Jonathan Meyer.

There’s a certain point in every semester when all the neat little boxes on my calendar stop behaving like boxes and start behaving more like small campfires — scattered everywhere, all burning at once, and I’m just standing with a garden hose with little to no water pressure.

Welcome to the last two weeks of my life!

I say that lovingly, of course. I’ve been juggling research-heavy reporting (I’m sure you might know about it), constant communications with coworkers, and meetings that last longer than I’d care to comment on. Over the last two weeks I’ve experienced Thanksgiving, cross-country nationals In South Carolina, a half-marathon in Illinois, and now – because the universe has a sense of humor – finals week.

It’s all been happening so fast.

But somehow, everything is still getting done. Slowly. While experiencing sleep deprivation. With an increasing reliance on caffeine (thousands of milligrams) and willpower. But it gets done.

Thanksgiving break itself became a running montage. I toed the line at the Meskwaki Turkey Trot and somehow – I won. I’m not usually the guy breaking the tape at the finish line. I do run for joy, a good challenge, and my own sanity, not for the wins. But every once in a while, you land in just the right race with just enough pep in your step to surprise even yourself.

Then, on Saturday morning, I found myself in Schaumburg, Illinois, running a half-marathon in what I can only describe as a festive, winter-wonderland-meets-survival-scenario blizzard. The race gun fired at eight sharp, right as Chicago’s snowfall cranked from flurries to full cinematic storm sequence.

By mile four, my beard had frozen solid.

My shirt had frozen, too.

And let’s just say… there was blood. Somewhere. For reasons I won’t describe in our family-friendly newspaper. Use your imagination responsibly.

And while all of that was happening, while I was running through a sideways snowstorm – the real storm was in my head: a 15-minute Woman in Music presentation on Pauline Viardot.

That project lived rent-free in my brain all break long. It taunted me with its footnotes. It haunted me with its slide transitions. It whispered, “You don’t even know how to pronounce half these French names.”

But I gave the presentation and I received a B.

And yes, I just admitted my grade in the newspaper. There’s no turning back now.

Somewhere amid the flurries, literally and metaphorically, I started to feel grateful. Not calm. Not rested. Definitely not sane. But I’m grateful. I get to write, to report, to run ridiculous races in ridiculous weather, to study music that stretches my brain, and to share all of it with a community that keeps reading my ramblings anyway.

I don’t always say things gracefully, but I mean it.

And in full transparency, I’ve also been following the advice of my holistic-leaning coach, who suggested ashwagandha supplements for stress. I’ll admit it: I’ve basically eaten these things like cherry-flavored fruit snacks. Are they helping? I think so. Maybe. It’s hard to say. But they taste good, at this point, it’ll do.

I’m surviving.

Until Christmas break, I’m Just Jonathan.