I’m pretty slow, but I’m proud of myself. I finished 13.1 miles, only stopping twice: Once at mile 10, to try to rub a cramp out of my left foot, and another time at mile 11 to try to stretch the cramp out of my foot. It wasn’t happening, so I just moved on to the end of the race.

Before the first group of runners took off, everyone paused to take a moment of silence for the victims of the Boston Marathon bombing. Although I would have been glad to compete in any half marathon, I was particularly honored to participate in the first big race in the U.S. since the attack in Boston.

Terrorist attacks can happen anywhere, and at any time. I was 16 when 9/11 happened, and I still remember seeing news footage of people jumping out of the World Trade Center to commit suicide before the towers collapsed. Since that day almost 12 years ago, I’ve seen–we’ve seen–lots of terrible things happen. Mass shootings, bombings, a decade of war in the Middle East, and so on and so forth.

It’s not that my heart doesn’t sink every single time another mass killing breaks out. It’s just that if I stopped doing things because of terrorist attacks, I wouldn’t do anything at all.

In fact, before the Boston attack happened, I had decided that my first half marathon would be my last. Training is long and lonely. Saturday morning runs usually mean being anti-social on Friday nights, and I have run up so many hills in the last four months that my legs have gotten even bulkier than they were before I started training. For a girl with big thighs, this is a problem.

But then that bombing happened, and I realized that I like feeling strong. Even though running through the woods for two hours every Saturday is exhausting, I can see a difference in my muscle tone and my mental fortitude. I’m not fast, but I can endure. My willpower is weak, but it grows stronger with every run.

And so, I think I’ll continue on. Because people who run 13 miles at a time (or 26 miles, or 33 miles…you get the point) are tenacious. And the kind of people who turn out to watch runners run, carrying banners and encouraging signs and healthy snacks–even when they are standing in a deluge of rain–are hopeful. And as long as the sidewalks around us keep blowing up, we’re going to need both kinds. And I’d like to keep trying to be like them.

This is the house I grew up in. My Dad, his friends, and my grandpa built most of the back half with their own hands.

On Sunday afternoon, I baked a ham and invited 12 people over for Easter dinner. Nashville is filled with people like me, who have left their home states and family culture to make a new home in Music City. As a result, plenty of us have no family dinner to attend on holidays, unless we hop in a car or on a plane and travel across the country. Usually, most of us leave for Thanksgiving and Christmas, but everyone sticks around for Easter.

After dessert, and during lots of afternoon conversation, I said something that sounded decidedly southern. Somebody started to poke fun at me, and I pointed out that I have been living in the south for almost a decade. And then, inwardly, I started freaking out. 10 years?! I’ve been living in this red state for 10 years?!

God, help me.

I started examining where this freakout came from, and I realized that at my core, I am still a Midwesterner–and I don’t want to be anything else. What makes one a Midwesterner, though? It’s hard to pinpoint. But, mostly, I think that my tendency to be a homebody, pinch pennies, do everything myself or with the help of my husband (home repairs, car repairs, canning produce, gardening, etc.) come from my Midwestern roots. Plus, my penchant for good cooking and hospitality.

The thing is, the South seems to define itself by many of these factors, as well. Last week, I heard a program on NPR that was devoted to defining the new southerner. It turns out, most people think that food, family and religion define the South. That’s always been silly to me.

I’m from Ohio, and I grew up in a church environment. Although I’m not as zealous and steadfast as I once was, religion is extremely important to me and my family (it just manifests itself in many, many different ways). And while Baptists and Church of Christ members flood mega churches all over the south every Sunday, I defy you to find someone more devoted to their religion than a Roman Catholic. Talk about steadfast. In Columbiana, I knew a woman who had six children, and she went to mass every single morning to light candles and pray for them. Every morning! Six kids!

And yes, the South is big on family. So is the North. And the Midwest. And the Northwest. Oh, and pretty much everyone in every country. Can we just agree that a connection to family is…well…human? The South does not have a monopoly on keeping ties with your cousins’s cousin, and his wife, and her parents, too. Trust me.

And the food. This is the one that pisses me off more than anything. Despite the southern tendency to deep fry everything–including apples, for god’s sake–most ethnic traditions are tied in closely with their food culture. My family has been eating the same Christmas Eve dinner (spaghetti with tomato sauce or tuna sauce, garlic bread, and a salad dressed with oil and vinegar, plus all of the fancy cookies that anyone can shake a stick at) for as long as I can remember, and probably as long as my Dad can remember, too. My mom’s family has been bringing the same gross Mandarin orange and marshmallow salad to every single get together for about 120 years. All in the name of tradition.

So, since I’ve ruled out food, religion and family as being some mark of southern culture that defines it from the rest of the country (seriously, I find that to be so preposterous and presumptuous), I’m trying to figure out what is Southern? And what is Midwestern?

Other people who called in to NPR mentioned that the South is more hospitable than other places. And that’s stupid, too. Have you ever met a Jewish family? Talk about hospitable. Also, I defy you to find a more welcoming kitchen than my mother’s. Once, I drove all night with two friends to get to Ohio and spend a long weekend with my parents. When we arrived at 5:00 a.m., my mom walked in and pulled a hot peach pie out of the oven. That is hospitality.

I’m really not sure what marks any culture anymore. I know that I’m Italian, which makes me feel a lot of passionate feelings and talk with my hands. I know that I’m Protestant Irish, too, which might make me boring. Just kidding. I think it makes me reserved in some ways. And since I’ve found plenty of southerners to be kind of backwards and, at times, arrogant about their culture, I’ve decided that no matter how long I live in the South, I’ll still be a Midwesterner.

If nothing else, it makes me feel like I’m still closely tied to my family, even though I’m 500 miles away.

This is the strangest Nashville winter that I can remember. A few years ago, we had a lot of snow, but I don’t recall experiencing Spring temperatures only to be nailed with snow showers the week before Easter. Nevertheless, it’s happening.

The other night, I baked a loaf of bread, put on some records, and spent a few hours reading with Daniel and Gibson. At one point, Dan peeked out the window and realized that it was snowing pretty hard outside. Since we were told that our dog only has a few months left with us, we suited up in our coats and boots, and took him outside to play.

Dan snapped a few photos of Gibson and I standing underneath a streetlight, and I am absolutely in love with them.

Gibson and I have been thick as thieves for a few years now. When I moved to New York a few summers ago to sublease a room, I quickly realized that I had few friends in the city. I had gone from living in a community where everyone is together all the time to living in a place where I only knew three people.

In many ways, it was nice. I spent my afternoons with Gibson, learning about the city, writing in my journal and reading lots of short stories. Every day, after wrapping up work around 6:00 p.m., I would take a train uptown to 77th street, and pick up Gibson from Dan’s apartment. We would walk all over the Upper East Side, sometimes popping in and out of Central Park, reading on the steps of The Met or enjoying a glass of wine at a sidewalk cafe. Sometimes we would walk 20 blocks to Columbus Circle just to watch people walk past. But most days, we ended up at Carl Schurz Park on the East River, where Gibson ignored other dogs in the dog park, and I chatted casually with other dog owners.

Gibson is a great on a leash. When he lived in New York, he knew to stop at stop signs, and he knew that as soon as we reached 78th and 1st, he could take his leash into his mouth and run ahead of me to the apartment steps. Now that I walk him through Germantown in Nashville, he knows that as soon as he gets to the Goodwill distribution center, he gets to be totally autonomous. That’s not as glamorous as a New York City street sign, but what can you do? At least he has a yard here.

After a few hours, I would take Gibson home and hang out with Daniel. Some nights we would cook dinner or walk to a Chinese restaurant for take out. Other nights, we would meet up with Daniel’s friends for a show or an event. On my favorite nights, we would go on another walk together with Gibson to catch up about our days and tell each other stories about old relationships and funny family memories.

Truthfully, I fell in love with this dog long before I fell in love with Dan.

Eventually, Daniel moved back to Nashville, and I welcomed Gibson into my home as much as I welcomed his owner. Being a purebred golden retriever, Gibson suffers from epilepsy, so when Daniel went to work, I watched Gibs during the day in case he had seizures. Frequently, I worked outside in my yard so he could bask in the sun. When I started shopping around for an office space, I only considered buildings that allowed pets. He has a dog bed in the corner of my office, next to my desk, so he can feel the warmth of my space heater.

Of course, in Gibson’s eyes, I’ll never replace Daniel. Gibson loves me, and he relies on me for babying and spoiling, but when Daniel’s car pulls into the driveway, it’s clear that his attention belongs to someone else. Still, we’ve developed a bond over the past three years that I honestly don’t think most people are able to develop with an adult dog.

Sadly, about 6 weeks ago, Gibson got really sick. What we thought was sluggishness from a few busy months turned out to be a spleen tumor–and once it was removed, we learned that it was cancerous. With these things, it’s hard to tell how much time you have, but the vet is banking on six to eight months.

So far, he has no side effects. In fact, he seems like a younger dog than he was a year ago, so we are hopeful that we’ll have even more time with him. But either way, we’ve taken to spoiling him rotten. I let him lay in bed with me while I read on Sunday afternoons, and Daniel has spent hours and hours in the yard with him. Now, he gets a walk every day at 11 a.m., and 2 p.m., and sometimes after work with the both of us, too. When we have movie nights at home, we lay on the floor with our dog until we’re just too uncomfortable to handle it.

Honestly, it’s ridiculous.

But since Gibson is the reason why Daniel and I are married, I figure we owe him. I don’t think I ever would have considered dating an attorney if he didn’t have such an awesome dog. 

On Saturday, Daniel and I met up with a group of close friends at the East Nashville Beer Festival. Rhizome Productions started this annual event a few years ago (along with a handful of other craft beer-related festivals) in order to increase community support through craft brewing. Since the ENBF’s debut on the East Bank of the Cumberland River in 2011, the beer tents have grown much larger, allowing for breweries from all over the country to set up shop in Music City for an afternoon and showcase new brews and old favorites. Armed with 6-ounce tasting glasses, a Nalgene bottle full of water and 10 good friends, we spent the afternoon tasting great craft beers and hanging out on the lawn of East Park in East Nashville.

I love community events like this, and I’m happy to donate to them, especially when part of the proceeds go to a better cause. Rhizome Productions has donated thousands of dollars to Nashville nonprofits like The Oasis Center, the Nashville Zoo and Ride for Reading. Fifty dollars is steep for a five-hour event, but to me, totally worth it to spend an afternoon catching up with neighbors and friends, and doing something a little bit out of the norm. Plus, look how awesome we are:

After 10 days of bars, guitars, highways and new faces, I’m back in sunny Nashville and my time on the Road Maps and Bra Straps tour is over. Now that I’ve chased away a bad head cold and gotten a few good nights of sleep, I’m starting to miss the feeling of living out of a car and getting to know a new city every day.

I hopped into a car on Thursday March 7, and for seven days, I had the opportunity to travel to Louisville, Columbus, Pittsburgh, Rochester, N.Y., Philadelphia and New York City with Elli Perry and Samantha Harlow. Elli and Samantha are both singers/songwriters, and they teamed up for a two-month tour this year. I rode along to see what goes into a solo tour, and I’ll be writing about the ins and outs of DIY touring for American Songwriter next month.

It was a hard seven days, given that we never slept more than a few hours and we were crammed into the confines of a Nissan Cube with several suitcases and boxes of merch. I was surprised by several aspects of the tour, but I was most blown away by both girls’ ability to pull into a venue looking road-weary and emerge from a bathroom 30 minutes later ready to impress a crowd of 30 to 50 listeners. They never failed to make money off of the door, bar sales or merch sales. I figured they would end up in the red most nights, but they proved me wrong.

After the tour ended, I spent a few days in New York City with some of our dearest friends, Josh and Emily. They live in an incredible loft in Williamsburg, and I was able to sleep like a queen on their Aerobed for a few days. Daniel flew up to visit, and we had a few great adventures in our old stomping grounds.

New York is a special place for me, since I ran away from Nashville when I was 25 and spent a few months redefining my sense of self by exploring a new place. So, of course, I had to venture from Williamsburg into Manhattan to see my old apartment, my favorite coffee shops, and the corner of 78th and 2nd where I probably fell in love with my husband and proceeded to deny it for a few years. The best part was having Samantha, one of my longtime friends, along for the ride. I loved showing her my favorite corners of the city, and I can’t wait to go back and find new favorites when I return in May.

I really don’t know why anyone would aspire to be a singer, songwriter, or band member of any kind. Before I jumped into a car that is weighed down with guitars, records, way too many clothes, and snacks, I already knew that I don’t possess any musical talent, I don’t like getting up in front of crowds, and I’m pretty private about my work. So obviously, a musician’s lifestyle never really appealed to me. But now that I’ve seen the behind-the-scenes aspect of touring–desperately trying to win over more fans and make a little money–I have a whole new respect for people who make music. And I’m also more confused than ever as to why someone would ever do this.

There are surprising aspects to this tour. For starters, Samantha and Elli are making way more money than I would have expected. You can’t make money playing music in Nashville, so it never occurred to me that in other cities, bar owners pay musicians to play. And people listen! They don’t listen with a cell phone in their hand, or listen while talking to their friends. They shut up and listen. Also, people buy merchandise. They seem to really like CDs.

That probably sounds stupid, but honestly, I have rarely bought a record after a show, and I am as guilty as anyone of chatting with my girlfriends when I should probably be more respectful to whomever is on stage at the 5 Spot. But here they are, selling CDs, vinyl and t-shirts all over the Midwest.

Another thing: The level of work that goes into booking shows, promoting your work, lining up places to stay, playing shows and then acting awake and happy enough to welcome the crowd and get to know them is absolutely exhausting. I can sit at a computer and write things for 12 or 14 hours when I have to. I can handle getting by with a few hours of sleep just fine. But this is a whole new level of mental, emotional and physical exhaustion that I didn’t really expect.

Then, once you’re tired enough, everyone starts bickering.

Yesterday was a full-on disaster. None of us had slept more than three or four hours, and we had to get on the road before 6:30 a.m., in order to make it from Columbiana, Ohio, to Rochester, N.Y., in time for Sam and Elli to play a radio spot on the local NPR affiliate. We were late getting on the road (we are always late getting on the road. Always), and I had to drive like a crazy person with no time to stop for coffee to get them to the radio station on time.

When we got to WXXI, there was a mistake. I listened to the live stream of the show and had no idea that anything was wrong, but apparently, the DJ thought Sam was coming alone, and even though he graciously changed his program and allowed the girls to split time, it was jarring and he obviously didn’t know much about Elli at all. He has been playing Sam’s record for a few weeks, and he hadn’t listened to Elli’s album at all. Of course, she was upset that he overlooked her work because he got confused, and Sam was upset that he didn’t pay close attention to her email. The girls were being short with each other, and I was just too tired to try to help.

These are obviously little mistakes, but with no sleep and little food, things get intense really quickly.

Also, we are never alone. I am pretty extroverted, but I have learned quickly that I need time to myself.

Fortunately, after the NPR mishap and a few hours of forced conversation (which I delightfully stayed out of thanks to headphones and Netflix), our Couch Surfing hosts allowed us to come over early and catch a nap. Couch Surfing is a social media site that connects people with free places to stay when they travel. I think everything is background-checked, and you can check out people’s profiles to make sure they have good reviews before you ask them for a couch to sleep on. We hit the jackpot with our hosts in Rochester. They live within walking distance from tons of cool museums, galleries and coffee shops. They are the most generous people that I have met on this trip.

After a short nap, everyone got cleaned up and ready for the show. We left about an hour late. The car ride was all but silent, but when we got to the venue, everybody perked up. That lasted for about five minutes, because we realized that Elli’s merchandise had been left at the apartment. Obviously, she was really pissed, because she has to sell stuff to make money, but I couldn’t make heads or tails out of whether or not anyone was mad and, if so, at whom. So, again, I distracted myself with a phone call and a long talk with the studio’s owner.

Before long, everything blew over, and the show was amazing. Really, it was my favorite set of this trip, and I actually saw several people get emotional during a few particularly well-done songs. When it was over, everyone was back on good terms, and we went to our home for the night. It probably helped that they made great money from the door and from selling merch.

When we walked into the apartment, John, Matthew and Jessica were making us a late-night dinner of French fries and good wine. We had a candlelight dinner and got to know one another, and before we knew it, it was 2 a.m. We were all tired, but it was worth getting to know these wonderful Rochester friends.

We had today off from traveling. Rochester is totally awesome, so I enjoyed some introverted time at a coffee shop, and I walked to the George Eastman House to learn about the history of Eastman and Kodak. Sam and Elli picked up a second show for tonight, so we’re going to head that way in a few minutes. In the mean time, I’ve been cooking dinner with John.

This is a wild ride, and even though I’m only doing it for a week, I’m looking forward to getting off of it in a few days. Sam and Elli are going to continue on for two more months, and I can’t imagine how they are going to do it. It’s obviously a labor of love, and I really feel fortunate to be learning more about how they do this. The good times are really good and the bad times get bad pretty fast, but I would definitely do this all over again.

Sometimes, it’s just time to go. And the time is nigh.

On Thursday, I’m leaving for 10 days to take a massive road trip with Samantha Harlow and Elli Perry on their Road Maps and Bra Straps Tour. When I get back from a week and a half of Midwestern and Northeastern fun, I’ll be writing a web feature about the girls, their tour, and what kind of return on investment solo singers and songwriters experience from shelling out money to road trip it all over the country and share their songs.

From March 7 through March 14, we’re going to hit Louisville, Indianapolis, Columbus, Pittsburgh, Avon, NY, Philadelphia and New York City. When we get to NYC, I’m going to drop off and spend a few days in my old stomping grounds before heading back to Nashville. Daniel is flying up to join me, and we’re looking forward to meeting up in a place that holds lots of good memories for us.

And then it’ll be all nose to the grindstone to get this story done for several days after that. It’s going to be one of the hardest assignments I’ve taken on, and I’m so excited and lucky to have this opportunity. None of it would be possible without being able to take several vacation days away from my content strategy job. So cheers to that. Oh, and cheers to my awesome husband for never thinking twice about letting me chase dreams–even when they leave him feeling a little lonely.

In the name of hard work and saving money, I’ll be packing several salads and snacks to avoid eating out while I’m on the road. When I made a commitment to eating in during Lent, I didn’t realize that I was going to have to take that commitment along with me throughout the Midwest.

Oh, but I’m using my feast days in New York. Let’s not go overboard, here. I’ll be eating pizza and bagels and hopefully some fantastic Greek food, obviously.

(That was several haircuts ago for both of us.)

It’s been two and a half weeks since I stopped eating out for Lent, and frankly, this is one of the best decisions I’ve made in a long time. I haven’t cheated on meals, but I did have to change up the rules a little bit and allow myself to buy coffee at coffee shops. I had several coffee meetings last week, and I figured that a cup of black breakfast blend is a lot cheaper than meeting up for a glass of wine.

So, yes, I’ve been drinking coffee at my favorite cafes from time to time. And I let someone buy me a beer at a brewery on Friday night. Other than that, it’s all cooking and eating at home, and spending time with friends at their homes, in my backyard or at any of the public parks that Nashville has to offer.

The day after I gave up eating out was Valentine’s Day. I guess that would involve a serious planning crisis for some couples, but not for me and Dan. We’re not the type to go out to a romantic dinner on Valentine’s Day, so we chose to cook duck breast and pureed cauliflower and enjoy a bottle of Pinot Noir at our kitchen table. It was relaxing, and as it turns out, pureed cauliflower is one of my new favorite things. It’s healthy, rich and comforting, and it has about half the calories that you’d get from mashed potatoes. Here’s the recipe that I’ve been using:

Pureed Cauliflower

Ingredients:
1 head of cauliflower, chopped into bite-sized florets (discard the stem and outer leaves)1 garlic clove, smashed
1/3 cup vegetable broth
1/2 TSP salt
2 TBL heavy cream
1 TSP unsalted butter

Combine the chopped cauliflower, vegetable broth, garlic clove and salt in a large stockpot. Simmer until the cauliflower is very tender, about 15 minutes. Remove the pot from heat, add heavy cream and butter, and puree with an immersion blender.

That’s it! If you don’t have an immersion blender, a food processor will work just fine. I just hate cleaning mine, so I don’t use it unless it’s absolutely necessary.

I’ve also been cooking lots of kale, making salads, and experimenting with butternut squash. Here are a few of the recipes I’ve been using the past few days:

• This salad from Christina at A Tale of Twins
• Butternut Squash and Black Bean Tostadas from Naturally Ella
• Sweet Potato Pizza with Caramelized Onions and Kale from Oh My Veggies (with this cauliflower pizza crust)
• Roasted Duck Breasts with Pomegranate-Chile Sauce from Bon Appetite

Later this week, I’ll share how I’ve been making stewed kale and tomatoes. It is seriously the best–and I don’t really like kale that much.

On Saturday, Daniel and I skipped our morning training run and caught a train out of Nashville to a winery in Baxter, Tenn. We had arranged these plans several months ago when the Tennessee Central Railway Museum announced that they would take a limited number of passengers on a “wine train” (as I like to call it) to the Del Monaco Winery. But honestly, we bought our tickets so long ago that I had kind of forgotten about the trip until a few days before we climbed on the train.

This little day trip came at the perfect time for me. It’s been a particularly dreary winter in Nashville, and on Friday night, I found myself feeling completely overcome with boredom and wanderlust. A day trip to rural Tennessee isn’t quite the same as a 10-day road trip out West (which is what I really feel compelled to do), but it definitely gave me the opportunity to hang out with good friends, get to know new people and do something a little bit different than the usual routine.

So I woke up early on Saturday morning, packed a bag full of healthy snacks and water, and drove to the train station near downtown. We figured we would find our seats, read a little bit, catch a nap, and then socialize when we arrived in Baxter four hours later. We were wrong.

As soon as the train started pulling out of the station, people were uncorking bottles of champagne, sharing appetizers, switching seats and taking photos. It was awesome. By 9:00 a.m., employees from the Del Monaco Winery were supplying us with a 13-round wine tasting. I only tried about seven of their wines because I don’t like sweet wine, and several of their selections were far from dry.

We arrived at the winery around noon, ate lunch, and then toured the grounds of the facility. Honestly, it was so cold outside that I barely lasted long enough to take a few photos of the grape vines, so we bought a bottle of Cabernet and shared it with several people we met on the train. After a few hours, we climbed back on the train and pulled into Nashville just in time for dinner. It was a long day, but we had a blast sharing food, drinks and stories with the people around us.

Wineries in Tennessee obviously aren’t anything like visiting wine country in California or Oregon, but a train ride and a few free tastings were enough to break me out of the February doldrums for the day. The next Tennessee Central Railway Excursion to Del Monaco happens in July. It’s going to be pretty hot, but there’s a huge space inside for hanging out and visiting, so I think I might just have to do this again.