Dating Diaries: What It Takes To Be My Boyfriend

Recently, a friend jokingly said something to me like, “So, how many boyfriends have you gone through this year?

First of all—ouch. Second of all, with full respect to the men I’ve dated, my answer to that question would probably be, "Zero."That’s not to say I haven’t dated and that I haven’t been in “we’re only seeing each other” relationships. It’s just that I’ve thought of most of these men as “the person I’m dating,” versus “my boyfriend.” Which led me to wonder… what is the threshold for someone to cross over into “boyfriend” territory?

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The Happiness of Not Running

I have a secret. Something I'll barely admit to myself, let alone others, but I feel the urge to share. Ready? Here goes.

I've been perfectly fine not running these past several weeks. 

Seriously. There have only been one or two real moments where I've been like, "Huh. Sure would be nice to go for a run." Otherwise, it's almost been a relief to not have to run.

Of course a few factors have contributed to that.

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Crutch-Ninja No More

Crutch-Ninja No More

Yesterday someone told me those three most important words in the English language all of us long to hear:

No more crutches. 

I can hardly believe my good fortune--someone up there still likes me. (Or, more likely, simple isn't up-to-date on my life-shaming exploits but whatever, I'll take it.) I met with my orthopedic doctor yesterday and he began with, "I have some good news," to which I replied, "Don't play with my emotions." But, unless it's the cruelest April Fool's joke on record, I am officially released to swim, bike, walk and do yoga. We're waiting three more weeks before running or any overhead weight-lifting. One month ago I would have said that facing six weeks of no running would kill me. Now I'm ecstatic that I only have six weeks and that I can so many other things. 

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Winning the Divorce

About four months after B. and I separated, he asked if I could meet him for dinner. He had some news. The "news" was that he would more or less be living in Paris for the next 12-24 months, overseeing a European company purchase made by his company.  For anyone not in the know, B. and I parted on excellent terms and have remained friends. I was thrilled for him, but couldn’t resist a small tease.

“So you’re saying that if I had hung on for four more months, I could be a freelance writer living in Paris?” I asked.

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