What's so Great About Peace Love and Vertigo?

Reconcile: in my definition (fuck Webster), reconciling is the act or process of comparing and matching two seperate things, or the act/process of bringing an end to differences between two things or people in a spritual or emotional sense. Like a check book and a bank account. Or two parts of one's personality. Or feuding families.

[Yul Brenner] Et-cet-ra, et-cet-era, et-cet-era . . . . . [/Yul Brenner]

I know I've mentioned that I was a tomboy growing up, even though I wore frilly dresses and skirts and played with makeup. I liked to climb trees and skateboard. I was barefoot a lot. I didn't wear makeup until I was in high school or later (although a lot of that was because my parents didn't let me wear it until I was 16.) I loved football and sports; I constantly wore an FSU jacket or t-shirt. A nice pair of khaki shorts with a t-shirt and some walking sandals were my uniform in the summer. And then, somewhere around 17 or 18, I realized that the older girls I admired and desired to emulate, at least for their personal style, were girlie girls. (Not to be confused with Girlie Girl.) They didn't wear screen-printed t-shirts or Tevas. They knew how to do their hair so that it flattered them and rock a cute shirt with jeans so that jeans didn't look utlitarian and masculine. And this was all before the advent of superfemme flare-legs, trouser denim and low-rise pants made to flatter curvy butts and such.

I wanted so desperately to be like that - cute and feminine and girlie. But how could I do that and still be true to my gutsy, gritty side, which meant frequent afternoons spent working out and sliding underneath cars to replace differential fluid and install intercoolers, and making trips to drink beer with the boys at pubs and sports bars, and working out for several hours at a time?
It would take years of feeling divided between the two sides of me, and much accidentally oversharing about clothing and makeup with guys who didn't care, or cars and sports with girls who didn't care - and vice versa - not to mention tears, pro-and-con lists, and discomfort with different aspects of the tomboy and the femme fatale, before I woke up one day and just . . . was. All of a sudden it didn't matter that I dressed snazzy all the time, because that didn't mean I could be a grease monkey or a jock. And anyone who didn't get that . . . well, let them stay in their own little cocoon of one-dimensionality.

I've been having a really hard time these days reconciling a different aspect - or set of aspects - of my personality. I feel like I am torn between the roles of invalid, athlete, student and party girl. Now, please understand that when I say "party girl," I'm not necessarily referring to going out and getting bombed every weekend. But I'm not getting younger, and some times I'm depressed that I've spent my entire life doing nothing but working and going to school and being a "significant other.". Only spending time with some of my best friends just enjoying life can address that - whether that's lounging by the pool, drinking or dancing.

I think the doctors felt like being pregnant would "fix me," but I'm having some pretty severe bouts of vertigo again. The syncope and heart arrythmias are relatively non-existant, but the inner-ear symptoms I suffer are much like Meniere's disease - disturbing tinnitus, dizziness and fatigue. Some times getting up to get dressed is a chore. I haven't been logging my training in 'Peaks, because I'm really only training on the weekends. And on the weekends, all I have time to do is study, see a friend or two, and run errands. I am now back on my vertigo medicine, and the ear doctor insists I should only need another 3-6 months of it.

Hey. If all I ever have to take is that one pill? Sweet.
Bonus: I'm on the NuvaRing now, and although my blood pressure has spiked scarily, so has my mood.

WHEEE!

Thursday: brick (30/7 @ 19mph)
Friday: rest
Saturday: 2.5 hours of swim drills with intermittant "relaxation" breaks despite the vertigo
Sunday: rest
Monday: rest
Tuesday: 30-minute recovery run (wtf am I recovering from?!)

I don't see any reason I shouldn't be able to have everything I want. I was solicited for another training plan while out Saturday night, and think I'm going to get USAT certified. The only problem is . . . who wants a fat, slow coach?

I'm off to try to accomplish work. I'm starving and it's a co-worker's birthday and we're having an eat-a-thon!