Alone with me, myself & moi

I’m home alone so my thoughts turned to the three things I always do without companionship. Run. Assault the fridge. Scrutinize my face.
I started off by running. 3.52 miles. Nothing to brag about, sneeze about and even cough to admit. I’m calling my treadmill ‘G’ from now on – G for Gerbil, G for Get Off My Ass because even though it was only a 5k run, at least I did it. I plugged into BubbleGum and he sang me through 35 minutes of hills and hell. My brain worked a little overtime because I thought about my boss and how today was his last day. Earlier, I sat in his my chair in his my office and imagined my upcoming rein. I also thought about when I ran the 13.1 for LLS. All the while, reciting the names of the people with cancer I was running in honor of, in memory of. It was so heartbreaking to think I was running in honor of someone battling only to find out they died the day of my race. Honor became memory in a matter of miles. I remembered how my friend, at my celebration party, how she whispered to me “my mom has breast cancer’, yet she still got on stage and sang for me, sang for my triumph in the face of her personal tragedy. It’s hard to run when all you want to do is collapse and cry. Even BubbleGum couldn’t keep me from such sweet, self-induced sadness.
After the pitiful run I ravaged the fridge. Maybe it’s a guy thing and maybe that’s why I keep this secret from my husband, but I don’t know of many women who stand in front of their Kenmores, drinking milk from the carton, scooping yogurt right from the container -the only light in the kitchen coming from the fridge. I eat with my fingers when I’m alone. Tonight was no exception. Tonight I found Turkish apricots and wheat crackers. No need to hold the door open for those. I scooped copious handfuls of each and plopped on the couch, balancing the unlikely feast on my stomach. Watching me chow down it’s hard to imagine me being afraid of numbers like 120 or 40 (116 and 38 for those of you keeping score).
The only thing I haven’t done tonight is prop up the mirror and stare down my own reflection. Usually this is my opportunity to tweeze, pluck, pinch, pucker, scratch, pop and scrub what I see before me. I’m not in the mood to self analyze, scrutinize and criticize.
Maybe that’s a good thing.

Can’t Run This Way

I’ve been too stressed out to even think about running for past week. I know that 3-4 miles would do me some good, clear the head, please the heart, and all that…but I can’t. I just can’t. It’s all I can do to come home, cook dinner and fall asleep in front of the tv. I’m worthless to my friends, useless to my husband, and gutless to my peers.
I can’t run this way. I need to have a certain freedom of spirit to kick start the ambition. I’m supposed to run the Gasparilla with someone in February. I want to say Fukc February because it’s the cruelest of my months, but I don’t want to let down my friend. I don’t want to be that person. So, maybe that should be my motivation. Something needs to get me going!
So, tonight, I kick off the heels…and maybe run.

Doubting is the Death of Me

When I signed up to run a half marathon for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society the very first thing I worried about was having the motivation to run. The second thing (which quickly eclipsed the first) was how in the world was I going to raise the money? Turns out, motivation wasn’t an issue. From day one I wanted to train. I trained easily and motivation was never an issue. Raising the money wasn’t that difficult either. I met my goal and thensome.

So. So, so, tell me why is it so hard to get back to running now? It’s been over a year and I am struggling to find peace with what I used to love doing. I blamed everything on the pain. I finished a simple stupid half marathon with a stress fracture in my foot, mild hypothermia from running in a downpour and of course, lest we forget, the messed up knee. I blamed everything on the injury even though EVERYONE tells me that shouldn’t stop me from starting again.

So, how do I start again?

Sister’s Footsteps

Not since high school have I run side by side with someone. I have wanted to. I invited someone who was supposedly training for the Leukemia Society’s half marathon and he turned me down. I challenged someone who wants to WALK a 13.1 miler, she chickened out. I’ve strode next to lots of someones at the Gerbil Cage, but side by side on treadmills are nowhere near the real thing of running side by side outside.
Thursday my sister and I ran. She’s trying to lose pregnancy belly fat and I’m trying to lose my fear of everything that strangles my psyche. Despite the fact I barely got any sleep the night before I got up at 5:30am to chase the early morning light around my sister’s island. If there was an emotion that permeated my brain that a.m. it was envy. She runs in the most beautiful place. How do I explain this? She runs on a dirt road that turns paved. She runs in the woods, through a still-sleepy town, along the shore line, past beautiful, sea-weathered cottages. She smells pines, fresh bread baking, island roses and the sharp ocean. She sees gulls and finches, butterflies and curled up cats, tiger lilies and seaweed covered shorelines. She hears fog horns, waves lapping and whispering trees. In the distance a horse calls and a dog answers. Birds sing continuously. She stops for water, plucks blackberries, blueberries, raspberries and even late blooming strawberries before moving on.
We promised no chatting but I couldn’t help commenting on cottages for sale, sleeping dogs on porches and classic lobster boats offshore. A bell buoy clanged in the distance and I could almost picture myself living here. I got so caught up in the fantasy that I forgot I was running.
4.5 miles later my sister annouced, “I walk at the bricks” and true to her word she slowed to a walk where the sidewalk ended. As the sweat cooled on my back I marveled at how easy it had been to run on her island. How easy it had been to run with her. In high school she ran cross country. I ran away from physical activity. She has always been Miss Athlete, despite having two kids. I have always been Miss Bookwormslug. I never in a million years thought I would run with her…much less actually keep up. 

Knee conversation – not a peep. Must be the huge shoes!