossed lover.

…

MJ

I was 19. Working 40 hours in a convenience store, and the other 40 hours managing a Domino's. Domino's was my first job, I had been there for three years already. That was where I met the first love of my life.

Everyone told us not to be together. When I started I was 16 and he was 23. I was "jail bait" as all the guys there liked to call me. I was the youngest person there. So we never got together. We would smoke a lot of weed, do some coke, and drink like we were going to live forever. We would hook up but that was fine.

Until he got a girlfriend. A serious moving in together girlfriend.

We stayed friends. Would still drink, and smoke, and hook up. I didn't see a problem with it. We were together first.

But this isn't a story about him. It just is needed to framework when me and my husband got together. When we met.

I wanted more. I wanted more from the man I thought I loved, and he wasn't willing to give me that. I was a side piece. I was allowing him to have his cake, and eat it too.

One day I was working at the convenience store. My husband lived in the apartment building across the street. He came into the store, and I couldn't tell you what he said, but he made me laugh. HARD!

It doesn't take much to win me over. You make me laugh and I am a sucker. We spent the next week smoking weed in the cemetery behind the convenience store. He was 33.

At the end of the week, after feeling like I was finally number one to someone, I decided I was done.

I called up my best friend, and told him I couldn't see him anymore. I was done being second fiddle, and I found someone who made me happy.

We had only known each other for all of a week.

That was eleven years, and two kids ago. I tell him all the time that he was probably the WORST one night stand I ever had.... considering it has been a one night stand that lasted eleven years.

Silence is something that you feel,

when a hungry beggar is sitting in front of you,

but you have too little money with you

and you choose to have your meal.

You weren't too right though,just think, were you?

Silence is something that you hear,

when you know you have to put up a smile

just to show that you are not fragile,

but everywhere within you it's just - fear.

You then are not too strong either, just think, are you?

Silence is something that you realize,

when you want to fight for the bigger one,

but have nobody to relish the smaller one,

so you decide to have the pizza pieces alone - you were wise.

You do feel it, think again, don't you?

though it was difficult to hold onto at times, the thought that there would come someone who would be worth all of the waiting and failed relationships and heartaches, was always in the back of my mind. as a twenty two year old, i never imagined it would be someone who i met when i was fourteen. at the time, it was a small crush that i quickly got over when he went back to his city three hours away, after visiting for the summer. years passed, lovers came and went. and then suddenly he was here.

we became close friends first, i tried to ignore the feelings that i was developing for him, he sat clueless during our facetime calls every night. but despite my fighting of feelings and his oblivion, there was always something there. at first, we hide behind innocent flirting and sarcastic comments. we learned everything about each other's past and present and what we hoped would be our future. but then i realized, it was him.

the first one who was able to handle my attitude and mood swings. the first one who didn't think my clingy behavior and need for reassurance was annoying. the first one who didn't see my sarcastic comments were rude, in fact he would fire back with them. the first one who didn't expect anything sexual from me unless it was something i was comfortable with first. the first one who was supportive of everything i did and wanted to be. the first one who encouraged me when i was struggling. the first one to pray for me when i needed comfort. the first one i was sure was the one who was made for me.

because if not him, then who?

i was always too much or not enough for the one's who came before him. but he made it a point to assure me that i was everything to him. that i didn't need to change anything to fit his standards because who i was, was already enough.

and i believed him. because i felt it, the love he said he had for me. i felt it in the way his finger rubbed over my thumb when we held hands. i saw it in the way he looked at me. i heard it every time he spoke his assuring words. i had finally found my person. and i didn't ever want to let him go.

until i lost him. the timing wasn't in our favor. we had too much growing to do. we were in different places in life. and though it made my heart ache to part ways, i had no choice but to hang on to a sliver of hope that one day, our timing will be right.

Sometimes, and yes I know this is corny, but- sometimes... the light hits the leaves of a tree on a trail you take everyday and it's magic. On that five minute drive to work you hear a laugh outside of your car window and look to see a young family smiling, a little girl swinging in the air and two parents holding her hands with smiles and joy they take for granted. Sometimes your old dog looks back at you with a smile you don't see as often anymore and in that moment she dances for joy because today we are going on her favorite walk.

I don't ever want a day where I don't see those beautiful canines.

Sometimes you get a call from someone you haven't heard from in ages and they just wanted to say 'hi' and 'i love you'. In a moment your heart is only glee and nothing else exists.

Magic exists in the moment. And '...if life were only moments, then you'd never know you had one.'

They are so brief and in that same moment it is all over.