almost empty

I went for a run today. I've been running quite a bit again lately. Wondering, actually, why I really took a break from it. The answers to that are myriad. Complicated. Maybe even irrelevant. My runs lately are a break. A time to refocus my mind, body, and energy so that I can clean out cobwebs in my mind. I begin my run with a prayer - a conversation with St Sebastian, the patron of athletes. I ask him to run with me, to encourage me, to push me to work harder or to rest as appropriate. I then pray my way through three miles, generally the rosary. Two rosaries, to be specific. My training tool, as it were.
The last two times I've gone out, today and Friday, my route was blocked, quite near the beginning. I had to change direction, determine the course on the go. Be satisfied - delighted, actually - by the unexpected change in plans. Friday the variation was slight, but added a quarter mile to my run. Today, I changed the route entirely when I came to the blockade.
Another unusual similarity in my treks: both days I had someone pull up and ask me directions. Simple things in both cases, the same direction, really. "Continue straight ahead and you'll be there." Very grateful faces looked back at me. Both times I gave the directions out of breath, sweating, and red-faced from running. Both times as they drove off I wondered about crossed paths.
My run today became a walk home when tight muscles and raw emotions combined to draw me to contemplation. As I let myself catch my breath, the roadblock - a bridge out on a path through the park - those asking directions, and a text I saw this morning came to mind and worked their way into my thoughts, the more conscious ones. I found myself encouraged to continue where I'm going. To trust my instincts because they are being led by Love, and to guard myself against any idea that I am either on my own, or able to make my way on my own. I am not my own light. I am, however, guided by a Light that will never fade.
There was a season when I ran from. All my running was to leave something behind. Eventually my running evolved into running to; an effort to reach or find something for which I was searching. Something that turned out to be both inside and outside of me. After I returned home, watching TV with my kids, I realized I am in this season running with. I hope I remember to continue that way, regardless of the detours.

little words

I had plans for this evening. I was going to paint my fingernails and then write while they dried. Then I was going to consider dusting this room, or one of the other ones that so desperately needs it (depending on your point of view. Isn't dust an art medium?). Those were my plans for my Monday, made on Sunday night, as I fell asleep, snuggled between my husband and a dog-furnace.

Plans change, though, and oftentimes, we have little to do with the outcome. School was closed, both the school our kids go to, and the school where swim practice takes place. That meant another evening all together--which has been wonderful all weekend, but really puts a damper on my writing time! With practice cancelled, it was decided that the Y was the next best choice. The menfolk packed up their swimming gear, and I packed my sneakers, and off we went. I ran, they swam, my nails are still naked....

But I feel great! Tomorrow, I will likely be a bit sore, as I haven't run quite that far, or with as much intensity, in quite a while. True, running alone felt odd--I haven't been out without dogs and my man in who knows how long!--but then again, running inside, over a climate controlled gym felt odd, too, so what the heck. I got sweaty, isn't that what matters? Oh! And I liked it (again) which makes me shake my head every time. Me, sweaty and happy. Who'd'a thunk it? Certainly not anyone who knew me 20 or 30 years ago! Yes, I got sweaty dancing, but that was different. (How? I'm really supposed to be able to answer that? Did you read the part that it was 20 or 30 years ago? There was an awful lot I didn't know 30 years ago. Hell, there's an awful lot I don't know now!)

Squeezing in words while I stink feels a little like cheating, but the keyboard was calling me; the screen sad in its darkness. These are not the words I intended to put down today. Those will wait until tomorrow, I think: they are about my experience this week with our retreat; or what I mean by 'mindwebs'. Maybe even about the discussion we had after Saturday's sermon, and the quote I liked so much: "No one lays down their life for a known lie."* There's even a chance that I'll paint my fingernails, write, then paint my toes and write some more! There's a lot in there, and I want to share it all!

In the meantime, there's a certain someone I have a standing date with each evening right around this time.


*Deacon Hall worded it slightly differently on paper, but I'm certain that this is what I heard. The meaning, I believe, is the same. And it resonated with me quite a bit.

up that hill

We ran this morning, for the second time (yesterday being the first) in months. Pain in my foot and ankle, pain in his foot, weather excuses, summertime laziness, and a host of other obstacles have had us benched. I'm amazed, impressed and pleased with how good it felt to get out early and push ourselves a bit further than yesterday. Boy, did it feel good! At one point, though, when we had to walk out two stitches in my side, I found myself wondering how bad tomorrow would feel--mostly regarding sore muscles. Once again, I reminded myself that I only need enough for today. "Get me through this run, feeling good, and I'll be thankful; to my body, to God, and to my fantastic running mates." And so I am. As a bonus, I am already looking forward to getting even further tomorrow. I've missed our 3-mile mornings, and really want to build back to them.

There will certainly be days when we don't get out there, or when we just can't go as far, or it just plain hurts. That's okay. We're prepared: we're talking about the possibility, making plans for alternatives, for progressing naturally, for getting back on track. And taking it all day by day. Give us enough for today. That's been my mantra lately; replacing "Just breathe," since that was only getting me through, not helping me build. When I needed to breathe, I was in a different place. Staying afloat was a decent option. All these years later, I'm going for more--because I can! Not only is my support system different (read: stronger!), but my mindset is more open, yet more focused at the same time. (I know that's possible--I took a photography class--and the results are fantastic when the subject matter is right.)

Sweating out life's toxins is the best result of our runs. Running, talking, crying, laughing, yoga and writing are my ways of watching the darkness rush out of my mind, my heart, and my soul. Take close to equal parts, shake, and serve. My life is good. My life is better than good: it's better than it's been since I can remember. I feel more like an individual within my role as a member of a team than I ever have before, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. And I'm getting back on track, which is more rewarding than anything else I've ever experienced.

I'm happy, so I run. Finally I run to all the time; I don't run away from. I am arriving.

coach kim jones

Dear Kim,
When I began running, I hated it. Somehow it had occurred to me and a friend that we were not getting as much aerobic benefit from our dance classes as we would like, and around the same time, I started racing Jonathan to the car, to a tree, across that field. I decided that it might be a good idea to try running. It would give me something to do while the boys were at swim practice, and, clearly, would benefit me. Still, I hated it.

But I tried to be determined about mastering it, and forced myself to get on the treadmill for 30 minutes those three days a week. At least half the time I walked--I walked fast, but it still really wasn't running. It was boring, and I found excuses for slowing down. But, I was exercising, I was sweating.

Then came your diagnosis. For a relatively long time, I was terrified to talk to you--afraid I would cry, or say the wrong thing, or that you would cry. I was scared of your breast cancer, your treatment, and yet I was so very pleased to see you walk into the Y every day. If you could do that, I could run. If you could continue to go out on that pool deck, and guide those kids with all the gusto you could muster, I could run. If you could keep smiling, laughing, hugging, high-fiving, I could run.

I bought a Swim for Kim shirt, and wore it on the treadmill. At first I got funny looks, because all the other Swim for Kim shirts went into the pool area, not the exercise rooms. I didn't care--I knew that you were getting sidelong glances because you lost your hair. If you could handle that, I could handle this. Every single time I started that treadmill, I told myself I was doing it for you. And I did.

There were oh, so many times when I wanted to quit running; to walk or stop completely. I chastised myself--"Kim can't quit." Or, "Kim had chemo today. Is this really so rough?" And sometimes, "What would Kim think if she knew you'd stopped?" For every mile I ran, I put a dollar in a box at home. I didn't know what I would do with it, but I knew that something would present itself. At Christmas, I bought three more Swim for Kim shirts, and gave them as gifts to my sister, my brother, and my sister-in-love. I kept running for you, through chemo, radiation, the swim season. Just as you were telling the kids in the pool, with practice and perseverance, I got more efficient, faster, more comfortable.

It took time for me to work up the nerve to talk to you as we had before. To feel that if you laughed--no, when you laughed, for you always seemed to have one ready--I could, too. I was so fortunate that you never questioned my distance. It would have hurt us both if you'd noticed. You helped me with my HR class; we talked and laughed over hiring practices and promotion standards. When I finished my paper, I sent it to you for editing before submitting it.

And when the doctor told you that the cancer was gone, but would lurk around, and eventually return, we hugged, and cried together in the chapel at the Y. You showed me the radiation burns, and told me how they hurt, but you were so tired of always trying to hide them. I told you how beautiful you always were, always would be; that your presence is what mattered most.

Kim, you never knew what a coach you were to me, too. Your support of my sons, and my husband, in and around the pool was a gift I never was able to--could never--thank you for enough. If all of us are here for a reason, to learn something and to teach something, you were an extra special blessing. You taught me how to encourage my son without going overboard. You taught me to face life with joy, no matter the difficulties. You taught me to love what I'm doing with my whole heart, even if it's not what I wanted to be doing. You encouraged me to see through to the end, no matter what. I remember your frustration with yourself at not making my graduation party, and Henry's confirmation party, because you were too tired from a breast cancer event. Did you know that I was so proud of you? Did you know I wished I was more like you? I am so very grateful to you--for being you, for all to see.

And for coaching me to run.

I love you, Kim, and I always will. I know that you must be on that great pool deck in heaven, calling out encouragement to all those who love the water; cheering and smiling that amazing smile that lit up every bit of your being. I know that your light will continue to shine on us all, because our love for you was always rivaled only by your love for us.

Take your mark.....

Love,
Stephanie

looking back

Cold days. Long nights.

Darktime.

I don't remember it ever bothering me as much as it has the past two winters. Probably prior to that, I was better able to cocoon myself into ignoring the darkness--working, baking, reading, dancing--but now I have more running around I need to do. That's why I see the darkness so much. I used to see it as an old friend; one I could visit with as I enjoyed a mug of cocoa or a glass of wine while curled up on the couch under one of Grammy's afghans when I was living at home, or one of my quilts when we bought our own home. Watching TV, reading a book, snuggling with the kids, it was all so much easier to do during the darktime.

The boys are grown now. Not completely grown; after all, they are all still in school and living here and all that, but they are grown enough to not want to snuggle and cuddle anymore, although I do still read to Drew and Joseph when we can carve out the time. They are old enough to make more choices about what we see on TV, and when the majority rules me out, I find myself reading in my bed, all alone, which only adds to the effect darktime has.

I can't tell if the change happened suddenly, or over time; whether it was related to an event, or not. I do know that Dad's death in the winter made that winter harder, and that very well may have been the beginning, but I can't say that it was the turning point. The winter that Guy coached at a pool further away from home was also tough--he was gone more, it was a miserable winter, and I was truly lonely. Again, a possible contributing factor, but not the "one thing" that changed winter for me. There's also my theory that working outside at the pool for two summers has reset my personal rhythms (I'd never really been what one would call "outdoorsy" and the first summer was a real shock to my system!) making the darktime all the darker. This theory of mine has started to feed a sub-theory that we humans are fueled to a certain extent by solar energy--but that's another topic for another time.

What I do know is that I am really having a hard time. As I look out the window in front of me, I can still see a lightness to the sky at 4:57pm, but it's hard to be thankful for it some days. Perhaps if it were not so cold and dreary, the dark would be more bearable. The best thing about recognizing this pain (and it is painful--my heart aches at times) is that I can try things to make it manageable. I've thought often about what has carried me through before, and as a result, I've turned back to baking and cooking, using more intricate and challenging recipes; recipes that will, essentially, take longer to prepare. Focusing on what is right in front of me takes my eyes off the dark sky. I do feel better.

This winter has been a bit milder. Still cold, but no snow, really. Guy and I have been able to run outside more than last winter, and I think that may help a bit, although getting back at 5:40am, getting ready for work, and leaving around 6:40 when it's still dark may rewind some of the benefit. Whether it's the cold or the darktime feelings, running in the winter seems to be harder, and I struggle with distances that in the summer were easier.

At any rate, the days are getting longer, little by little. And I've also been talking more about how hard this has been, which has led me to the realization, or confirmation, that I am not alone at all. I no longer feel as though I am 'confiding;' rather, I am sharing, and of all things, I think this helps the most. The darktime had always been my thinking time, my alone time, my introspection/retrospection time. Somewhere in there a little pain got mixed in, and it needs to be expunged.

I'm working on it.

inspiration

On our college visit tour, we stayed with my friends, Amy and Ed for two nights. I went to school with Amy until high school, and we rode the bus together for all that time. Her husband, Ed, I met last spring when I ran the Race for the Cure as close to our hometown as it gets. Ed joined me in the race--a return to running for him after a long break. He decided shortly after to blog about his return to running, and told me that I had, in a small way, inspired him to do so. I've followed his blog, and I have to say, that he has become quite an inspiration to me. This weekend, we ran together one morning; a run that I found to be energizing both physically and psychologically.

I don't remember why, exactly, I started running. There was a little bit of the fact that if I caught Jonathan unawares, I could beat him in a race from here to there. There was also the slow realization that in dance class from January until June there was little to no aerobic cardio work. A group of teachers that I liked had a "running club" after school--as much for the social aspect as the physical. Dad had heart surgery, and I learned what recovery from that involved. And I needed a change, a challenge to work toward. I had never been a fan of running, but I decided to give it a go. I have become more fit, but the reasons I stick with it have more to do with the inspiration I get from others.

Ed, for instance. His return to running began with running poles with his son. Fartleks on a small scale. Now he's running 4 miles or so at a go. When I read his blog posts, I think, "Wow, I don't know if I could be as dedicated as that!" and I determine to go out again. My husband, Guy, inspires me, too. He started running secretly at the gym so he could surprise me and run with me. Like me, he was no runner; never a fan, never any desire to run, and certainly never felt built for it--yet he stuck it out, and now we run together almost every day. He amazes me! Beth, my wonderful dance friend and partner in crime, has asthma, and always believed there was no way she could run. After I started running, and started to enjoy it, she decided to conquer her asthma and try running. There is no way I could match her dedication! She could now run circles around me! Sometimes that is discouraging, but then she'll say something about me inspiring her to start, and I, in turn, am inspired by her example of what can happen when you put your mind to something.

My running inspiration doesn't just come from others who run. My friends and family inspire me in so many ways, keeping me on my feet. In thinking about inspiration last night, I realized that most of the time, it's related to something small. Something that isn't even meant to be inspirational. And sometimes the inspiration I get from someone came from something I did to inspire them in some small way. I don't mean that to sound self-important, because the small inspirations snowball in a really cool way; a chain of events that leads to seeing opportunities in our lives and then taking advantage of them. My friend Connie has gone back to school, in small part because I did, along with other reasons, but I don't know if she realizes how much she inspires me by being a student, mom, wife, and friend, all while working full-time and maintaining a cheerful, quintessentially sunny, Southern disposition! I love that I can call her "friend."

I have friends like Kim, Maria and Shawna, who inspire me in their courage facing cancer and other illnesses; serving in the Armed Forces, or being married to one who serves. Friends like Joe, who take up hobbies, and then share the joy they find with the world. Others have reinvented themselves--some by choice, like Betty Ann, who took her students to volunteer at an animal shelter year after year, then realized she'd rather be working at the shelter, so she went back to school to become a vet; and others who had little choice in the matter, like Janet, who was "re-tooled" from engineer to math teacher. Still others are living the dream in their hearts, knowing that it could be temporary, so it might as well be wonderful, like Evan, who dances and travels the world.

Inspiration is a funny thing. Sitting here, thinking about the people who inspire me, I realize that inspiration comes with balance. If I am content within, I can see these people as an example of what I desire; if there is darkness within, the success of others can easily become a barrier to my own aspirations. My family and friends truly do change my world. There is a saying that "To the world you may be one person, but to One Person, you may be the world." I find it to be true of those I associate with the most. What's interesting is that most of the people who inspire me, who change and shape my world for the better, probably don't even realize it. But you do; you are the world to me.......

on the road

We did this morning's run last night. Travel gets in the way of routine, usually in a good way. This morning, Guy drove south to put Mom on a plane west, and Jonathan and I will drive north to visit colleges. Although I'm looking forward to the trip, a part of me still wishes it would be a family vacation. Working summers puts a cramp in that "summer vacation" groove. This is beginning to sound melancholy, but that's not how I feel at all!

So many times I hear people say how sad they are about their children heading off to college. I am so excited for Jonathan! I remember choosing a college and a major, shopping and packing, driving off and moving in. What an amazing transitional time college is! On one's own, but with a safe haven to return to; meeting people from all over, and choosing who to associate with closely, and who to keep at arm's length; that feeling of having a hand in one's future for the first time, truly. I love turning points!

Not too long ago, Jonathan was not terribly interested in looking at colleges. He wanted to go, but felt pressured to choose. At first, I didn't understand, and felt, for the first time, that we could not talk it out. It took a while, but he finally told me that he didn't know who and what he wanted to be; that it's not fair or right that he should have to plan his entire future when he is sixteen years old. To his surprise, I agreed. Because I don't think it's fair or right, either.

Certainly, there are people who know all their lives that they want to be doctors, nurses, butchers, bakers and candlestick makers, but I was not one of them myself. Or rather, I was, but there was no college major that could make me a Momma. That's who I always wanted to be. I went to college and chose a major based on what was expected of me. Aptitude tests and the suggestions of the adults around me determined my original major: Hotel/Restaurant Management. I changed to Recreation/Leisure Management when it became clear to me that I was not cut out for a 24-hour, out of the house job. In all honesty, I should have started over with one of my dreams: dance, photography, helicopters, international law.....but it just wasn't something I could do at the time. The last thing I ever wanted to do was disappoint. Who? Anyone. At the time, I was far more concerned with disappointing others than I was with letting myself down. I don't want that for my children.

With my boys, I try to talk about options, and the whys and hows. I encourage them to talk to others about their experiences and the paths that led them where they are. I tell them about the choices I have made, the sacrifices that have resulted, and the dreams I have yet to reach for. The far-fetched, I've learned, are sometimes the best and most relative ideas--the ones that truly reflect one's potential. The last thing I want is for fear to dictate who and what my children become. My sons, you cannot disappoint me if you are true to yourselves.

Some may read this and misunderstand, thinking that I have regrets, that I am bitter, or sad. The truth is, I would not be who I am if not for these experiences and realizations. Life is a lesson, a series of them, really, and I am a learner. Sometimes I try to explain myself as a teacher, but that's only because "learner" is harder to explain, to qualify. Recently, I've been working on doing less explaining and qualifying. I've been working on listening to myself, as well as those around me. I still have so much to learn, and I want to continue to learn right along with my sons.

Two colleges in three days. Visiting the schools is important, but what I'm most looking forward to is the time in the car with Jonathan; the talks, the music, the growing up we will both do this weekend, and every day forward.