Acceptance - Phase 1

Another month has passed (2 months yesterday) and another milestone has been reached, one that I never expected to happen in the next 6 months.  It hasn't been pretty; there have been good days and bad, days when I thought I was DONE followed by days when I felt just as bad as I did on Day 1, days when I was happy and content followed by days when I let my feelings get the best of me and I took 10 steps backwards in my healing process.  But I can confidently say that I have officially transitioned into the next stage of grief, the stage that psychology books tell you is the final phase: Acceptance.  But I somewhat disagree.  During my many hours of reflection while driving around DFW, I have decided that the Acceptance stage can be split into 2 phases.  Acceptance Phase 1 is the actual acceptance of the loss/situation.  Coming to terms with the loss, realizing it's never coming back, letting go of what it once was.  But Phase 2 takes it a step further.  Phase 2 is healing, and that can take months or years.

Making it to the Acceptance stage at all is a major step for me.  For so many weeks, I just struggled to wrap my mind around the loss itself.  I knew it was over, but the whole unraveling was so bizarre and unexpected that I just couldn't accept that he was no longer a part of my life, that all of the things we had done together would now be done solo or with others.  I remember the moment I reached Phase 1 of Acceptance.  It was about a week ago when I suddenly realized that I really WAS done.  I had lost the desire to reconcile, I was no longer "in love" with this person.  Sure, I loved him, I cared, I wanted him to be happy and ok.  But that's where my feelings stopped.  I had finally accepted that this part of my life was over and I was ok with it.  I was moving forward.

I realized that the Acceptance stage is a 2-parter when I began to reflect on other moments of grief and loss in my life.  One particular circumstance involved the death of a close friend 8 years ago. That loss had a profound impact on my life.  HE had had a profound impact on my life, so losing him was excruciating.  It was the first major loss I had experienced in my adult life.  It was also the most devastating loss of my 10 year career thus far.  Kevin was my first patient ever and I spent countless hours with him; trying to save him even though he couldn't be saved; being his friend; bringing him his favorite meal of steak and potatoes from Texas Roadhouse after work hours and personally feeding him because I didn't trust anyone else to do it right; bringing Isaac to see him after work and on weekends because he loved babies; playing Bingo with him almost every afternoon and winning almost every time with our lucky number 15 since he and Isaac shared a birthday. When we lost him, it left a huge hole in my heart and intense feelings of sadness and guilt.  Guilt over not being able to save him from a completely unfair disease that I never could've saved him from anyway, guilt over his medical care at the end - again, out of my control.

For years after his death - YEARS, 6 to be exact - I never made it to Phase 2.  I had accepted that he was gone and had moved on in my career - who am I kidding, I had run from my career as a way of healing, left my comfort zone in long-term care to avoid another Kevin. I thought I had completed the grief process but I hadn't.  I saw this quote on Pinterest, which reminded me of Kevin and ultimately made me realize that Acceptance has 2 phases.

You can accept something is gone, but until you can move past the sadness, you haven't reached the final phase of the final stage of grief.  Crying doesn't necessarily mean you're stuck in the Depression stage, but it is definitely an indicator that you haven't healed.  I COULD NOT talk about Kevin for years. I couldn't listen to a certain song that reminded me of him.  The memory of him saddened me. These days I can think of him fondly and with happy memories. I can think about him throwing his head back and laughing, long talks about our favorite Nascar driver, feeding him breakfast every day, the sight of him holding my infant on his lap with a big grin on his face...  When you have honestly healed, you are better able to look back on experiences clearly and with good memories.  Sadness taints happy memories. Losing someone to death is obviously much worse than the end of a relationship, so I'm definitely not trying to compare my heartbreak over one to another.  But thinking about Kevin this last week has helped me to gain perspective on the grief process.  And that's how I know that I haven't yet reached Phase 2 in my current grief.  I have accepted, I have not healed.  I still carry sadness that taints my happy memories.  Someday I hope to look back on my 3-year relationship and remember the moments that brought me joy, because there were a lot of them.  I hope that Isaac can also one day look back on that part of his life and remember the 5/6 of the relationship that included camping trips and the building a winning Pinewood Derby car and skipping rocks at Texoma, instead of just remembering the 1/6 of unhappiness.  

I'm getting there.  Closer and closer every day.  Thinking of Kevin these last few weeks has brought me unexpected comfort and clarity.  Not only did it make me realize that I wasn't quite done healing, and that's ok, but it also helped me to focus on something more important.  If I could get through the death of a beloved friend and come out on the other side a stronger and happier person, I could get through this. 

The song that I had a hard time listening to after he died was a song by Carrie Underwood called So Small.  It reminded me of him because while he was dying, I was in the process of leaving Isaac's dad and breaking apart my family.  I was dealing with something that, while sad and devastating, was nothing compared to what he was dealing with.  For 6 years, this song broke my heart because of the sadness and guilt I felt.  But tonight as I reflected on my old friend, I listened to it again and fully appreciated the meaning behind it.  Something might feel huge at the moment, unbearable even.  But there are much bigger things in life than this one situation.  My situation doesn't define me, it doesn't define my future.  I'll get to Phase 2 when I get there, but in the meantime, I am focusing on all of the other things that make my life great.

"It's so easy to get lost inside a problem that seems so big at the time.  It's like a river that's so wide, it swallows you whole.  While you're sitting around thinking about what you can't change and worrying about all the wrong things, time's flying by, moving so fast.  You better make it count because you can't get it back. Sometimes that mountain you've been climbing is just grain of sand." - Carrie Underwood

My First Airbrush Experience

Since making the decision to pull myself out of the sad slump I was in and focus on happiness and healing, life has gradually improved and I feel better than I have in months. I've been focused on upcoming events, time with friends and family, and just trying to find my happy place.  I've always been a generally happy person (with the exception of a grumpy phase for most of 2009) and easy to please. Little things make me happy: coffee, dark chocolate, stinky cheese, warm weather, wearing flip flops, the smell of freshly cut grass, the smell of a freshly run-over skunk on a warm spring day...  I've been lucky enough to have worn my sandals twice so far this year, thanks to an unseasonably warm Texas winter and a few February days that were over 70*.  Coffee happens every day and I'm currently eating stinky Gouda as I type this.  No skunks yet.  😕

About a week ago , I walked past the mirror on the way to the bathroom and thought, "Ugh..."  Pale, dark circles from lack of sleep, lack of muscle tone thanks to my 2-month cold and allergies preventing a decent workout and run.  So I started thinking of all of those little things that I do for myself that make me happier. I'm not the girliest of girls but some of the things that make me happy as I get older are: good makeup, having a tan, having painted nails, and just feeling pretty in general.  Wow that sounded girly!  Yikes.  Barely a day has gone by over the last 3 years that I didn't have makeup on. I've never been a fan of my makeup-less face.  A little bit of color goes a long way with me and boosts my self-confidence. But over the past month, I barely combed my hair before heading to work. I just didn't care.  But when I walked past the mirror and felt disgusted with myself, I knew that not caring wasn't doing me any favors where my happiness and self-confidence were concerned. My self-esteem had taken a beating over the last several months and I wasn't doing anything to make myself feel better about ME.  As I looked at my pale reflection,  I knew what I needed to do.  I needed a tan.  Badly.

Since it's obviously too cold to get a real tan and I try to avoid tanning booths unless I need a little color before going on a tropical vacation, my next best option was an airbrush tan. My sister gets these every once in a while and recommended that I try one out. I had bought a Groupon over a year ago and never used it, but I could use the expired one for $21 off at least.  So I booked my appointment.

I knew what to expect, thanks to my sister's warnings, but I wasn't completely prepared for the actual experience.  When I arrived, the girl who would be spraying me down went over all of the recommendations (light-medium for my pale self) and "rules" for after the tan (no shower for 6-8 hours, loose clothing, etc).  She walked me back to the spray room and instructed me to undress as much as I wanted based on my comfort level.  I already knew that my underwear was staying on.  Not only was I not going to stand completely bare-assed in front of this girl, but I also like some tan lines.  A bra wasn't an option since I forgot to wear a black one and the dye would destroy my white one.  So I'd have to get past the embarrassment of flashing my boobs to a stranger for 10 minutes.  

She walked out so I could undress (you're going to see me naked anyway, might as well stay!) and I stripped down to my undies.  The giant mirror in front of me assaulted my eyes. Not only was I white and soft, but the fluorescent lighting added 20 lbs.  Was I going to look this gross in front of her or was I just fatter in the mirror?  Would she even care?  And why did I care?  I'm not trying to date her.  I gave my pasty self one last look and called her in.

Despite her warnings that it would "feel a little cold", nothing can really prepare you for the ice cold dye hitting your nipples for the first time.  I HATE being cold and this felt as miserable as a swim in Lake Michigan in June, except there was no gradual introduction of your boobs into the ice bath.  She just blasted me and giggled a little when I shrieked.  I clenched my teeth and tried not to grimace in case the spray tan somehow missed the lines in my face.   When she was done, she put powder in places where I might sweat and looked slightly confused when I told her to put extra in my belly button. Maybe she lacks stomach rolls when she sits down,  I don't know.  She also warned me that I would look dark before my shower, "so don't panic".  I dressed in my all-black, loose clothing and left, thankful to be warm and no longer exposed. 

With the exception of the full-body stickiness and the stench of the spray tan (similar to how you smell after a tanning booth), I felt better already.  I felt happy and a little more confident. So confident that I took a makeup-free picture and didn't hate it.  That never happens.

I drove home and started my 6-8 hours of desperately wanting a shower.  It's one of the hardest parts about the spray tan.  You're sticky, sweaty, and stink like crazy, especially since you're free of deodorant, body spray, lotion, everything.  You have to be aware of what you touch and whether or not your stomach rolls are sweating and wiping off the tan. At one point I decided to clean up cat puke with a Lysol wipe and it dripped on my arm. 

Luckily the white spot disappeared after my shower.  7 hours later, I was tired of smelling like death so I went upstairs for my much anticipated shower.  I briefly forgot the girl's warning that I would be darkest before my shower.  I panicked when I looked in the mirror and looked like the blonde sister of my Mexican brother-in-law.

I checked my tan lines and immediately noticed 2 things: a) I looked 20 lbs thinner than my whiter self had looked under those horrible fluorescent lights and b) my stretch marks were suddenly magnified x100.  (They faded slightly after my shower but definitely still more visible than with whiter skin.)  After my shower, I was able to see the true results and I was very happy with them.  Just a nice glow that I had badly needed.  I felt better already.

The next day, I noticed bumps on my stomach.  Over the next couple days, they spread to my arms, neck, and back and were really itchy.  So I've concluded that I'm allergic to the dye in the spray tan.  I make sure I use a lot of lotion so I don't dry out and that's helped with the itchiness.  But because of this, I don't think another airbrush tan is in my future, so I'll have to wait for bathing suit season to get another tan.  As of today, I still have a good tan going but it should start to fade in about a week.  Definitely not long enough for the price I paid.  If you get an airbrush tan, definitely use a Groupon.  It ain't cheap and it lasts for 12 days max.   Aside from the rash, I recommend it.  It's safer than the sun or tanning booths and gives you a nice color. 

It's the little things that make a big difference, so I'm glad I took this tiny step for myself.  Now that the majority of my looooong cold is over, I started running again.  Still hate it as much as I always have but I know it clears my head of unhappiness and negativity, so I'll stick with it.  Summer is coming, after all.  I even ordered new Brooks for myself, another little thing that cheered me up.  The tan and running shoes weren't the cheapest form of happiness, so hopefully a skunk comes along soon so I can get a free burst of motivation.  

Healing

Almost a month has passed since a wrench was thrown into my future plans.  It's been a month of heartbreak, sadness, bargaining, sleepless nights.  But I think in the last 24 hours, a page has been turned for me.  I wouldn't quite say I'm entering the acceptance phase yet.  That will likely take months.  But I've slowly managed to start climbing out of the depression stage.  I'm still sad every day and still have (sometimes embarrassing) moments of randomly breaking into tears.  But I no longer feel like an elephant is sitting on my chest or that my heart is shattering inside my body.  I finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.

This breakthrough has definitely come as a result of a lot of self-reflection and long, emotional talks with my best bud.  I hit a rock-bottom moment the Friday before last.  With my job, I drive a lot, and therefore have a lot of alone time to do nothing but think, which can be a dangerous thing when you're mad, sad, annoyed...  I have a couple hours during every day to stew over the things that bother me, lots of time for the what-ifs, time to wallow in my own misery.  Those imaginary arguments that you have with yourself in your shower...multiply that by 10.  On that particular Friday, just over a week ago, I was reaching the guilt stage.  Now, I never thought I'd actually go through this stage of grief.  I thought I would skip right over it, because what did I have to feel guilty about?  I didn't cheat, I wasn't mean; if anything, I had probably been too good of a girlfriend.  Too accommodating, too agreeable.  A doormat, basically.  But here it was, the guilt phase slapping me in the face that morning.  And it took the wind right out of me.

The feeling that I felt that morning that caught me off guard was a complete feeling of inadequacy.  I suddenly felt not good enough and I hadn't allowed myself to feel that way in a very long time.  I felt guilty for not being "enough" for him.  If I had been "enough", he would have been ok.  If I had been "enough", he wouldn't have done this or that, or said this or that.  He would've fixed his issues if I had been enough.  If my son had been enough.  The reasonable, smart Becca knew this was absolutely ludicrous.  I had been good to him.  We had made great memories as a little family.  I had spoiled him and made him feel special and given him so much attention and made excuses for him.   But the emotional, broken Becca that had just lost a long-term partner couldn't see this.  All I could see was that despite my best efforts, it had fallen apart.  I hadn't been enough for him to keep it together,

It took me several days of having this destructive thought process before I finally told broken Becca to shut-up.  I was scrolling through Facebook one day and saw this quote on my news feed.  It was probably the best timing I've experienced in a long time.

Jodi Picoult is one of my favorite authors (although I haven't yet read this particular book), and she was 100% right.  I had spent my entire 3-year relationship trying to mend a broken person and naively convincing myself that it was my responsibility.  I thought that by fixing his broken heart left over from his divorce, patching up those insecurities so he felt loved and wanted, and being ridiculously patient with him, that those things would make me "enough".  I thought it would guarantee me a happy life with the man that I loved.  I thought that by being that person, his "saving grace" so to speak, that it would make us complete, that we would complete each other.  

I never thought I would want to try to "fix" another man.  The last man I tried to fix was a decade ago and I learned way back then that a person has to fix himself.  Nobody can do it for him.  People have to grow and make their own decisions to be a good person and make good choices.  But here I was again, trying to be that savior for another person and I didn't even realize it.  Why?  Maybe it was the fact that he had a lot of great qualities that I wasn't used to in a man.  He was educated, handsome, tall, outdoorsy, liked good music...  I felt like I had hit the jackpot when I started dating him.  But I saw red flags and ignored them.  Over time, those red flags disappeared so, looking back, I think I thought I had conquered him.  I had succeeded in saving him.  I was his girl and he was my future husband and everything was going to be perfect because I had been patient and accommodating.  WRONG...

So many girls and women go through life and relationships with this same mentality.  Some like the bad boys, they like a challenge. They like to "save" people.  I honestly didn't even realize I was one of these women anymore.  Maybe in my 20's, but not now.  I had been single for 2 years before I met him.  I didn't have the patience, time, or energy to fix someone or chase someone.  Ain't nobody got time fo dat, especially a single mom.  It took me 3 years, the end of a relationship, my friend shaking sense into me, and then this Jodi Picoult quote for me to see that that is exactly what I had been trying to do.  It completely explained why I suddenly felt like a complete failure.  I had set myself up for failure.  Because...  this...

Let me tell you, friends. Love is not all you need, contrary to Mr. Lennon's claims.  You can love a person forever and not mend them.  You can love everything about them and tell them every day, and still not make them feel secure or happy.  You can only be so much for a person.  And that's where I went wrong.  True, I wasn't enough to fix those things, but I'm finally seeing that it's not a reflection on me.  It's not my job to fix anyone other than myself and my patients (and the occasional attitude adjustment for my son).  It took some reminding over the last couple weeks, but it finally sunk in yesterday.  I know my worth.  I know what I have to offer and someday, that will be enough for someone and I won't have to spend day after day trying to convince them (and myself) of this fact.

The healing process has begun and that brings me a sliver of relief.  Baby steps... deleting my 111 pins from my wedding album on Pinterest (I'll make a new album if that special person makes an entrance into my life later on), reading novels again (I finished an entire novel this week alone), working on my blog, focusing on work, watching Isaac show off his mad baseball skills, anticipating the upcoming Rangers season.  All of these things bring me joy that I haven't felt in a long time. When you finally stop the daunting task of trying to make others happy when they don't want that for themselves, you suddenly have so much more time and breathing room to enjoy what and who matters the most in your life.  In closing...

Love and Loss

The last time I posted to my blog, I was new to the 30 Club.  I had accepted that my youth was over and I had fully embraced my 30's. I was excited to be done with the drama of being a 20-something, excited to be a "real" adult.  Surely crazy things wouldn't happen in my 30's.  People settle down, get married, settle into family life.  Men in their 30's don't play annoying games.  They're grown up.  They're ready for a family and ok with dating a single mom.  They know what they want. Right?  Yet here I am, 34 years old, sitting at home on a Saturday night, writing a blog post as a sort of therapy to heal a heart that I had naively convinced myself wouldn't get broken in my 30's.  Trying to figure out how to proceed with a life that I thought I had in order years ago, and trying to accept that future plans won't ever happen now.  

People use the word "grief" when someone has died, but I've come to realize over the last several days and weeks that it can absolutely be used to describe the feeling that comes with the end of a significant relationship.  And by "significant relationship", I mean any relationship that had a profound impact on your life.  I don't care if it lasted 6 months, 3 years, or 20 years.  I don't care if you were domestic partners or if you had a piece of paper telling you that you're legally bound to that person.  I don't mean to downplay the meaning of marriage.  I don't actually think of it as "a piece of paper".  But over the years, married and divorced folks have downplayed my marriage-less relationships often.  "A marriage is always more important than a long-term partnership."  "You don't understand how a divorce feels."   I've always been highly irritated by the inaccuracy of these statements. I've had 3 relationships that lasted longer than a lot of marriages I've seen.  One of them lasted for half of my 20's and produced a child and, in turn, a family. That same relationship lasted longer than the dating relationship and marriage combined of my most recent ex-boyfriend. We didn't have a ceremony or rings or a paper signed by a judge.  But we were a family. And the end of that relationship was heart-wrenching and took years to get past.  Fast forward 8 years and that same heart-wrenching feeling is back, minus the legal proceedings to separate property and children. Is it any less significant because there wasn't a marriage?  Absolutely not.  I lost an entire family of people who treated me like their own, a family I so desperately wanted to be my own someday soon.  My son lost a father figure that he loved whole heartedly for 3 years. Ironically, one of those divorced people who often downplayed the end of my marriage-less long-term relationships happens to be the other half of this story and sitting a few blocks away, no doubt feeling the same devastation that I am feeling tonight. So for all of you who have never been married but have lost someone significant, I understand. Your feelings are valid.

The term "sick with grief" is so unbelievably accurate.  The physical symptoms of heartbreak are sometimes more difficult to deal with than the emotional ones.  They make it hard to function, get out of bed, go to work, eat, sleep.  It's as though you can feel your heart breaking from the inside out.  Queasiness with every meal, stomach ache, sleeplessness...I haven't slept through the night since September, when the first signs of what was to come appeared.  But I'd say the worst physical symptom is the breathlessness. Feeling like someone is sitting on your chest.  There are so many days, several times a day, when I can't even take a deep breath.  I catch myself holding my breath because my chest is heavy with grief. I'm sure it's also anxiety.  Fear of the unknown and someday starting over, fear of never seeing that person again.  Wondering how you are ever going to go to all of the places that you went to with that person again. State parks, cabins, our favorite Irish pub.  Wondering if you should go ahead and delete your 111 pins in your "Future Wedding" album on Pinterest.

I also feel like the amount of anxiety you feel is directly related to the progression of the breakup. When a couple is gradually unraveling, even though the end of the relationship is just as sad, you feel more prepared. With Isaac's dad and I, we were falling apart before Isaac ever made his entrance into the world. The end of the relationship was devastating, but it was inevitable and I had almost 2 years to prepare myself.  Not that we didn't try during those 2 years.  But when it ended, it wasn't anything too shocking.  To anybody.  With my current situation, the unraveling was somewhat sudden. When it goes from good to bad in a matter of a few months after almost 3 years together, your heart doesn't have time to process the devastation.  You go through the stages of grief, sometimes multiple stages in one day. I'd say the most common one right now is Bargaining.  If only we hadn't taken the next step in our relationship.  If only we had done this or that differently. The bargaining phase is full of regret and living in the past.  I think this phase makes it harder to move on because you're still thinking of all of the things that happened prior to the switch being flipped. These things cloud your judgement. We start thinking that those good things will fix the bad things. But in all honesty, the bad things wouldn't have happened if the good things had been enough.  I also try to bargain with the future. Maybe we can be friends someday. It's been known to happen. I have a pretty cordial relationship with most of the people I have dated, but some time has to pass. Sometimes it takes a couple months, sometimes it takes 6 years. Sometimes it never happens. But I know these thoughts are likely because I'm not ready to let go.  I guess that will come with the Acceptance phase, which I think I am pretty far from right now.

Anger is another common feeling. Just frustration that I'm dealing with this again at 34 years old. I have questioned God, fate, karma... Why?  Am I supposed to be learning some kind of lesson again?  Did I do something in a previous love life that put a curse on me?  Maybe a previous ex shoved a needle through the heart of a voodoo doll like Dane Cook's scorned lover in Good Luck Chuck.  That would explain why the majority of my exes end up marrying the person they date after the end of our relationship. You're welcome, guys. 

The thought of moving on is painful and it likely won't happen for a very long time. A few days ago, I fully intended to never date again. But a close friend of mine encouraged me to "leave the door open just a crack".  I deserve happiness and love as much as the next girl. 

The only real comfort I've had is to just remind myself of the positives of the whole situation. There will always be a silver lining in every bad thing that happens to you. The silver lining here is that I'll be able to do things that I haven't done in a while because he didn't want to, like watching UFC, watching live music, listening to my music in the car, maybe work on my blog again, etc.  I'll have time to read novels again. I can take mini trips with just Isaac like we used to.  There's always a silver lining.  Life will go on, the sun will come up tomorrow, and at the end of the day, I still have the biggest love of my life sitting next to me, biting his toenails and watching cartoons.

Lazy Girl's Guide to Running

"How often in life we complete a task that was beyond the capability of the person we were when we started it." ~Robert Brault

It's hard to believe that in less than 2 weeks, I will be completing my 17th race and my first 10k.  It doesn't seem like that long ago that I was wishing I could run but doubting my ability to make it happen. I chose the title because, even though I have made a ton of progress in the last year and a half, I'm still very much a lazy runner.  I don't "love" to run and most days I would prefer to sit on my couch and watch baseball in my underwear and eat a cupcake rather than go for a run or to the gym. You don't have to be Miss Athlete to be a runner, you just have to make the choice to do it even when your couch is calling your name.  I decided to compile this list as a way to help other people who are thinking about running or have already started and may be struggling. 

1. Get started

Getting started is the hardest part of anything, especially where any kind of exercise is involved. How many times have you set a weight or fitness goal as a New Year's resolution only to give up by February 1? I've tried to start running several times in my life. In high school, I ran around the tennis courts before practice and hated every moment of it. I only played tennis for the cute skirt and to avoid gym class anyway, not because I was athletic. In college, I would get motivated very briefly and run around the track at my dorm, all the while thinking about the cookie I had thrown away the night before and desperately wanting to go retrieve it (I did, by the way...it was still soft and tasty. The 5 second rule doesn't apply to cookies). In 2009, I tried again to start running, this time with a running group, and ended up with tendinitis in my ankle. So I quit and ate my frustrations and developed quite the rear. In July 2011, I tried yet again and actually stuck with it for a month or so. My first 5k trek around my neighborhood took me a long 50:26. My shins hurt, my lungs were on fire and I felt every extra pound in my pants. After a month of dealing with shin pain and humid nighttime runs, I gave up yet again. It was only after my sister guilt-tripped me into registering for my first 5k that I finally decided to "get started" for the last time. That was in September of 2011, and 16 races later, I haven't looked back since. My 5k time has gone from that very slow 50:26 to my most recent personal best of 31:45. I never thought I would be this close to the 30:00 mark. My cousin, who is an awesome marathon runner, told me a long time ago, "I want to be there the first time you finish in under 30:00." At the time I just thought, "Not gonna happen...ever." But I'm already very close to that milestone. You just have to set your mind to it and do it. You have to push out every doubt you have in yourself and ignore the agony you feel after several (or two) minutes of running and remember that it'll eventually pass. And if you start to think, "I'll start again next week", just realize that when next week rolls around and you're struggling to make it around your neighborhood, you're going to be kicking yourself for not starting last week. So just do it.




Me in July 2011, except chubbier than these chicks.


2. Plan a fun race

I was kind of thrown into my first race via the guilt trip, but it changed my life. Setting a concrete goal such as a race (and paying the registration fee) will help motivate you to start and keep training. If I hadn't registered for my first race, I would've eventually given up again. But because I paid $25 and promised my sister (and probably announced it on Facebook), I felt like I HAD to complete it. Not that you should guilt trip yourself into running, that's not what I'm saying. Yes, my first race was a guilt trip race, but the 15 races after that were a way to pump myself up and get excited about running. I always made sure to choose really fun races (a glow-in-the-dark race, my hometown race, a Halloween race, etc) so that I looked forward to running it. Planning my outfit based on the race's theme was one of the most motivating things for me. See #3.

3. Shoes/outfit

SHOES ARE EVERYTHING! Especially if you're as injury/accident prone as I am. It took me several running injuries before I finally realized that bad shoes were my main issue. I mean, I had a lot of other issues in the beginning (an extra 30 lbs on my butt, horrible running form that resembled Phoebe Buffay from Friends, an inability to steady my breathing, just to name a few), but my poor quality running shoes really had the biggest impact on the misery I experienced those first several running attempts. I suggest going to a running store and getting fitted for running shoes. They'll do a gait analysis, tell you if you walk/run funny (I do) and tell you what shoe you should get and what size based on that information (usually 1/2 to 1 size larger than your regular shoe size - your feet swell when you run). Don't be cheap, especially if you're prone to shin splits or joint issues. Spending about $100 is normal for good running shoes. I'd rather spend $100 every year (yes, you need to replace them eventually because they wear down) than spend $40 and have them sit in my closet because I got injured and gave up again. Now, about your outfit... This may be a woman thing, but most likely it's just a Becca thing and doesn't matter to most other people. But I'm a weirdo who is much more motivated and energetic if I look as cute as I possibly can while running. My face is pretty hideous at the end of a run, so all I can really control is the outfit. That's one reason I choose fun, themed races because the costume/outfit I get to wear gets me excited. Who wouldn't be pumped up to wear a tutu or a Batman costume or knee-high neon socks during a run? But feeling good in your running outfit doesn't just apply to races. I have found that if I like what I'm wearing during a workout or training run, I have more energy. I may be the only person who suddenly gets a burst of energy mid-run because I remember that I'm wearing my hot pink sports bra and matching underwear. Whatever works!


See how excited my outfit made me?

4. Weight

Would you rather run while carrying 50 lbs worth of candy bars in your underwear or without? Weight matters where running is concerned, at least for me. I've seen heavier people run 5k's, sometimes way faster than me, but for me, I do much better and struggle less when I weigh less. When I first started running in 2011, I was 35 lbs heavier and really didn't "run". I walked with a hop and my butt bounced behind me with every hop. As I lost weight, my race times and overall endurance improved. Not to mention that races were much less swamp-assy when my thighs weren't rubbing together in my yoga pants the whole time.

5. Diet

Diet obviously contributes to weight, but it also affects how you feel when you run. Even if you're the type of person who can eat chicken enchiladas and a 6-pack of beer and not gain a pound, it'll still have a negative affect on your run. Running bounces and shakes and jolts your body around. Your stomach is bouncing around in there and I'm sure your intestines are being flopped around, too, and you know what those contain. I have found that I feel best when I stick to meat, nuts, fruit and vegetables (very low carb - you need some good carbs for energy but heavy, starchy carbs weigh you down and make you feel like you might fill your pants mid-run. Never a pleasant sensation). I try to follow this diet most of the time, but your diet is especially important the day before and day of a race. Feel free to pig out after a race - post-race meals are the BEST - but I wouldn't recommend eating a stack of pancakes or a plate of Mexican food within 24 hours before a race. Do what you want but you'll be wishing you had listened to me when you're trying to push down the queasiness and/or desperately looking for a bush during mile 2. Trust me, I've been that girl. Many times.

6. Music

Music is a huge motivator for me. I can't run without it. It energizes me when things get tough and puts me in a good mood when I just want to quit. My 5k playlist has changed a lot over the last year and a half. I used to think music was music. I figured if I liked the songs, they could be on my running playlist. Over time I realized that my song choices played a huge role in how well I did and how energized I was able to stay. I love slow country love songs and depressing breakup music, but that music wasn't conducive to a successful run. It made me sleepy, unmotivated and hungry for chocolate. And anything repetitive is really annoying when you're struggling to breathe and stay upright. There are songs I can sing and dance to in the car but if they suddenly start playing mid-race when I'm already angry at the world, it drives me insane. For example, Isaac put "Baby" by Justin Bieber on my playlist before my first Halloween 5k (by the way, this is an example of a repetitive song, not a song I dance to in my car...just to set that straight). It was a miserable, frigid, hilly race and I was in a tutu. The Biebs came on at the very end of the race when I was in the process of trying to stay ahead of a dad and son so I could avoid coming in last. At that moment, I had to make the choice to either slow down and turn the song off or ignore it and keep running. My fear of being last beat out my hatred for Justin Bieber and I suffered through the rest of the race with that song playing. When I crossed the finish line (not last), turning it off took precedence over yanking my shorts out of my crotch or wiping the snot off my face. After that race, I always make sure to triple check and update my playlist before each race or training run. I still have a huge variety of music (everything from Luke Bryan to Usher to Soilwork to Casting Crowns), but all of it is upbeat and motivating. Most of it is heavy metal and rock lately. I guess I like to be screamed at when I'm about to give up. :-)

7. Focal point

I'll be honest, I struggle more after the 2nd mile of races than I did during childbirth. When you're in labor, they tell you to choose an object or area in the room and use it as your focal point so you can take your mind off your agony and fight through the pain. The same applies to running. I choose a focal point every time I run, whether it be a training run or a race.  Sometimes I have several depending on where I am running. If I'm on the treadmill at the gym, I usually just focus on the street lamp outside and never take my eyes away from it. It takes my mind off any pain or exhaustion I may be feeling and keeps me from looking at my time and distance on the treadmill. When I run outside, I usually have several focal points that change as the scenery changes. If I'm running alone, I focus on a tree, landmark or person in the distance and tell myself that I WILL keep running and not walk until I reach that point. I do the same thing during races but mainly focus on people. Sometimes I'll watch someone's butt in front of me and enviously wonder how they manage to keep their shorts on the outside of their body. Other times I'll focus on someone ahead of me that I would be embarrassed to finish after, like a little kid or a baby in a stroller. I'll pick up speed until I pass them, think to myself, "That's right, baby. Move aside!" and then choose another person to be my new focal point. Having something to focus on helps the time to go by faster and helps you to get out of your head. Running really is (mostly) mental...see #8.

8. Mental vs physical

It took me over a year and 13 1/2 races to realize that running is more mental than physical. Back in those earlier running days, I was positive that my shin splints, fat butt and Buddha belly were 90% of my issues. It wasn't until I was in the middle of my November 2012 race that I realized my self-doubt and mind games caused most of my misery. I was in decent shape for this race, was at a reasonable weight, the weather was perfect, it was a night race and I hadn't eaten tacos that day, yet I was still struggling to survive after a panic attack hit when my running app on my phone stopped working. I had obsessively used that app as a security blanket during my races so that I could track how far I was from the finish line. When I realized the app wasn't working during that race, I freaked out and started thinking that there was no way I could finish running it, I was probably far from the finish line and I was going to finish in a terrible time. Just that mental war I was having with myself made me feel exhausted and like I was going to pass out. That's when it clicked that it really was all in my head (there was no way a running app on my phone could make or break a race), and I just had to suck it up, turn up my music and keep my eye on the prize. That race ended up being my fastest race to this day. I still use my running app religiously but I'm now able to tell the difference between a mental war vs a physical struggle. I'd say it's 80-20. You still have to build your endurance and get stronger physically, but the thing that prevents us from improving over time isn't the junk in our trunks, it's the negative junk in our heads.

9. Injury awareness

I am the running injury queen. You name it, I've had it: shin splints (more times than I can count), runner's knee, tendinitis, plantar fasciitis... The frequency of these injuries decreased significantly once I packed on leg muscle and got better running shoes, but they still come back on occasion. The key is knowing when you have an injury vs soreness and when you should rest vs fight through it. The best way to fight off injuries is to stretch before and after running and to ice your legs, even if they're not really sore. Stretching your calves and hamstrings is so very important. Those muscles are attached to everything - your shins, your knees, your heels. I had calf pain for a couple weeks one time and suddenly got plantar fasciitis (heel issue) that was directly related to my tight calves. If your soreness just feels like normal muscle pain from exercise, it's ok to run through it. That's how you build muscle. But if it's pain in a joint or sharp pain in your shins, rest for a few days or a week and ice it. Ice baths SUCK HARDCORE, but they allow you to ice everything all at once and it actually feels better when, you know, you can't feel anything below the waist. You just have to know your body and know when something isn't right. If you have a feeling it's an injury rather than soreness, err on the side of caution and don't run for a while. You'll make it worse and end up giving up and eating your sorrows. I've been there. And since I'm telling you to not run through injuries, I probably shouldn't tell you that I have my 2nd case of ankle tendinitis and not only am I still running, but I plan to complete my first 10k in a couple weeks. I'll suffer the consequences of my stubbornness for sure, much like I did after my December race when I ran with strep and bronchitis in 28* weather. I may not be able to walk afterwards, but the accomplishment alone will make it all worth it, as well as the copious amounts of burgers and beer that I plan to consume as my celebratory meal. But yeah, like I said before, don't run through running injuries...it's BAD. 

10. Cross training

I've always hated exercise. I didn't like the muscle soreness or the difficult time I had walking for the 2 days after a session of squats and lunges. But cross training will benefit you greatly when it comes to your running progress. Running requires the use of your whole body, not just your legs. Every muscle group is involved - abs, legs, even your arms. If one or more of these muscles are weak, it'll slow you down and make you feel tired a lot faster. I started incorporating cross training sessions into my gym visits about 3 months after I started running. As I built muscle, I got faster and less tired. Then for about 6 months, I got lazy and only ran. I noticed a difference right away. Without the cross training, I wasn't building the most important muscles that I needed to increase my speed, endurance or metabolism. Sure, I still had some nice calf and shin muscles, but my hamstrings and quads were weak, I still had a fat stomach and I had no upper body strength. So I started back up with these muscle groups on my non-run days several months ago and haven't stopped since. My quads and hamstrings are stronger and more muscular and I run faster as a result. Not to mention, these main muscle groups have helped me to become a champ at hovering over public toilet seats for several seconds. It's a win-win really.

I hope this list was helpful for anyone who is thinking about running or has recently started running. I subscribe to Runner's World magazine and have read hundreds of articles on "how to run" and none of them really spoke specifically to me. I felt like I was the minority, the one person who had so many issues becoming "A Runner" when it seemed so easy for others. So maybe you're just like I was and you'll read this, have extra hope and think, "Ahh ok, she struggled just like I am and has managed to pull through." Or better yet, you'll feel way better about yourself after reading about all of my problems and think, "Wow, my experience doesn't seem quite so bad anymore." Either way, I hope it gave you some encouragement and motivation to continue running. It's been a life changer for me.

Firefly Run, 2013 Edition

Firefly Run, Plano, TX - March 23, 2013

#16. It's crazy to think that I had already completed 15 races, 12 of which were all in 2012. I was ready to start 2013 off right and decided that the Firefly Run was the perfect race for my first of the year. This particular race is my favorite. The course is totally flat, it's a night race (which I LOVE) and the glow-in-the dark atmosphere makes me happy. My friend Priscilla and her boyfriend Sid decided to run it with me. I did it with my niece last year, but she's now in the Navy so I was bummed that she couldn't be there. We had a blast last year.

I had pre-race jitters like crazy before this race. I always have some anxiety before a race but usually I don't have much time to dwell on it since they're typically morning races. With this race, I had an entire 12 hours to worry about all of the crazy things that I worry about before a race. Was I ready? Had I trained enough? It had been 3 months since my last 5k so I was nervous. But I had been doing my 10k training since January so I was about as prepared as I was going to be. Shorts or pants? It was 55* but I wanted to wear glow-in-the-dark gear on my legs, so I went with shorts. What should I eat during the day? And more importantly, what had I eaten the day before that I might need to "expel"? Think I'm gross all you want (do you really expect anything less from me?) but this matters to runners, trust me. The LAST thing you want to happen to you during a race of 7,000 participants is to have crippling stomach pains and a blowout mid-race because you chose to eat tacos and beer the night before. And lastly, my most important concern (yes, even more important than filling my pants during mile 2) was that there would be a really good looking guy at the finish line this time. I recently started seeing someone and he planned to be at the race. As I've mentioned in previous blog posts, I'm not even remotely cute when I finish running. I'm sweaty, red, panting and look a little like I might stroke out. I haven't been with Hottie long enough to subject him to that image. My post-race look is a borderline deal breaker. So how was I going to cross the finish line still looking semi-cute, without my shorts lodged in my uterus? I finally had to accept that the only thing I had any control over was the shorts. I couldn't control my red face or sweaty boobs or my disheveled hair, but I could pre-plan the dislodging of the shorts prior to making the last turn before the finish line.

There were SO MANY people at this race. Thousands. There were 7,000 last year and I think there may have been more this year. Last year I had been worried about dodging so many people but had done pretty well. This year was even more nerve-wracking because of the increased number of little kids and baby strollers. Not to mention it would be DARK and the ground was wet from the earlier rain storm. I pushed my way towards the front and hoped that the parents with small children had been smart enough to stay towards the back. I knew that the combination of thousands of people, cold weather and crazy North TX winds would make this a semi-unpleasant race, so my playlist for that night consisted mainly of hard rock and heavy metal to get me through the tough moments. My goal was to beat last year's time of 36:08.

The first mile was spent dodging pint-sized runners who didn't know to stay to the right. When I'd find an open space, I'd sprint in order to make up for time I had lost while trying to get around people. Even after all these races, I have yet to learn to pace myself. I finished the first mile in 10:30 and the 2nd by 22:45. That gave me over 13 min to finish the last 1.1 mile. Problem was, the wind was killing my lungs and the blinking light bracelet I had strapped around my calf was digging into my muscle every time I flexed. I could've ripped it off but I didn't want to get trampled if I slowed down. So I sucked it up and kept going.

Hottie was supposed to text me when he arrived but my phone hadn't buzzed during the race. So I assumed he hadn't found a place to park and wasn't going to be at the finish line. But I wasn't about to risk the surprise of running towards him with my shorts several inches higher than they needed to be. So I slowed down slightly before the last turn and pulled them back down over my butt cheeks where they belonged.

As I've mentioned before, I have a rule against walking across the finish line. I always reserve enough energy at the very end to run across, even if I'm all out of steam. But at the end of this race, I completely misjudged the distance to the finish line and started running again much too soon. As a result of this misjudgment, I had just set myself up to finish the race in the most unattractive condition possible. Not only had I removed my shorts from my throat an entire 50 yards too soon, but I also had left way too much time at the end for my lungs to handle. It had been a cold, windy run so they had had it. But since I couldn't break my finish line rule, I had to deal with it and keep going and hope that I didn't vomit, pass out or look too pathetic when I crossed the finish line. By the time I reached the end, my shorts were back up so far that I could feel the cold wind in places that shouldn't have been able to feel the wind. My ears were ringing, partly from the wind and partly from the Soilwork song blaring from my earbuds. My lungs were on fire, my left calf was in pain and I'm pretty sure I had an ugly grimace on my face from the extra effort. I crossed the finish line in 35:26, beating last year's goal and making this my 2nd fastest 5k.

Lucky for me (and probably for his eyes), Hottie hadn't made it to the finish line due to the parking issue. He didn't have to witness the wheezing or the I'm-going-to-puke face or watch me walk around disoriented, looking for water. I finally found water but was too shaky and tired to open the bottle, so I asked two guys standing near me to open it for me. They looked at me like I was an alien for a few seconds until one of them asked me if I was ok. I said yes, that I was just tired and couldn't open my water. They continued to stare at me skeptically (come on guys, did you actually think I was pretending to look like I was on the verge of having a stroke just so I could hit on you and use my water as a pick-up line? Just open my fricken water already!) until finally one of them opened my bottle and handed it back to me. Semi-hydrated and now able to breathe, I called Hottie and met him for post-race beers. Unfortunately, beer was my only celebratory food/drink so I was crazy dehydrated the next day. I didn't eat my normal pig-out post-race meal or even drink much water for that matter. Just some Blue Moon while watching Comedy Central with a good lookin' dude who had unknowingly avoided seeing me at my ugliest a few hours earlier.

Guide to Happy Dating

Isaac: "Mommy, I was really mad at Kaley today." 
Me: "Why?  What did she do?"
Isaac: "I said hi to her and she told me not to talk to her because I was a boy.  That's mean.  So I don't want any girls at my birthday party this year."

It's starting already.  1st grade.  I didn't have the heart to tell him that this was only the beginning of the two decades of rejection he is likely to experience at the hands of women.  But while I felt sad for his sensitive heart that is sure to be broken several times throughout his life, I couldn't help but to feel grateful that I have a son instead of a daughter.  Maybe I'm just biased (since I'm a girl and all), but I think the dating world is way more brutal for women than it is for men.  Maybe it's because we think with our hearts. Or because we are hard-wired to over-analyze everything that is said or done, especially where relationships are concerned.  Either way, dating sucks for women.

Because it sucks so much, I took an almost 2-year hiatus to just be alone.  2 years of not worrying about whether someone is into me or just looking for a good time or a time-filler for a weekend night.  2 years of not stressing over what to wear on a date or shaving my legs every Saturday night or paying a babysitter $25 to go on a mediocre date with someone who probably wouldn't call me the next day anyway.  2 years of anti-sappy-romance and closing up my heart and mind to the charming ways of the opposite sex.  It was 2 years of single bliss.  Then....late last year, my sister assisted in shattering that image of a happy, solitary, man-less life.  I'm almost ashamed to admit how she did this, but long story short, she made me watch Twilight.  I had avoided those stupid vampire movies for 4 years and never had any intention of wasting my time watching the horrible acting skills and ridiculous story line.  But with much prodding, over the course of 2 days, I watched all 5 movies in the series.  As much as I still feel that the concept is pretty fricken stupid, I couldn't deny that it was a beautiful love story.  I could also no longer deny that I was lonely and missed feeling excited about someone.  So I recently decided to re-enter the cruel dating world with the hopes that my experiences of the past would help me to sniff out the bad ones before they once again turned me into a bitter old cat lady.

As naive and forgiving as I tend to be at times, I'd like to think that I'm pretty good at identifying red flags in someone and assigning them to a dating category. In the past 4 years that I've been in TX, I've gone out with 11 different men (some being just one date and others having turned into a dating relationship), and I've been (un)lucky enough to have experienced many different "types".  So allow me to educate you on these categories and red flags.

1. The Hoover: This isn't as inappropriate as it sounds and he is quite common.  The Hoover is someone who doesn't like you enough to actively pursue you but will suck you back in the second that he senses that you're catching on to this and start backing off.  I've dated several Hoovers.  And given my natural instinct to assume the best in someone, the Hoover Maneuver often works.

2. The Game Player: This guy is an expert player in "the dating game".  The one who follows the dating rules and often makes up his own.  Like the 72-hour rule - don't call her for 72 hours after a date. What?!  So many people fall for this and it's straight up BS.  If you like her, call her.  If you don't, say so. One thing that I learned from watching He's Just Not That Into You is that if he's not calling you, he doesn't like you.  And if he's not calling because he's playing "the game", you don't want to date that kind of guy anyway. We're in our 30's, not 18.  You have a mere 10-15 years before you're that creepy old guy sitting at the bar trying to buy shots for younger women.  Time is of the essence at this point, so fricken call her. 

Moving on...

3. Stage 5 Clinger: Anyone who has seen Wedding Crashers knows what this is.  For those of you who haven't, a Stage 5 Clinger is someone (usually a woman, but definitely can be a guy, trust me on this) who is extremely needy and clingy.  They suffocate you with their insecure neediness.  My sister likes to remind me that I was once this person in my early 20's (I disagree...maybe Stage 2 but definitely not Stage 5, just sayin'.)  And until recently, I was guilty of assuming this was a "woman issue".  I figured it was just a term men had for women who wanted to spend time together more than they did.  I never really thought that I'd ever think of a guy as being a Clinger.  I like when the person I am dating pays attention to me and texts me.  However, I was set straight on this in January when I met the ultimate Stage 5 Clinger.  Nice guy, super cute, very sweet, very funny and had MANNERS. A true gentleman.  4 days later, flippin' nuts.  "Why aren't you texting me back (within 10 minutes)?  Why don't you care about me?  I love you!"  Yikes!  It took several days of being blatantly honest with him and finally ignoring him for him to go away.  The sad thing is that I totally would've fallen for that behavior several years ago.  I would've assumed he was just very attentive.  But having been single for the past 2 years, it was an instant red flag and I no longer wanted or needed someone who was attached to me like a hemorrhoid. 

4. The Pig: This guy is quite common, too.  I've referred to several of my dates (and my friends' dates) as pigs.  If someone gropes you on the first date, he's a pig.  If someone says something like, "I bet you're good in the sack", he's a pig.  If someone obviously stares at your boobs the whole night on your first date, he's a pig.  Now, I am an open-minded person and will acknowledge that men are drawn to boobs, especially nice boobs.  But a non-pig is subtle about it if he steals a peek and is able to keep the glances to a minimum.  Liking boobs doesn't make you a pig.  Drooling over them on the first date does.  My first date after the hiatus was "The Pig".  It was a set-up by a mutual friend who couldn't have known he was a pig since they had never dated.  We had a lot in common and both had a crude sense of humor, therefore it should've been a match made in heaven, right?  Not so much.  To start, he was 17 years my senior.  Our friend had thought he was in his early 40's, not late 40's.  But age difference aside, the main thing that made him undateable was the fact that he did all 3 things mentioned above on the first date.  Seriously...  Someone who falls into The Pig category needs to learn that if he plays his cards right, he'll eventually get to see boobs, but he damn well better treat me like a lady first. 

5. The Denial Dater: This guy is the ultimate time-waster.  It's one thing to waste time on a date or 2 and then realize he's not a good catch or that you're not a good match, but The Denial Dater drags it out for months.  He's just attentive enough to keep you interested and squash any worries about him being The Game Player or The Hoover, but he's not in it for the long haul and knows it all along.  The reason for his moniker is what he does at the end of the 3 or so month relationship.  He denies that the relationship ever existed.  He usually says something like, "We weren't dating.  We were hanging out."  Or "I never told you we were exclusive."  I've dated two of these and I didn't know if I wanted to laugh or punch them in the throat.  I don't typically pay a babysitter hundreds of dollars over several months to "hang out" unless it's an agreed-upon Friend Zone situation.  I'm good friends with a few of my past dates and that's cool.  But don't wine and dine and kiss me for 90 days and then pretend we're just buds. 

6. The Mirage: This guy is a chameleon.  He can pretend to be whatever he thinks you want him to be and he pulls it off like a champ.  Sometimes for several months.  He's probably the most disappointing type of date because he makes you believe that you've found your perfect match, but it's all based on a lie.  Then when you realize they are The Mirage, it's hard to leave because you've already developed feelings for this joker.  Some Mirages fake a certain personality while others fake interests and hobbies.  I've dated both, as have my friends.  My good friend's serious (now-ex)boyfriend pretended to value his faith but wasn't sure he even believed in God, pretended to be divorced while still living with his wife and pretended to be social like she very much is, but never spoke more than a few words to her friends.  My first Mirage was in 2009 when I dated "Steve" (ok, that's actually his real name...).  This guy was a fake sports fan, particularly hockey.  Not sure how long he thought he was going to keep up that charade, but it didn't last long.  It all came to a screeching halt when he didn't care about the Stanley Cup playoffs and didn't want to watch it (the Wings were in the finals that year).  Then he admitted to not caring about sports but wanting to have something in common with me.  Don't screw with my emotions when it comes to my love of sports.  A good test would've been to ask him what a "hat trick" is.  *Hint: it doesn't have anything to do with the players' helmets.*  Now, I don't want to sound shallow and give you the impression that I ended things because he didn't like sports.  However, I DID fall for him based on that "mutual" love of sports.  So finding out the truth kinda killed it for me.  My second Mirage was in 2010 when I became engaged to someone who pretended to be independent, secure and a non-smoker.  It took about 6 months for him to show me that none of that was true (well, I figured out the smoking part after 2 weeks).  If he had kept up his charade for another 6 months, I would've married one of the most insecure and jealous men I had ever met.  Major bullet dodged. 

So that was a summary of the most prevalent dates you may encounter as a single man/woman in the crazy dating world.  I'm sure these categories can apply to women as well, but they're obviously based on my experiences with the male species.  The first step to a happy and successful dating life (other than just miraculously not coming into contact with the d-bags) is to identify who NOT to date.  As you can see, I've already done the work for you.  Lucky me.  And you're welcome.  :-)