Listen to the Ali on the Run Show!
- I just felt like running! I don’t think that pace is quite accurate, and I made a handful of bathroom stops, plus… https://t.co/50UduIDrye 11:12:19 AM September 21, 2019 ReplyRetweetFavorite
- This picture is from the summer of 2013. I was SO sick that summer. It was the hardest summer of my life. My Crohn’… https://t.co/LhMEKhc3WX 08:06:56 PM September 19, 2019 ReplyRetweetFavorite
- September 18, 2019 by AliAli on the Run Show Episode 174: A Behind-the-Scenes Look at the Ali on the Run Show
- September 16, 2019 by AliAli on the Run Show Episode 173: You Can Run a Marathon with Dawn Grunnagle
- September 11, 2019 by AliAli on the Run Show Episode 172: Amanda Nurse, Elite Marathoner for adidas
- September 9, 2019 by AliAli on the Run Show Episode 171: You Can Run a Marathon with Molly Bookmyer
- September 8, 2019 by AliAli on the Run Show Episode 170: LIVE at NYRR RunnerCon with Nikki Hiltz & Allie Ostrander
A New Beginning
I promised you this post was coming.
There have been some big life changes that have been going on over the past month and a half. I’ll warn you that this post might get a bit long, so if you don’t want to stick around, here’s the short version: ABS and I broke up, and I have moved out of our apartment and into a place of my own.
I won’t go into too much detail about the reasons for the breakup. That’s personal, and though I’m more than willing to divulge things on the blog ranging from outfit choices to bathroom issues, I’ll keep this one a bit more private.
If you recall, when I started blogging back in October, my life was right where I wanted it to be. I was running a lot, fall had arrived in NYC (my favorite season) and I was in a blissful relationship with the man I definitely thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with.
My lease was about to expire on my apartment, so ABS and I decided to take our relationship to the next step: We decided to move in together.
Since he had a big, two-level apartment, it made sense for me to move into his place and his current roommate would move out. So on October 30, 2010, we packed up all my crap and became roommates.
I was so excited, and soon his place became our place.
Just a few days after I moved in, we spent a long weekend in Mexico for a friend’s wedding.
The trip was a blast, and the best part was that we got to return home to the same apartment.
As weeks went by, we adjusted to living together. I’m a total neat freak — he’s totally…not. Sure we had little arguments about living arrangements — like I really couldn’t comprehend why it’s so difficult to put things away instead of on the floor — but they always passed, and overall I was still incredibly happy.
In December, we decided that the apartment was set up enough for us to throw a housewarming party.
The night was perfect. I was happier than ever.
Then the winter holidays came. We went to parties…
…and spent time with my family in New Hampshire. We rang in 2011 with drinks and a New Year’s Eve kiss, surrounded by close friends.
The new year started and we both found ourselves busier than ever. We were living together, but didn’t see each other too much due to long work hours and other commitments. Work was his priority and logging tons of miles in preparation for the National Half Marathon became my focus.
Fast forward to February…
On the Sunday morning after ABS’s birthday party, I was shocked when he said we needed to talk. Then, sitting on the kitchen floor, he said he wanted to break up.
I was blindsided. I was confused. I was devastated.
I honestly didn’t get it. I didn’t understand why we would break up. Weren’t we supposed to be together forever, and shouldn’t we talk and work things out instead of jumping right to a breakup?
To say I couldn’t grasp the situation is an understatement. I spent the rest of that day in bed. I attempted to go for a run to clear my head, and ended up throwing up on the East River path because I was so emotional. I called in sick to work the next day — Valentine’s Day — because I literally couldn’t stop crying.
Part of me hated myself for being such an emotional wreck, but the bigger part of me was heartbroken and shocked.
There were the little uncertainties I faced — Where was I going to live? — and the bigger questions at hand, like how had I been so happy when he, well, hadn’t?
I could barely sleep at night and lost my appetite completely. Breakups are hard enough. Breakups when you’re living under the same roof, sharing a bed, are even harder.
I wanted to work things out, and every morning I would wake up from a rough night of tossing and turning, hoping it had all been a bad dream.
He didn’t want to work things out.
I started going through the motions of everyday life, trying to return to normalcy despite my misery. I ran. A lot. Some days it helped, some days I would just stop mid-run and cry.
I was sad. I was confused. I was angry. I was really, really scared.
In the midst of everything, I didn’t understand how I could go on with my life. I thought that the worst thing possible had happened and I was so hurt that the man I loved so much no longer loved me back. I thought my life was over.
Now I realize, my life wasn’t over. It’s just getting a new start.
I cried for two weeks straight. I cried in the bathrooms at my office (embarrassing) and I cried in the snack aisle at the Duane Reade downstairs. Eventually, though, I stopped crying. I stopped listening to sad songs, and I stopped beating myself up, telling myself it was “my fault.” I blamed myself for so much.
Then I made this the background on my phone:
The hardest part was living under the same roof. Everyone kept asking if we were sleeping in the same bed, and for a while we were, though we managed to be as far apart as possible in that double bed. Part of me hoped that we’d find each other in the middle of the night, wake up cuddling and everything would magically be fine again.
As I started apartment hunting — which is a total nightmare in NYC — my stress levels were off the charts. But I had my friends and family, and that made all the difference in the world.
My friends and family were all shocked when I told them ABS and I had broken up. But they all showered me with so much love. I was blown away. People came out of the woodwork to help me find an apartment and go on with my life. It was a major confidence boost and it was incredibly comforting. Friends took me out for drinks, sent me gifts and provided the kind of support I didn’t even know I needed.
People offered to help, and though my initial stubbornness refused, wanting to prove my independence, I eventually gave in, and I’m so glad I did. While I blamed myself for everything and convinced myself I was worthless (sad, I know), they told me otherwise. One day, I started to believe them.
Now, a full month and a half after that first conversation with ABS, I have moved out of the apartment and into a place of my own.
Bright and early Saturday morning, this truck arrived…
While ABS was out of town for a bachelor party, three strange men and I got all my stuff from one place to a new place.
Again, I have a lot of crap.
I spent the weekend unpacking. Friends came by to see the place and to help me get settled, and my parents are coming to town this weekend to basically fix all the awful wiring and unpacking I’ve already done.
The past month and a half has taken a major toll on my sanity. But I’m OK now. ABS and I are still talking, and I don’t know what the future holds for either of us. Yes, he broke up with me, but I know he’s a good person and I know we’ll both be fine no matter what happens in our lives.
I’m already in love with my apartment and can’t wait to make it more homey. I’m going to cook more (seriously), especially since I don’t have a microwave right now. It’s going to be good for me.
I know I’ll be OK.
And there’s the update I promised you. Feels good to get that off my chest.