The role of Facebook in the beginning, middle and end of my relationship.

He was my first. Never before have I had a relationship anything like it. Now that the relationship is over I wonder, would I want another one like it? And if I don’t, is it even avoidable? It was the first time I’ve had a relationship where Facebook was so central. Looking back (and I suppose forward), I’m not interested in judging Facebook as good or bad (probably because nothing can stop me loving Facebook!) but I’m simply sharing my reflections on the role Facebook played in the start, continuation and finally the end of a relationship. 

The beginning

We had mutual friends and saw each other occasionally at events but it wasn’t until we became “friends” on Facebook that things really started to percolate.  Being able to look through each other’s photos, asking questions and commenting on statuses prompted regular contact. Then the online chatting began. An experienced Facebooker, our first chats were about me helping him get familiar with how Facebook worked. Pretty soon we were chatting regularly and the flirtation escalated. In our chats, we began to make the occasional innuendos and hints we never would’ve had the courage to do in person or even on the phone - at least not that soon. The sense of intimacy on Facebook helped move us forward to exchanging phone numbers and from there texting followed by the first date and onto an 11 month relationship.

The middle

When I changed my status on Facebook from single to “in a relationship” and went a step further naming him as the one I was in a relationship with, somehow seeing it on my wall made it real; that by declaring it on Facebook meant we really were in a commitment!  

Facebook was also a communal way of sharing our adventures, laughs and even the rough days and an easy way to connect throughout the day. Dozens of “self-portraits” were posted during our relationship (all initiated by me…I love taking those!) these were often used as new profile pics. Between all the photos we posted of our adventures, trips and experiences and the ongoing commenting on each other’s (and friends’) walls, our friends and family got to “know” us. My family and friends in America “friended” him and the community around our relationship grew. 

The end

In the immediate minutes after the breakup, I knew I needed to delete him as a friend on Facebook. Not because he was a terrible person who had done me wrong (he isn’t and hadn’t), but because it was too painful to remain “friends” online. I didn’t want to know if he was online, I didn’t want to see if he was active or idle, I didn’t want to wish he would ping me, I didn’t want to see his statuses, to gauge if he was hurting or happy...I didn't want to see anything. To heal, to move on, ties had to be cut. In a perfect world, you move on by having enough time to just grieve and heal without any unnecessary reminders. And I did my best to create that. Occasionally, I’d catch one of his comments on a mutual friend’s wall and my stomach would drop. And in those moments, I knew I had done the right thing for my mending heart having removed him and all his family members from my Facebook world. I needed Facebook to be a safe place I could move through, post and comment without the fear of “bumping” into him.

About a month later, a couple of people inquired why our photos were still on my Facebook page. Up until that point, I was too busy with the day to day post-breakup roller-coaster of feelings to face them or worry about them. And then one Friday night, I knew it was time. To remove the photos on Facebook was to acknowledge it was over and I had to move forward. And during one painful evening, I deleted our relationship as chronicled on Facebook. I didn’t dwell on the photos, I didn’t read the comments, I just knew that I was doing what I had to do. And I was right. That night I turned a corner.

The future

Looking forward, I accept (and actually appreciate) that for most of us Facebook is part of our daily activity of connecting with others. Therefore at some stage when I’m dating again, it will likely have its rightful place in the relationship (unless I date someone whose identity must remain secret for the sake of national security…that sounds kinda hot, don’t you think?) In the meantime, I wonder what you think – where does Facebook sit with your romantic relationships? Helped? Hindered? Or something else?

A 47 year old, married, full time working mom of 6 and...a MARATHON runner!

I'm so thrilled to be sharing this post. Written by my dear friend, Tammy Kerigan, it is a story of remarkable resolve, planning, dedication, honesty and humor! Deciding at 47 years old to run her first marathon, Tammy shares with us the process; from how she came to the decision, through the training (along with some hysterical anecdotes) and a truly moving recounting of the experience. Please share this story of achievement with others - she's a remarkable woman and someone I'm proud to call my friend.

My First Marathon - by Tammy Kerigan.  

Dreams deferred are potential dreams never to be realized.

“Hell No! No way. There is no possible chance of me ever having the time to neither train nor the stamina to run 26.2 miles straight.”  That is what I told myself watching the runners in the Palos Verdes Marathon cruise by on PV Dr West year after year. Since I was 15, I have been the type of runner who runs 3-4 miles a day. I had done some 10Ks, ran a 100 mile race (with a team of 12), swam in a 1 mile rough water swim, biked 50 miles and did PV ½ Marathon last year. But, in my head, none of this could hold a candle to the training and endurance required to complete a marathon. The stuff I'd done was Mickey Mouse in comparison! Then I had a light bulb moment, “Why not?” I was about to turn 47 and this had been a goal of mine for years. Yes my husband and I have 6 kids and yes I have a full time job, but still…why not?  I googled “marathon training”, found Hal Higdon’s Intermediate I schedule, printed it out and began 18 weeks of training (some would call it 18 weeks of insanity).

And so it begins.

I began the 18 week training program 2 weeks prior to registering for the marathon, thinking that if I absolutely hated the training, I could save face and not register. What I didn’t know then (luckily?) was that it wouldn’t be until week 4 that my fears and doubts would kick in and I would start to question my sanity. So there I was in week 4 doing my first “long run” of 11 miles. I ran to the Trump National Golf Course. Arriving at the Golf Course, I wearily asked myself, “Damn, I have to run all the way back?” But I did and on that day when I thought I could not run one more step, I thought “How am I ever, ever going to run 26.2 miles?”

The AHA moment arrives and just in time.

The magic 10 week mark. The “AHA” moment. The shift. This is when it occurred for me – when I finally felt a teensy, weensy ounce of confidence that I could potentially run a marathon and do it in less than 8 hours!  This was also the week where I started waking up at 4:30am, 2 days a week to get in 8 miles before our household woke up to begin their day. Amazingly, my body automatically started waking up at 4:15am, ready to go. These were the strangest, most eerie runs. Pitch black and if I was lucky, I would catch some moonlight on my path. It was also during one of these early morning runs that I actually ran head on into another runner in the dark! It was all his fault of course because he was wearing all black (it had nothing to do with the fact that I was completely rocking out to my music, staring at the moon over the rolling waves of the ocean.) In this week I ran 4 miles in 30 minutes and 17 miles in 1 hour, 41 minutes! Eureka! I could feel my legs were stronger and my stamina increased. On a 17 mile run, my friend Cammie’s words were ringing in my head, “You are a marathoner. You are a marathoner.”  And, it turns out the training works! “See Tammy, you stick with a plan, follow what the experts have done before you and hey look, you can do it too!”  This gave me the self confidence to push on – through innumerable early wake up calls and what may be the most painful run of my life…

You can’t make this stuff up!

22 miles from our house in Redondo Beach to Santa Monica. I left home at 9am thinking “Oh what a gorgeous day. This is going to be fun.” What could possibly go wrong? After running in the dark for so many weeks, my body was not accustomed to the heat. I had finally caved in and bought the oh-so attractive “hydration belt” (and yes, I balked on this purchase for weeks due to sheer vanity). I had 5 GU gel packs in my favorite flavor, vanilla – I was good to go, right? Wrong. What I did not factor in when I mapped out the run was the tunnel under the runway at Los Angeles International Airport. Imagine my surprise to find NO pedestrians! A problem solver at heart, I figured, “No problem – I will just run quickly through the tunnel”. There is nothing like checking in with your mortality (and stupidity) when running head first against 3 lanes of oncoming airport traffic on a small walkway in a tunnel.  Somehow I made it to Santa Monica but with the thought “This was 22 miles. How the heck am I going to run 26 miles?” Throughout this, I was still clinging to the fantasy of running the marathon in 4 hours or less to qualify for the Mother of all Marathons – Boston. But deep inside, I knew that given my average time on long runs, that this was unrealistic. 

This is the route, as a marathon runner you do this twice.

Marathon first half – a breeze!

Thank goodness I picked the PV marathon for my first marathon. It was my training ground, out my back door. Since I had run the ½ marathon last year, I knew that there were about 2,000 participants. But, what I did not know was that only 230 were marathoners (the implication of this coming up). I walked the two miles to the start/finish line in Terranea at 6am – (note to self: much too early!) I was calmly nervous but excited. I was anxious to get going (and to get it over with) and I was still a tad bit concerned about the last few miles. However, I knew that I had followed the training program, ran the necessary miles to be able to complete a marathon and that the only thing that would prevent me from crossing that finish line would be dehydration and lack of nutrition. So, I planned to drink at every stop and I had 8 gel packs to get me through. I stuck with my plan and even ate 2-3 bananas as well. The first ½ was great. I was running with all the ½ marathoners, lots of energy, momentum and the course was actually dotted with a few supporters. Aside from the uber annoying heavy footed man who insisted on clomping right next to me for over 4 miles (I finally lost him), I was happy and feeling good.

Mile 11 and still smiling

Marathon second half – gulp.

Then the ½ marathoners peeled off to go to the finish line. “What? I have to do this all over again?” At that point, I was envious and pissed off watching 95% of the runners waving their arms and shouting with joy as they crossed the finish line. It was pretty lonely out there that second half. It was me, two guys and a girl (who kept falling off, walking and then running to catch up – way to go her!). Thank God my hubby Pat and 4 year old son Grayson stayed in their spot for over 4 hours - cheering me on those last two passes at miles 15 and 22. Also, my 16 and 15 year old boys Jackson and Casey drove up in their dad’s golf cart at mile 16 and were my pacesetters for a bit. My family’s love and support really carried me through to the end. When I hit mile 20, my legs were stiff and I felt like I was hardly moving but I pressed on. Once I passed Pat and Grayson at mile 22, I knew I would finish but what would my time be? The girl passed me at Mile 23 but I kept chugging along. Funny, she was walking up the hill a bit later at mile 25 and hey, this old lady passed her (it is the little things that matter when you are running for over 4 hours straight!) I got to the last 50 yards and sprinted (HA HA) as fast as I could. There were about four people lining the finish line and one had a cow bell – so I had that going for me. All I know is that I had a HUGE smile on my face and was so proud of myself when I crossed that line – 4 hours 32 minutes. (Just as my training predicted.)

Mile 15, in the 2nd half...grateful for the family support!

Was it worth it?

Although I did not attain my dream goal of qualifying for Boston, this was a process of self discovery. The main lesson was “Never say never.” I always believed in that motto but never felt it as deeply as I did after completing my first marathon. I committed to a training program. I did the work on a daily basis. I did not give up when my mind and body wanted to throw in the towel. I believed in the process and allowed myself to experience it without beating myself up for mistakes. I let go of unrealistic expectations, focused on the amazing adventure I was on and gave myself credit where credit was due. The beauty of it is that this transformation can apply to any area of life – work, education, raising kids – if I believe in myself and do the work, anything is possible...which only leaves me to say...Vegas Nighttime Rock & Roll Marathon, December 4^th 2011...it is ON baby!