JustRunJustLiveJustBe

I can’t even blame the weather, but I am in some kind of funk lately that prevents me from being diligent about anything.  Reading, writing, returning phone calls and, doing anything more than what is necessary has become too much to ask right now.  I’m sure next on the list is personal grooming, which is bad considering I’m already behind on laundry.

This might imply that I’m avoiding things, but that’s not entirely true.  I’m thinking, a lot.  I think and I think.  And then, when I’m finished eating peanut butter out of the jar, I think some more.  I don’t quite no where to begin to get it all out, but starting somewhere should be better than this.  Anything should be better than this. 

Today, pre-peanut butter, post-run, all those thinking thoughts seemed to make a little more sense, and I somehow made heads and tails out of everything that’s been making the days longer and less fun than they ought to be.  It’s like there is this boxing match going on inside my head.  Not that I’ve ever been to a boxing match or even watched one on television, but I hear there are corners and one is red and one is blue (though I don’t remember the colors in Million Dollar Baby- my only exposure to boxing, ever.  No, I don’t remember Rocky. Be quiet.).

So I’m standing there, staring out the window, post-run, pre-peanut butter, pre-shower and all I can picture are these corners in my head.  The red and the blue.  Much like my non-existent relationship to boxing, I hadn’t really noticed they were there until now, and I think that’s probably because they are seconds away from the sound of that little starting bell (or whatever it’s called. Be quiet.) you hear right before the red and the blue beat on each other for no apparent reason.

In the blue corner, there’s the boxer that is all heart.  This boxer does not know a bad day.  This boxer is strong and solid and faithful.  This boxer is the one you’d go to if you needed something, anything.  Blue would change your tire.  Blue would let you talk for hours.  Blue would keep a candle lit through a hurricane if that’s what you said you needed.  Blue is not bold, but knows how to live.  This is the boxer you’d want in your corner, even if that would mean moving your corner about 3,000 miles away (which you consider).

In the red corner, you have the boxer everyone knows.  The boxer that is charming, winning, intriguing and kind.  This boxer is the one that keeps you on your toes.  This is the boxer that moves fast, so fast that it’s often hard to tell where things will end up.  Red attracts you.  Red is the corner that you’ve always known.  Red has always been so bright, so there.  Red doesn’t make things easy, though. Red changes too fast.  Yet, this is the boxer you need in your corner, even if you’re not sure why.

And here I sit, with the little mallet that rings the bell.  Here I sit, about to watch a boxing match that could start at any time, without even the slightest desire to actually know who might win.  I want nothing to do with the mallet. I’d rather not see any of it at all.  Boxing has never been my thing.

I hadn’t really planned on a week away from this site, but that’s what happened. (And I went into lurker mode in reading for the most part.  But I have been there!  Promise!) Part of me thinks it would sure be nice to pop back up here and say “so much has become clear to me in the last seven days,” but that’s not really the case. The best part of this last week is that it was Spring Break and I lost two more pounds. While certainly different than Spring Breaks of the past wherein I might have gained two pounds (likely in the form of pizza and beer), it is not super writing material.

Of course life happens even if one part of it stops, but I’m also sort of bored with myself. Sure, I could sit here and type out all the standard-issue twenty-eight-year-old single woman’s stories about this friend that had a baby and that friend whose husband died and how it all made me look differently at life, but putting any of that into more than one sentence seems insufficient. I could also go on about men and dating and how, strangely, or not, my judgment around both is both clouded and made more clear by the birth and death around me. I could do that, because I thought it. Oh, heck, did I think it. But I feel like that’s all been done. Though it isn’t often, I have spent enough time around here (hours) and in the rest of my life (decades) trying to figure out things that are not meant to be figured out. Or, at the very least, not right now. It goes in phases, of course, but it’s incredible the fuel that is birth, death, and new people happening in your life all in the same week. For a woman, I’m thinking this is the emotion-inducing tri-fecta. How ridiculous is that. I am already exhausted with the over-analyzing that comes with life in general in my twenties, and here all this shows up at once. I feel like gazing up toward the sky and saying “look, Dude, I am a pretty laid-back girl (thanks for that, by the way) but COME ON!”

Yesterday, I met a friend of mine for lunch and told her the tale that was my week: Spring Break, pretending to be irresponsible again, losing weight, gaining perspective, grieving, sadness, elation, ovary-stirring happiness, peace, restlessness, over thinking, feeling way too grown up and trying to resist the distinct urge to run away.  Far, far away.  I explained how I know this is life and this is how it goes, but why, oh why, must it happen all at once? Why must it feel like more than I can handle? And why am I scared of every part of it?  The birth. The death. The new.

And my friend listened—thank goodness, she listened. There was really nothing I needed more. 

Then, I’m driving home and I see this quote on a sign:

A ship is safe in a harbor, but that’s not what ships are for.—William Shed

Here, in land-locked Colorado, I see that. So I guess we just keep going.

I put off my run a good twenty minutes to share this with you.  

It’s slightly disturbing, but then you remember that there’s really no such thing as a bad song when it comes to bacon. 

Thanks to Josh.

A week ago this past Friday, I had the urge to get out of town. I couldn’t at the time but with spring break coming up and the thought of being academically irresponsible for a week in mind, I made a last-minute reservation at a cottage in the mountains. Well, you know how you get those feelings where you know you need something but you’re not exactly sure why? That’s the feeling I had. And I cannot tell you how psychic or foreshadowing or whatever that was. Little did I know just how much I would need to run away.

Last week I proceeded to do one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done in my life. Something I cannot take back. Something that has had me walking around for the last five days feeling like the biggest dumbass on the planet. While I won’t go into it here (I’m either not ready or not as stupid as I thought) I will say that I will forever stop asking the question of how someone can be so smart in all areas of their life but one. I am now that someone.

Without question, come last Friday afternoon, I was ready to get away. Or drive off a cliff, whichever.

I left work on Friday afternoon, picked up the dog and headed North. Then West. The entire time I blasted music trying to purge my brain of all the stupidity, guilt and ridiculousness I’d filled it with that week. Tequila, I think, would have worked better but Lola has yet to learn to drive. In fact, her best quality in the car is looking out the window.

To be honest, I’m just happy when we ride in the car and she doesn’t throw up.

I checked into my cottage that night, sans Tequila, and made hiking plans for the next day. I was prepared, had all my gear, and honestly was not afraid of that thought that kept creeping into the back of my mind that said getting a) buried in the snow, b) eaten by wildlife, c) lost in the wilderness, d) all of the above wouldn’t really be all that bad. Yes, I am well aware of how serious all those dangers are. Trust me. I can’t think of another way to convey the state of mind I was in at that point.

Luckily, I woke up the next morning with a better outlook. The view helped.

I loaded up, headed out, and went to the trail head. If nothing else, the cold mountain air, the bright almost-spring sun, and the ten miles of trail ahead were encouragement enough to center my mind.

The calm and quiet came over me immediately. The crunch of the snow under my boots was the only sound I could hear. The only sound I needed to hear. I am never one to underestimate the appreciation necessary to head into the mountains, the respect one needs to have in order to stay smart and safe. But anyone I know who has the need to get out sees it also as an opportunity to get away. I was glad my mind was quieted so quickly, so I could take in all that was around me.

The trail was beautiful. The sky was perfectly clear. Each corner I turned revealed something new and amazing to appreciate. And, honestly, something to distract me.

Something to remind me of the life that goes on around me when I’m not looking. Something that goes on through no effort of my own, even when I’m not aware. Even when I’m struggling. Even when I’m acting stupid.

It’s cliche, yes. I have a hard time explaining the enormity of this place without token phrases. I naturally compare the overwhelming power of the tall trees to the problems that have stood over me the past few days.

There were a few times (three, to be exact) on my hike that I wanted to turn around. The trail, which you could never be certain was the trail under all that snow, would get so narrow my knees started to tremble. While some people wouldn’t blink at this, it intimidated me. On one side, a very narrow trail and snow. On the other side, a very steep drop and snow. I could either keep going, or I could turn back. I could stay safe, or I could push through.

Turning back would have been fine. Turning back would have kept me safe. Turning back would have taken me down the same, familiar territory I’d already traveled. Turning back was okay. But I couldn’t, because I was headed to the lake at the end of this trail. No, the lake isn’t going anywhere. It will be there in summer, when the trail is clear and the snow is melted. It will be there. Still, that wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to get there. I wanted to get to the end.

I know how this sounds. Even as I type, I know how this sounds. We face a challenge, we push through. We face a fear, we keep going. But, none of how I was feeling that day had a thing to do with challenge or fear. Hell, I had already acted. Remember, I’m at the point of feeling stupid. I am already at the point of no return.

The closest I can figure is the message I was supposed to get was this: It was my choice. I kept going because I wanted to. Just like earlier in the week– I acted because I wanted to. I was stupid because I wanted to be. It’s always so clear, isn’t it? When you get to the lake, it’s always so clear why you kept going.

Because then you’re there. And no one made you, and no one witnessed it. Only you know why you did it. Or, at the very least, only you get to be the one to figure it out.

Please excuse me while I figure it out.

(Also, please excuse the incomplete sentences and bad writing in general.)

It is getting a little warmer around here this week. While I know it won’t last (more snow on the weekend. Yay.), I can’t help but feel very thankful. This, for now at least, is because I was able to get out for a run. Running outside when it’s not freezing, where I can sweat from the heat of the sun, is what makes me feel like a runner. What it comes down to is I like dried salt on my face. It’s really quite simple.

What I didn’t realize about yesterday’s run, though, is that I got a little bored even with the sun and the fifty degrees. I’m running along and I just can’t seem to get my head into it. I think about stopping, about just walking. I’m annoyed and really not feeling it. I tell myself this is okay, then I come upon a flight of stairs. It’s about twenty steps, nothing more. I stood at the bottom, looked up and thought run them. Then I did. We’re not talking Rocky-like steps here, but it really felt good. Running up and down those steps fifteen times made me feel better, it made me change it up. I needed that. It’s really quite simple.

As should be most things with running, after a while anyway. Like getting new shoes. I should know this by now, but last week when I started adding miles up on the calendar, I realized it’s been nearly six hundred miles since I’d bought new shoes. Is that even possible? That me, a runner, could forget to get new shoes? I mean, this used to be a religious practice. Every 400 miles is my limit, it’s what works for me. So no wonder my feet/knees/legs practically shouted with happiness when I ran in my new shoes today. I don’t know how I lost track of this, but I’m glad I’m back on. The running felt so much better. I mean, DUH, right? It’s really quite simple.

I guess, though, it would have really been nice to get my head into this run. It just didn’t happen. New shoes and shaking it up only took me so far. I would have liked to knock out six fabulous miles. That would have been great. I just couldn’t get there today. I think these days have their purpose, however. I mean, I’m not really one to feel guilty about having a bad run. I’d rather see the positive, that I’m out there. In the sun. Sweating. Might as well take advantage of it, right? Which is sort of what I did yesterday. Since time or pace didn’t really seem to matter, I didn’t feel the least bit guilty when I stopped on the section of the trail that goes by the lacrosse fields down at the college. It was here, after three miles of half-hearted effort and some stair running, that I took a good ten minutes out of my run to watch the men’s college lacrosse team score a couple goals. After all, I’m just a girl. I couldn’t help it. It’s really quite simple.

I like having a friend that will patiently look at all my photos, and then act amused.

I like having a friend I can just sit and watch the news with for thirty minutes and then talk about “how things have changed” like we’re eighty.

I like having a friend that will go for drinks because neither of us want to go home yet.

I like having a friend I don’t have to talk with all the time to know we’re friends.

I like having a friend who’s a good person.

I like having a friend that tells me going back to school is worth it.

I like having a friend that tells me my hair looks good.

I like having a friend I can be proud of.

I like having a friend that wants to make plans with me.

I like having a friend that hesitates in giving me advice I didn’t ask for, but then says “let me know if you need anything.”

I like having a friend that’s adventurous.

I like having a friend that doesn’t know how good they really are, so then I can remind them.

“What is this?” he asked, pointing to the corner of my eye.

“What is what?”

“This little line. Is it wrinkles?”

“Well, yes, it is a wrinkle… I guess.”

“My mom has wrinkles. She is old.”

“Your mom is not old.”

“But she does have wrinkles. She says some are from me, and some are from my brother.”

“Well that’s probably true.”

“Why do you have wrinkles if you don’t have kids?”

“I have a wrinkle.” (Feeling a little petty.)

“Well I think you need to hurry and have some kids so you have a good reason for it.”