This week, starting in about 15 minutes, I am going to start integrating strength training to my workout routine. I have a mild dose of OCD, and I find diversifying difficult with certain activities. So far this year, I have done nothing but run. I had an outpatient procedure in December, so January was mostly getting over the fear that I would injure myself and getting the legs to run more than two miles at once. By the end of January, I had the distance thing down again, and in February, well…

Nick thought it would be a grand thing to create a Nike-Plus challenge between him, me, and our friend Jeff. Nick was a challenger for the first week of the month, and then decided to sit it out. Jeff and I got a little competitive, however. No time for strength-training during the shortest month of the year, no way, no how! Especially when I wanted to beat Jeff in a mileage challenge spanning those 28 days:



I told Nick that he's not allowed to schedule another one of these, at least not right away. I don't like feeling competitive. I get a little manic and a lot moody. Anyway, I went running outside yesterday. As my quads burned running hard up one of my last hills, I accepted that I have not had a well-rounded exercise routine as of late. Last year at this time, I challenged myself to work out every day until a scheduled surgery in March '09 after inspiration courtesy of Oprah. During those 60ish days, I remember thinking that I should really be incorporating cardio in my exercise routine. See!? Extremest!

I miss those days when I could spend a leisurely two hours in the gym every morning, splitting my time evenly between strength and sweat! Didn't realize how lucky I was to have all that flexibility with my time! For now, I am about to blow the dust off all my Jari Love DVDs and those nasty, unsafe, killer 80's workouts from The FIRM (workouts seem to be much more effective when they disregard concern for injury).

I imagine that tomorrow evening I will have a case of DOMS so severe that I will be in tears. I'm just so gosh darn excited…

We went in to look at wedding rings today. Nick wants to do a little recon before he makes a final decision, you know, to see what the married men are wearing these days, but we have mine selected and purchased now anyhow. I suppose it has to be difficult for a man to wrap his head around wearing a ring for the rest of his life. It occurred to me while he was looking at styles that he probably has no idea as to what his ring size might be.

But then, apparently I am a little off as well. I've never made a secret that my left ring finger ring size was last measured at five-and-a-half. In fact, I think I have made every effort to make that bit of information known, in the event that my significant other wants to get all sneaky and pick out an engagement ring without my input. That worked out pretty good for me, huh? Especially when your significant other has excellent taste.

For the last month or so, however, I have been deathly afraid that I was going to accidentally flush my ring down the toilet, or that it would fall off without my notice while I was walking about. I am so scared that I will lose it that I have come to keep that one finger pad touching my palm (when I don't need the finger for anything productive, of course). You see, in 2010, a five-and-a-half is too loose. That's right, my already unattractive bony fingers have grown bonier as I have aged.

So, we ordered an extremely beautiful matching wedding band in a five, which is still loose but comfortably so, and I gave the jeweler my ring to be sized smaller. Every now and then, I catch myself reliving my worst nightmare: oh no! Check the toilet! Pull apart the pipes! I've flushed my engagement ring!

I'll have it back in a week, but between now and then, Nick better hide the wrenches.

My cousin Michelle and I saw the movie Pearl Harbor in the theatre when it first came out. Michelle was a World War II buff, and we both thought at the time that Josh Hartnett was dreamy. I don't remember having any reaction to the movie except being bummed out that Josh Hartnett's character died—sorry for the spoiler, but it really is your own fault if you still haven't seen the movie since it was released nine years ago. But anyway, yeah, no other reaction to this movie which depicts one of the most tragic days in our history.

You see, at the time, my life had never gone through ups and downs. Every facet of life may not have been peachy keen, but it was all I knew…and it's all relative, right? To me, movies and other forms of art reflected the stories of other people only. I was a spectator who didn't really comprehend the emotions on the screen, the page, or the canvas.

Around five years ago, I began one of the most tumultuous periods of my life. For once, everything wasn't going as planned. I had high highs and low lows, and I was exposed to all sorts of feelings that I had never experienced before. When I first began to have an emotional reaction to media, I self-diagnosed myself as depressed. I had enough to be sad about at the time, and all of the websites specified that letting those sappy Hallmark commercials get to you was a sure sign that you had a chemical imbalance. I don't know why this country feels the need to put a diagnosis the ability to feel.

Pearl Harbor was on television today, and I tuned in just in time for the attack. At one point, two lone American planes fly over the harbor where dead bodies were floating and live bodies were dodging bullets. Those in the water cheered at the sight of the planes, not that those two pilots could save the day or undo all of the tragedy. My eyes welled with emotion. I know all too well that hope doesn't have to make sense.

The evolution of a human being from birth to death is a strange journey. I found the parallel interesting as I watched the movie this afternoon. I didn't live through WWII, and I do not know anyone who fought overseas. However, I understand love and loss, and their story isn't so different from mine. Variation on a theme, if you will. I no longer think that letting my heartstrings be pulled is a sign of mental illness. I think I am just learning to live in a world where everybody experiences the same aches and joys of life, and I am appreciating that their struggles are not so different from my own.

Unknowingly under a ruse on a sunny January day, I accompanied Nick to Olbrich Gardens. He and I have never gone to Olbrich together, but he knew that the place held special memories for me.

Eventually finding a bench, he coaxed me to settle next to him. He asked how I felt, coming back to this mystical little garden in the heart of winter the first time without Mom. I told him that I was a little sad and a little happy because I felt her presence so strongly.

He seemed happy with that reply as he pulled a velvety box out of his coat pocket, telling me that he picked this place so that she could be there for this special moment. Flipping open the box, the ring glittered in the sunlight. At first I was speechless because it was all so unexpected, and I couldn't comprehend what was happening (but eventually I said yes!).

I feel very fortunate to have such a loving person in my life. I am thrilled to plan my future with Nick by my side, this person who seems to understand and anticipate my needs. I feel cherished!