I wanted to write something witty. I hoped it would have a purpose, maybe even be something insightful. If you’ve read this blog before, you probably know as well as I do that that’s not going to happen.

Instead, you get this: I ate Jelly Bellys yesterday and now I’m looking for a new job.

What do those two things have to do with each other? Not a lot other than the fact that there is no way to predict what path life will show for you, so you might as well enjoy it as you go for the ride.

Back in the spring, I made a (somewhat rash) decision to run another half-marathon. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I had recently run a Tough Mudder and, since I had run a half-marathon in 2010, I figured maybe I could actually continue my training and do better. I just missed breaking two hours then. I was thinking that’d motivate me to do better this time.

Well, it didn’t. I was about 20 minutes slower than the first time. And that might be, possibly, because I didn’t train for shit.

I ran twice in the final month leading up to the race and never ran more than seven miles at one time in the whole stretch since Feburary at Tough Mudder. I also went on two weekend vacations this fall, one to Las Vegas where, well, let’s just say the training I had up until then, it didn’t come back with me. An extra five pounds, however, did.

So yesterday was a bit of a test of will. The first seven miles weren’t bad; miles 8, 10, 11 and 12 were terrible. The 60-year-old lady only passed me twice. At least the one I saw when I had my eyes open. And the 14-year-old girl couldn’t have finished more than 30 or 40 minutes ahead of me.

But the funny thing? I felt good.

I mean, my love handles weighed about 80 pounds each and killed my thighs and hips. I had the stamina to keep going, but the physical will to move my feet one after the other in a fast (relative term here) pace was shot by that point. But my mind was clear all the way through. I had plenty of time to think and just enjoy the city (Atlanta downtown just after sunrise at about 50 degrees is a nice site).

Where do the Jelly Bellys come in? There was a water station around the 8-mile mark and they gave out what amounted to basically jelly Lemonheads with electrolytes. They tasted like shit. But I appreciated them.

Lately, that’s become much more clear to me. Appreciate the little things in life. Don’t sweat the big shit. And, if life isn’t going down the path you want, then turn that Harley (yes, in my mind, I’m riding a Harley, albeit a lowered one, possibly even a three-wheeler to make sure I don’t tip over, through life) in another direction.

That’s where the job search comes in. I turned in my two-week notice almost two weeks ago. On Monday, I’m leaving my job and going back to “freelancing” for a bit until I can find something new.

It wasn’t the people. There are some talented folks there, a few who even care about doing a good job. The problem is there are too few, both of the caring version and just bodies in general. We are woefully understaffed across the board. I was not doing the job I was hired to do. And it was stressing me out.

I’ve never been one to think about my mental health. Really, I just always thought that whatever job I had, I had to do it 100 percent and to the highest level I was capable and doing whatever they asked of me. My dad taught me that. He worked two, sometimes three jobs, when I was growing up. Before he died when I was 16, I already understood what it meant to make “ends meet.”

I didn’t want to have to do that — just get by — and went to college for, well, mainly just because it was what I felt I needed to do. I never had ambition to do one certain thing. I never had a dream of being a vet or a lawyer or anything in particular. I just didn’t want to always work 2-3 jobs but instead have the ability and time to enjoy life. He didn’t push me to that but I know it’s what he wanted and it just became natural to go to college, get that piece of paper and find a ‘career.’

I haven’t found it yet.

I loved working in college athletics. That was like the first eight miles of my race yesterday. It was a long journey but I was able to take it in stride and when a bump came along, got over it fine.

It was fun and rarely did I ever feel like it was a ‘job.’  The only time I did feel like it was a job — after all, I got to go to sporting events and travel with team for a living, how is that ‘work’? — was during the dark years circa Steve Pederson’s reign. That was like Mile 10 yesterday, a hellish time. It was probably what I expect most people who go postal at their workplace go through. It was mentally challenging to get up and look forward to going to work each day.

Lately, that’s been the case at this job in Atlanta. And by ‘lately’ I mean for more than a year. And I’ve only worked there for two years. So that’s been Mile 11.

Like the Stevie P. realm, I hoped it would get better and I tried to hold on as hard as I could. Back then I liked what I did, who I did it with and I was good at it. Same applies for this job. We have our problems, but I like my immediate co-workers overall, and I enjoy doing what I was hired to do, even though it’s rare I can just do that. Also like the Steve era, upper management is completely unresponsive and unwilling to listen to the needs of those telling them there are problems to look at and fix. And, by far, I have not been the only one telling them there have been problems for a long while.

I wasn’t making ultimatums either. I just wanted to know that, in time when it fits, that issues will actually be addressed to alleviate the stress and difficulties we’re having as team. Even more than the SP situation, I’ve completely lost hope that any change will happen.

So, you’re probably saying I’m just whining and should sack up and deal with it. Millions of people hate their jobs and still go every day; you don’t need to quit to prove a point. It won’t do anything to change the situation.

Valid points. Yet, the people at work who I’ve told I’m leaving, including people in managing positions well above me, to a person, have said, “Good for you. I wish I could too.”

Back to my mental health. I’ve been more of a dick than ever in my life (amazing, right Adam?). I’ve become a person I don’t like because of work and the affect it’s had on me. It’s stressed me to the point where I can’t be happy, I’m almost always irritable, I bring the anger home. That’s not a good situation. I have physically felt the effects, too.

So, why keep that up? I’ve tried 110 percent to make it work. I’ve tried to be heard. I’ve tried to engage people to make change happen, and yet it won’t there. Well, that only leaves me to change my situation. So, off into the world of the unemployed I go again.

It’s not something that I’ve taken lightly. I’ve thought long and hard about it. It’s not a situation I want to be in — who ever really wants to be without a job at age 41, have no income to pay the mortgage, the grocery bill, buy a little nice something for the sweetie pie? — but it’s for the best. For both of us.

Sugar mama fully backs it too as she has been involved with my situation and known the issues I’ve had since Day 1. She’s fully supportive and while she wants me to be gainfully employed and pulling my weight, she understands I need to get through this job and race on to Mile 13.

Amazingly, that last mile yesterday was pretty easy. I felt good and was thankful that I had gotten there, and actually appreciated that I had run the race.

This is just another step in the journey. I’ll find something else, hell maybe even a new career that I’ll enjoy. Either way, it’s the path I’ve chosen and I’m ready to enjoy the scenery on the race course some more.

I just hope the Jelly Bellys taste better next time.