Ch-ch-ch-changes

I haven't felt this way in a long time. When I was 22, my dad retired from GE and sold the house in Anderson that I grew up in. I graduated from college and got an actual 8-5 day job where I didn't have to punch a time clock and had health insurance. I rented a cute little 1-bedroom apartment in Ft. Thomas, bought my own furniture and decorated my new space. My parents, whom I never thought of as "old," bought a condo and started spending their winters in Florida. I earned a master's degree, lost a job, and moved back in with my parents, whom I realized were officially old. I woke every morning during my early 20s and felt the earth spinning out of control as the days passed more quickly than I could handle. My life was changing, fast.

After a few years of what seemed like constant change, I settled into my life, and the earth's rotation slowed down enough for me to enjoy it. I got a good job, rented an apartment with two bedrooms, found the love of my life, lost the love of my life, got a promotion, rented an even better apartment, lost 100 pounds, found another love of my life, lost love again, and ran a marathon. For some reason, those big changes didn't seem so big. Through all those experiences, I felt sturdy, grounded and in full control of my decisions.

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Last week, I bought new running shoes. Such a minor thing, I know, but it set off something inside me that I didn't know was there. I'm not running in the shoes that I ran my first marathon in anymore. I'm keeping my old pair, of course, as a memento of my accomplishment, but they've been retired. The chapter of my life involving my first pair of Adidas Supernovas has come and gone, and that makes me sad. But, as I inspected the new pair yesterday, I considered the possible stories their journey would tell. Where would these shoes go? How many times would I run up the hill on Gilbert in these? Would I slosh through a pop-up rain shower in them? How fast could I go in them? As I wondered what was ahead for my new shoes, and looked at those clean, springy new Supernovas, I realized that I wasn't just thinking about shoes.

I learned this week that Meters & Miles is being sold, and will soon turn into a Running Spot. I'm so sad that I will be losing the place (and the people) that helped me acheive one of the greatest accomplishments of my life. On the other hand, I'm looking forward to seeing how it all turns out, and to the new opportunities and different experiences I may have when the store changes hands.

Outside of my running life, too, changes are all around me. My brother Nick is getting married and moving to a new house waaaay out in Milford. I see my friends, too, moving in with significant others, getting married, buying homes and having kids. When did they all grow up? I'm changing too. The fun party girl who wouldn't dream of missing a CSL happy hour is somehow content with spending most Friday nights carb-loading and resting up for long Saturday runs. I'm not using my credit card anymore, and am developing into a responsible spender (thanks in part to a new boyfriend who has pointed out the foolishness of financing a round of shots at the bar). And, this is the biggie-- I'm finally planning on making a long-term life change by buying a condo. I won't have a kick-ass city view anymore, but I will have 8,000 more dollars in my pocket thanks to the first-time homebuyers credit. It's responsible. But it's a big commitment that's scary, stressful, and I don't know how it will all turn out. For the first time in a long time, I'm taking big risks. The world is spinning fast again, and there's nothing else to do but hold on tight and enjoy the ride.