I’m sitting at dinner the other night, having a perfectly good time. There’s a lull in the conversation and my mind wanders. I wonder, all in the span of twenty seconds, when the right time is to share certain things about yourself. When do you tell them your dog’s name or your favorite book? Do you tell them you hate chocolate? When is the right time to share that you’re about a week away from losing your first toe nail?

A monumental, disgusting fact of distance running, I suppose but nonetheless, a fact. I’m guessing you can really go quite some time without sharing this information and some people might never, but I’m a sharer. Not too much, too soon, but eventually, in any relationship, it’s where I find my comfort. It’s not so much what I’m sharing as the reassurance I find in disclosure. I keep and I keep and I keep and the times I can let a little go, well I adore those times.

That’s why I felt so great about my run the other day. Though I understand it’s just a small part of my life, I like to think that some things happen that have significance completely independent of any other force. It’s not true, but how else are things real? How else do we decide between good things and just mediocre? How does one occasion mean more than another? Is it because we choose to make it that way? I think so. And I think we do that by the way we choose to share it.

Which is where I find myself now; really having a lot to share and unsure of where to direct that energy. I’m well aware that a first date is not the time and place for toenail stories. I’m also aware that driving my friends and family crazy with disgusting stories is no wiser. But where does it all go? Well, it looks like right now it goes here, but how long will that work? It would be far more productive to have a place, I think. I’m also, however, aware of what’s under my control, and this isn’t.

I had a friend, that two days ago completed a 100 mile endurance race. His wife, was there for the twenty-eight plus hours and even paced him at the end for the last few miles. His words at the end? “There’s no one else I would want to share that with.” It meant a lot for him to finish, of course, but it meant more that his wife was there with him, to share.

I hear this over and over, that things mean more when you share them but I rarely have chosen to believe it. Sure it can make an experience deeper and more memorable, but it doesn’t make it worth more, does it? Well, turns out now I think maybe it does. Figures, the time this actually starts to resonate is when I realize I’m losing a toenail. How deep and meaningful is that? I know, it’s not. It’s just disgusting.

Me: Have you guys decided where you’re going to build yet?

Mom: We’re thinking about the land down South. It’s warmer down there and a closer drive for me.

Me: Don’t you have to have a septic tank out there?

Mom: Yep, but it’s already on the property. It’s brand new.

Me: Have they changed something in septic tanks or can you still not use Clorox?

Mom: What?

Me: I don’t think you can use bleach or certain chemicals with a septic tank.

Mom: Oh my god, I hope not. I would die without Clorox!

There are times when I have no doubt in my mind that we are mother and daughter. Sure, we have the same blue eyes and same color hair but what really convinces me is our need to have things really, really clean.

Less than a week ago, I had no idea. What to do, that is. Or what to think. Or how to think. I couldn’t run and I thought, no was certain, that I would never run again. It was a combination of pain, panic, disappointment and frustration.

I was forced to take Monday off. And Tuesday. Wednesday, I woke up with no pain at all. I still took the day off, figuring it was just a fluke. Thursday I had no pain so after work, I considered a little run. One note about this pain I had: it never hurt to walk or run. My knee only hurt when leaning or twisting from one side to the other. Like when I turned to get out of the car, that about killed me. Come Wednesday, though, and Thursday the pain was no longer. So, Thursday I decided I’d go for a little run, just to see. Well, I did a nice five miles on hills and had no pain at all. I was fearful, still and had still convinced myself that when I woke up Friday, I’d be paying for it.

Friday came, and no pain. So then I had some decision making to do. Do I attempt more running? Do I try to stay on schedule? Most importantly, do I do my long run? My twenty miler.

Well, not as if this is totally shocking, but I decided to head out for my long run yesterday morning. I waited until later in the morning when it would at least be 35 degrees (F), donned some warm running gear, left the iPod at home and headed out. Due to my run on Thursday and my training so far, I knew the first ten or so would probably be fine. What I didn’t expect was to feel fine at 14, and 16, and 18. But I did. It wasn’t until just near the end of 19 that I felt really tired. Mile 20 was pretty damn tough, too, but I did it. I stopped to walk across the crosswalk toward home and then decided to run the rest of the way home, too. Sure it was probably only 2/10 of a mile but heck, I need to practice that anyway.

All who said to wait and not panic were COMPLETELY AND ABSOLUTELY RIGHT, as usual. Like I said, excellent at avoiding panic in other situtations or other people’s problems but totally irrational when it comes to myself. Imagine that.

But let me just tell you, finishing that twenty miles felt fantastic. I am not sure I could convey the feeling in words if I tried. I’ve always said all those who say “it’s not about the destination, but the journey” have never crossed a finish line. Now I think they’ve probably never had a week like I had, either. Six days before this run, I was wondering if I could ever get back to running, now I feel more like I’ll never be able to get away from it.

I will still continue to enjoy this journey, though. If anything, I have even more appreciation for what it means to get to the end.

I’m sitting at home today, being lazy, reaping the benefits of working for a semi-governmental organization. I just had some breakfast, chatted on the phone with a friend (who gets to stay home every day- no fair. Well there’s that whole child-rearing thing but whatever) and did some dishes.

I’m going to head to a friend’s house soon to work on craft projects that we then are going to sell for profit, wish us luck. It is very creative and innovative, but we are not sure, like with any new business, that the market is going to jump all over it. We have some serious interest, but I’m not sure that’s enough. Also, I’m not a millionaire and I can’t afford to fund this forever. Hopefully, the profit fairies will smile upon us. If not, that’s okay. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

I have this optimistic attitude thanks to no knee pain. Yes, to all of you that told me not to jump to conclusions, you might have been right. Might. Seriously though, I am all kinds of good at not panicking until it comes to my body and/or my abilities. Then, I go into freak out, spaz out, break down mode which, thank heavens, is only temporary. So it’s either bad day or manic, you decide.

Speaking of deciding, I love how everyone (okay, not everyone) was a political blogger this week. It’s refreshing to know that people do care to educate themselves on their ballot issues. For instance, I got a call from my 19 year old cousin who said that he got to vote for the first time and was disappointed that every thing he voted for didn’t pass. Ah yes, that is the way of democracy, son.

I wasn’t feeling quite so civil in Wash Park last night, though. After meeting a friend for dinner, I came back to my car to find a young parking cop writing me a parking ticket. “Wait, wait!” I said. “Sorry, if you were two minutes earlier, I wouldn’t have written the ticket.” “But I’m not in a No Parking Zone,” I said. “Your car is about a foot past the sign,” he said. Seriously, 20 year-old parking cop on a power trip. Cool. It’s a good thing the dinner and wine were good.

I’m off to watch the news and drink some tea. Staying home rocks.

Just once, I’d like to respond to one of these men in their fifties who email me, a twenty-seven year-old woman, and say things like “I want to make your dreams come true.” Really? Because my dreams start with avoiding being freaked out by men too old for me!

But I know that would be wrong, so I just delete the messages. It’s like in the old vampire movies: They can’t come in unless you invite them.

Thanks for all the great comments on yesterday’s entry. It’s a tough time and knowing that others understand is comforting, if even in a temporary way. I’ve not come to terms with it yet as I know it’s too soon to make decisions, but today is better than yesterday. I refuse to back down, just yet. I won’t compromise what I want for the latest challenge. It will be okay. And I know life will keep going whether I choose to participate or not.

Like this little bit of fun:

I get a note from a potential date the other night. Strangely, not an online dater but another “set up” type of situation. We’d exchanged emails, asked a few questions and all seemed normal. In my note to him, I asked him what kind of music he liked. He listed: rock, heavy, classic, jazz blues, good signs so far. Then, he said this: I absolutely hate country music. Despise it, every bit of it. From the old to the new to everything in between, hate it. I just can’t make myself listen to it.

So I emailed, in so many words, back: Sorry, I just don’t think we’re a good fit. Best of luck to you.

And it wasn’t because he didn’t like country music. We all don’t have to love every bit of music out there. What got me was how closed-minded (”the old, the new, everything in between”) and adamant (”hate it”) he was. If you’re like this about country music, how are you going to be about my dog? Really, open the mind a little. I dislike certain music, I don’t “absolutely hate” anything. The only thing I do hate is closed-mindedness. It has little to do with the music.

Except for the fact that, dude, my childhood was built on that stuff. Come on, now!

So, you see, other parts of life go on. I just wish every decision were so easy.

___________________________________

P.S. Hope you voted today! I did.

P.P.S. To all my friends in the PNW, hope you’re not getting flooded right now. Be safe!

I don’t know how to do this.

I woke up this morning with a pretty severe pain in the inside of my right knee. Yes, the same knee I’ve had problems with, but different place and different pain. But it’s a bad pain. Pain that keeps me from moving my knee more than one degree either direction. Getting out of the car even hurts, twisting is out of the question. And I don’t know how to deal with it.

The anger.

The pain.

The loss.

The disappointment, yet again.

The depression I’m afraid it will cause.

All of it.

I am four weeks out from a marathon. Four weeks out of a huge thing I’ve been preparing for, not just physically and mentally, but with a travel plans. And friends. And pasta dinners. And after race parties. And promises of pace groups, and finish line celebrations.

And today feels like that’s all being taken away from me. This is a worse pain than I’ve felt, ever. It hurts to the point that I’ve been reduced to tears several times today. Then again, that wasn’t just from the physical pain.

I hate the person that it makes me. It makes me not care. It makes me not laugh. It makes me not eat. And for someone that up until now has been fighting the urge to eat everything in the fridge, this is huge. Instead, I just don’t care. It magnifies everything difficult I’ve been dealing with and it makes it worse. It reduces the good to the point where I can’t even see it.

That’s the feeling that scares me the most. I’ve never been depressed for more than a couple days at a time, certainly never diagnosed. But that’s largely due to my being able to run. Or bike, or whatever gets me moving enough to get things in perspective. Which leads to being able to deal with life. Which leads to being able to be the person I want to be for those around me. Which leads to being present in my life. Which leads to happiness, and family, and friends, and fun. My life. It’s all connected.

I feel robbed. I feel cheated. I feel like this thing, the one thing I feel like I really only do for me, is being taken away. When you’re doing something good for yourself, it’s not fair that it be taken away. It just doesn’t make sense. And I know no one died and I know it’s not the worst thing in the world but in all honesty, I think it’s too hard for me to deal with. Sitting here tonight, I have no idea what to do. There’s nothing I can do. I’m helpless and powerless. And hurt. And it came out of nowhere. And it’s not fair.