2012 ~Back to the Start

The year 2012 is just around the corner and in a few days a large number of people will make a resolution, promising some kind of change.  Most will be changes they have thought of hundreds of time, maybe promised before and perhaps behaviors that have been pointed out by others or suggested by a health care professional.  They gym will be packed with all of these newly dedicated people, overdoing it and trying to lose all the weight and get in shape  in the first three days. 

I don’t usually make NY resolutions, I don’t believe in using one date out of the year to make changes.  As a health professional I find the idea of focusing one week a year on growth and goals crazy. Why aren’t we doing this every week?   I often point out to my clients that they generally spend more time planning their vacations and picking out a car than on their personal goals. 

My best thinking happens while I am running, and often by the time I get home from a run I am overflowing with ideas, goals, plans, people I want to talk to, articles I want to write, things I want to create.  I lose some of them in the transition of rushing to shower and getting out the door, but the big ones I keep long enough to talk into my phone on my way to work.

2012 will be one of my biggest challenges and one I have been thinking about often the last few weeks.  As January 1^st approaches, I will be once again starting to train for Ironman Wisconsin.  Déjà, I was here last year.  I am now $1200 into registration for a race I have not done, and one I am quite sure I don’t have a chance in hell of completing.  “What the hell am I thinking?” is the recurring thought that keeps looping through my head.  I am not strong enough, not conditioned enough and not sure I am able to fight hard enough.  I can’t swim, yes I said can’t.  The furthest I have ever swam is a quarter mile, the last time I was able to ride seriously I needed help getting off my bike because once bent I couldn’t straighten on my own.  My running mileage total this year is the same as one month last year!  Again what the hell am I thinking? 

I know and I believe beyond any doubt that I cannot do this.   Yet as I organize my planner for 2012, my training plan is in there and along with everything else I have in my life I will begin the process.  This year, unlike last year I don’t even have an endurance base to build from so starting from scratch takes on a whole new meaning.   

Mapping out my calendar, my first week of January looks like this.  Teach at the college two days, work at my clinic 4 days, work at the EAP office 2 days, work at Gold’s 4 days, 3 social engagements, 2 little boys at home that are more exhausting than all those things combined, 3 dogs that I love to spend time with….and somewhere in there did I mention I need to start training for a race I am sure I can’t do.  I am convinced I am on the wrong side of the desk in the therapy department.

I have been here before though and know that what I can’t see today does not mean the same thing as impossible.  I know that what I am not capable of today, is not a life sentence and that God willing I will get to the starting line and God willing I will be upright crossing the finish line.  When I was weeks from leaving for Africa and so sure I could not possibly do this I reached out to someone who had been a huge support and has wisdom beyond human capabilities.  Ray Zahab is an amazing man who has an amazing spirit.  He said all the right things and he was completely right in this prediction.  He told me at the start of the race I would be too scared to breathe, and in the middle of the race I would wonder what the hell I was doing t here.  But there would be moments where I would look around and realize the beauty of them moment and be amazed that I was. He said at the end when I crossed the finish line it would be the best feeling in the world and in moments I would start to plan my next race.  He was right.  Knowing this I will not make resolutions, rather I will focus on results. And when the negative thoughts, doubts and fears take up residence in my brain I will know they are there, and know that despite my efforts to quiet them they will return a hundred times.  But they won’t stop me from training and they won’t stop me from putting it out there on the calendar.  2012 I will focus on results instead of resolutions and when I am afraid I will focus on faith and get out there anyway.  I will take all my fears and doubts to the starting line, knowing I will leave them out there on the course, to be replaced by gratitude and grace. 

Where are you Christmas?

"Where Are You Christmas"

Where are you Christmas
Why can't I find you
Why have you gone away

Where is the laughter
You used to bring me
Why can't I hear music play

My world is changing
I'm rearranging
Does that mean Christmas changes too

Where are you Christmas
Do you remember
The one you used to know
I'm not the same one
See what the time's done
Is that why you have let me go

Three days before Christmas, driving home, I listened to Faith Hill sing these words. Its been one of my favorite Christmas songs since I first saw The Grinch. I was tired in a way that can only be from days that are too long and stress that is too much.  I felt the lump in my throat and my chest start to tighten and without the energy to fight it I cried most of the way home. It has been such a crazy year of crazy. I thought about my world and truly how much everything was rearranging.  Last year at this time I had a plan mapped out and my goals were laid out in front of me.  Yet despite my plans so much had changed that I barely recognized my own life some days.  Physcially, I am fighting back again from another surgery that I hadn’t expected.  I am a foster mother to a 4 and 7 year old set of boys with special needs, 9 months into this “couple months” placement with no clear ending in sight.  My workload is busier than it has ever been and balance is a getting more than five hours sleep a night.  I lost my dog, people have left my life and some days I am not sure where I belong in my own life.  I have friends I am too tired to call, and despite my faith, church has become something I do if there is time left over.   I am drained and empty, having giving everything to everyone else during the course of the day, and as I fall into bed I count the scarcity of the hours until the alarm goes off.  I could get a bit more sleep if I skipped my morning run, but in the complete darkness running with Ellie before work, I can believe there is a me in there somewhere.  

Christmas has always been an emotionally chaotic time for me, sometimes high and sometimes low.  I didn’t embrace the season and it’s celebrations until I was well into adulthood and it took several decades of seeking my own meaning and celebrations to find joy and peace in it. It was a hard fought battle to let go of what my Christmas had been as a child and intentionally make a decision to live it with a different meaning.  This was most challenging when my dad died nine days before Christmas in 2005, but I held onto the meaning of the season, the connection, the love that people share a bit more openly this time of the year.                            

Except this year, I couldn’t seem to find it. This year I was so overwhelmed with the changes in my life, the uncertainty and the fight that I felt numb and empty. Along with those painful feelings I retained just enough awareness to be angry that I couldn’t quite get there even though I wanted to.  I sometimes remind myself that even Mother Teresa questioned her faith at times, and  it comforts me on a rational level, but it does not quiet the emotional hurricane that sweeps through me in times of struggle.

Moments and Peace

MY MOMENTS, MY QUESTIONS, MY PEACE

The past six months have been a whirlwind of frantic days, increasing workload and a sense of losing any grasp of order in my life.  A short term placement of two little boys which happened on the heels of my unexpected surgery, took my already chaotic life to a new level of insanity. The past month has been even more hectic and my long days even longer.  These days the moments of sanity I manage to get are infrequent. They typically come when I am doing one of the things I love most, teaching fitness, coaching, or running and training. 

When I was training for Africa, running 135 miles a week, working long hours and juggling life, there were plenty of nights I drove home and spent the twenty minutes crying. I wasn’t crying about anything in particular, it was a pure release of complete exhaustion.                            

Lately, most days I am a bit closer to that than I am comfortable with. I continuously remind myself of the big picture and that despite my questions I need to rely on God’s plan. Some days this works and other’s I have to just try to run it away.

Last weekend I headed out for a run with Ellie.  Ellie is so many things to me, but of all the things she gives me, a running partner tops the list.  Maggie at 7 months is still too young to run and Tanner at age 12 is just too tired.  Aside from her energy which reminds me of a Tasmanian devil, Ellie has been my security blanket as I eased back into running after surgery.  She is the presence that keeps me feeling confident when I am a few miles from home, safe on the trails, and present when I could be feeling alone.  My brief but frightening stalker from last year no longer worries me as much and the doubt of getting back home from the run is less daunting. Within a week of her joining my life this year, the sound of the leash brings her running and literally dancing at my feet. Our routine was established almost immediately and the sight of me grabbing my running shorts sends her into frenzy.

As I headed out with Ellie this last week, I was irritable, anxious and stressed.  My weekend had no less than six social engagements, two little boys that were going to be bat crazy after a home visit with their mom and more paperwork waiting for me than I can do in a month. On top of all that, it was 30 degrees and raining. I absolutely love running in the summer rain and will do a go out of my way to run on a warm rainy day.  Winter rain is different and I tend to find it miserable and painful.  But Ellie had too much energy and I couldn’t stand the thought of the treadmill.  Because of the rain and temperatures I decided to drive to the start of the trail, seeking out the protection of the woods.  I got dressed and grabbed a leash, and Ellie who doesn’t care for the rain at all, was so excited she could barely sit still in the Jeep.  My obligations the last two weeks have affected some of our runs so she had way too much energy.  We got to the trails and I was surprised to see how muddy they were.  In the insulation of my office and work from pre-dawn to late evenings I had forgotten how much rain we had this week. We took off and I didn’t even bother dodging puddles as we wound through the woods.  We were a bit more protected in the shelter of the trees but not so much that it kept us dry.  I had just barely an hour to run and although I wasn’t really measuring distance, I turned on my GPS anyway.  As I warmed up and we ran the familiar ground, I found myself allowing Ellie a few more stops to explore the smells and explore, and eventually I turned off my GPS.  I lost interest in my pace and distance, and when Ellie’s attention wandered to the side of the trail I stopped more than usual.  I walked up the hills, stopped fighting my heart rate and gravity, and allowed Ellie to set the pace. We slowed for sticks and sprinted for squirrels and listened to noises. We were splattered from head to toe in mud, soaking wet and had to entire trail to ourselves. When I finally looked at my watch I realized we had been running for 90 minutes.  I was well past my schedule and yet knowing how tight my schedule was, didn’t pick up my pace and even took a small detour to allow Ellie to sniff the shore of a pond. I was reluctant to end the run and felt unsettled.

It took a few minutes to figure out what I was feeling and I realized it was sadness at ending our morning out there.  I wanted to stay in that place all day and just meander through the mud and the rain. I wanted to capture the moment and the contentment I had found in the rain and mud.  I felt physical tightness in my throat and chest as I finally turned around and headed in.  Ellie must have been feeling the same things I was. Normally after that long on the trails, she is ready to drink some water and get her post run snack.  Not this morning though.  As I toweled off her muddy legs, she kept pulling against me trying to head back toward the trail.  She kept looking at me and I knew she could likely sense how much I wanted to go too.  She and I shared our usual banana on the way home and I thought about the difference in this morning’s run. 

I am not sure I can explain in any way that does it justice. I know this though. I spend every hour of every day trying to achieve, to be better, to do well, to be a good person, to help others.  I spend the hours of my life asking questions, of myself, my life, my faith, my past, my future and  of others.  I live in a state of relentless drive, to propel myself forward in a universe filled with the pull of gravity.  I am never far from the street kid, homeless half my life and living on my own at fifteen, proving to the world that she would not allow her past to be her future. 

In the woods, with Ellie none of those things matter and I am the closest I can be to letting go. It doesn’t matter who I was then, and the fear  goes away.  Ellie, who was so badly beaten she was blinded, trap marks around her backside and so scared of strangers she pees herself, lives in the moment.  In her presence, she gives me a beautiful gift, because I am able to do the same.  I find peace in the moments, silence in my questions and a wisdom that is more intuitive than intellectual.  This amazing four legged girl, so badly treated by others, can love the moment, living in just the smells, the trails, the run. With her along side me, I am at least content knowing my futile attempts at controlling my world can rest for a moment. A fairly popular sticker reads “Who Rescued Who” and there is no doubt in my mind she rescues me, moment by moment, day by day. Defined by too many roles, tugged at by too many people and fighting with too many demons, I lose sight of the battles on our runs. She turns and looks up at me with her blind eye squinting against the rain and her tongue hanging out, and she is a reminder of the love and loyalty in my life and that I get to do this.  For the moment I find peace and the moment gets me through another day.

My Buddies