Triumph Redefined

One sure fire way to make me cry is to show me someone doing something that is hard for them and succeeding.  Automatically, I will well up and have to contain myself from spilling over.  I think I would call the emotion triumph, but that doesn't seem to do it justice.  (I guess any emotion that is deeply personal is hard to label). 

So, no wonder that I was on the brink of tears most the day this past Sunday.  I ran in a marathon...well...sort of.  A team marathon!, and I ran the shortest leg - the 5K.  Gooooooo me! But no matter the details, it felt triumphant for me.  I have had pretty tough couple of months physically and emotionally, so my goal of a mere 5K felt like a mile marker of a new beginning and was just about right for pushing myself without being a lunatic.

Mind you, there were lunatics there: as in everyone that ran the full marathon and they made me cry too.  But I felt the undefinable feeling when my husband finished his 10K in a time he wanted to, (he swears he had run more than a mile before I knew him, but I don't think so), and my friend who ran with us literally at the last minute  because one of our teammates had to drop out and ran her little booty off, and the father that I saw carrying his teenage daughter on his back so that they could finish the 1/2 marathon together.  Triumph can be huge and it can be small; it can be public and it can be private; loud and quiet; and somewhere in between it all. 

Next year, I hope I can run the long leg of the relay, like I planned to this year.  Or the half-marathon...(but not the full - that is for lunatics and we have already established that I am not THAT type of lunatic).  Even so, or regardless, I pray to be thankful for whatever triumph I have the privilege to experience.  Race or no race.

Five Fs

For about six years now I have been in a group called the Five Fs: Female Foreign Food and Film Festival.  It was an idea a friend/co-worker of mine and I had at work one day; within that same day we had planned and invited our first crew.  The idea was simple: gather women together to celebrate another culture through food and film. 

Over the years the group has grown, shrunk, moved, and morphed, but the essentials have been consistent and my love for these nights has only increased.  It combines my passions and life's simple pleasures so wonderfully.  ...even when the rosehip soup tastes like really bad baby food or I'm soaking my friends hands in milk to try to stop the stinging from the peppers she seeded without gloves.  (Note: wear gloves when dealing with chili peppers).

Here is the formula for those that are interested:
1.  Host picks country/culture/people group along with a film to watch and recipes to assign...not always in that order.  The possibilities are endless...suggestions are welcome.  Last night we did Sweden with the popular movie, Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.  
2.  After host selects recipes, (most of the time via the internet - obscure sites encouraged), host sends out recipes to party goers the week before.  A week's lead time is suggested.  Ingredients are sometimes challenging to find, which is part of the fun.  Our group email's them out...is there really any other way?
3.  People bring their prepared foods to the party.  Eat and watch the movie in no particular order.  

Our little group tries to meet bi-monthly.  It is a highlight in my life.

Adapting

I'm kind of one of those classic third culture kids in this way...  I am pretty good at adapting to whatever life throws at me.  To my benefit and to my detriment.  A strength, but with another side of the coin.  Then Lizzy Said is my attempt at a voice in process.  I will adapt as I always have; and/but now, I will respond...verbally.  I feel a little like a teenager; I'm 31.  I'm convinced I will embarrass myself.  But I am okay enough with that now to give it a go.