Unwritten

Grow Slow

2012-01-28T16:28:00.000-05:00

Training is in full swing for marathon number 2, and I feelgreat. Today I had 11 miles on theschedule that easily stretched into a beautiful 12, and boy, did I needthat. My brain just wouldn’t shut up forthe first 5 or so, but eventually I found the peace and quiet I longed for.

Blue Eyes once told me that, in letting go, one must releasethe good as well as the bad. I neverquite got that until today. My week wasfull of exciting things that set my head a whirl, and I found it impossible tocalm down until I let it go on this run. The adrenalin is over and done. I don’t live there anymore. Igathered it all up in a mental bubble and watched it float away in thecountryside. Today is a new day withinfinite possibilities for more good stuff; the 12-miler was a terrific start.

Focusing more on my pace this time around, it’s reallykilling me to keep the “slow” in “long, slow distance.” I run exactly the way I do life. I find a comfortable place and stay in it,regardless of the conditions around me or the benefits of moving out of mycomfort zone. I will risk injury inorder to keep doing it my way. It throwsme off balance to do it differently.

Battling my legs and energy level, but mostly my head, Imanaged to hold my pace down by about 60 seconds per mile for most of this run.

My first double-digit run was last March, and I remember howI felt in that last mile. My back hurt –my shoulders were drooping. I was indetermined survival mode. And I didit. And I went on to run longerdistances the same way. Today, monthslater, I finished faster (despite the conscientious slower pace) and fresher,and I was ready to do it again.

I’m always looking for immediate fixes andgratification, but certain things cannot be rushed. Some things - like goodcheese, amazing sex, divorce recovery, and becoming a long-distance runner -just take time. And oh, they’re all SOworth the wait.

I Fought the Good Fight

2011-12-31T23:40:00.002-05:00

Local Run, By the Dawn's Early Light

If I could describe for you the joy of long-distancerunning, I would do it. If I could tellyou the story of just one long, slow run so that you could feel it – not justhear it, but know it and experience it as I have done, I would write about eachof the 1,000 miles I ran in 2011 and bind them up in a beautiful book thatwould shake your world and shine such a joy and light into your soul that youwould immediately dash to the store for your first pair of running shoes.

I would love to tell this story, but I find it quiteimpossible, despite my best efforts.

Alan Sillitoe, in The Loneliness of the Long-DistanceRunner, writes about my beloved hobby:

And it’s daft to think deep, you know, because it gets younowhere, though deep is what I am when I’ve passed this half-way mark becausethe long-distance run of an early morning makes me think that every run likethis is a life – a little life, I know – but a life as full of misery andhappiness and things happening as you can ever get really around yourself...

A little life – yes. Each run is a little life. Unique, with a beginning and an end. And in the middle, there is breathing… and joy… and sometimes pain and disappointment…and… letting go. And there is love. Lots and lots of love.

“It’s the most wonderful minute because there’s not onethought or word or picture of anything in my head while I’m going down. I'm empty. As empty as I was before I was born...” writesSillitoe.

I am emptied out. Iam filled up.

It sounds a little crazy to run 1,000 miles. I don’t always want to jump out of bed and go,despite my love affair with it all. Sometimes I lie there and think of a million reasons why I shouldn’t getup and run – and some of them are excellent arguments. Sometimes “just do it” loses out to “nofreaking way am I getting out of this bed right now."

But I am willing to fight small battles with myself everyday in order to win the bigger war against insanity. My anger at Mr. N/A is melting. And the years of self-punishment and lowself-esteem are fading away in the light of Joy. I have already won.

I have finally found my peace. Thank you, Dear 2011. Sleep well.

After the battle and we're still around
Everything once up in the air has settled down
Sweep the ashes let the silence find us
A moment of peace is worth every war behind us.
~ Indigo Girls

Only the Lonely

2011-12-18T21:17:00.001-05:00

One of my favorite routes

This morning I headed out for a planned long, slow distancealong one of my very favorite local routes. With actual temps in the low 30’s and a “feels-like” temp in the twenties,it was a chilly one. But the sky was aflawless blue, and the sun shone brightly and did its best to warm things up.

I made my way out of the neighborhood and up the street throughthe first little town, steadily, like a roller-coaster making the slow climb tothe top of that first big hill. I knewthe thrill was coming; my insides were squirming and I couldn’t wait to get tothe good part.

The good part came, indeed. The spaces between the houses grew until eventually, I found myselfalone, in the middle of sleeping orchards, spent cornfields, and woods withoutleaves. I settled in for a groovy 13.75-mile ridethrough the quiet countryside.

And I thought about how much I love to be alone sometimes.

Winter dramatically changes the ambiance of thefarmlands. Desolation… barren land…seemingly forgotten fields... The brilliant colors of Fall have faded to dullbrowns, and the critters have found cozy places to hide until Spring. It feels different out there now. Sorta lonely.

And sometimes, I really, really like it.

Live Like We're Dying

2011-11-19T23:51:00.001-05:00

Do any human beings ever realize life while they liveit?—every, every minute?

~ ThorntonWilder

Tonight, for the first time, I watched the beautiful,artistic play, Our Town, by Thornton Wilder. I’m a new fan.

I was intrigued from the start – the stark stage – the directaddress to the audience – the raw naked truth about life and death in all itssimplicity. As the story unfolded, Ibecame more and more moved, until I was wiping my eyes and sniffing at theend. When the lights came up, my son wasalso fighting back his tears, and he said to me in a shaky voice, “That wasreally sad,” to which I responded, “Yes… I cried, too. That’s a sign of good art – when it makes youfeel your emotions.”

I loved that he “got it.” Meanwhile, my middle child looked bored and oblivious.

I’ve come to a lot of realizations during these 6 post-divorceyears. But probably the most importantone is how to connect with Life. I can’tsay I realize life every, every minute, but I think I’m pretty damn close whenI’m running, and sometimes, if I’m really lucky, that spills over into the restof my non-running life, too.

Today I ran 6 miles and felt the dissolving of time andspace as I traveled on foot the ground I had just covered in the car. Thecar trip seemed to take awhile; it actually seemed like nothing to run it. The same tractor sat at the side of the road –the same houses and trees and signs went by – but it’s so different to be init. My feet strike the earth and I’mconnected to it. Some unseen forceswallows me up into a beautiful bubble for an experience that cannot be hadfrom a window.

I’m filled up with gratitude tonight – it’s spilling out ofmy eyes and flooding my heart with warmth that’s radiating down to myfingertips and toenails.

Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you!
~ Emily, Our Town

Dying to Live

2011-11-12T15:31:00.003-05:00

I watched my ponytail swinging in the long shadow running in front of me like a playful little girl. It inspired me to pick up my feet, and my form looked pretty damn good, if I do say so myself.

I bundled up to brace against the wind, but the sunshine and my own body heat kept me nice and toasty warm. I had chocolate in my pocket, and sweet grape Gatorade in my hand. This is my new “kicking back” on a Saturday afternoon, sans the easy chair.

I settled in quickly to a comfortable pace, and my body found its happy place right away.

I realized, as I bounced along, that I’m no longer a marathoner in training. I am a Marathoner. It’s beginning to sink in now, finally, now that the hype is over and I’m back home in the countryside. I did it. I think I ran taller, better, more confidently, knowing this. And I felt like the cars that passed would know. There’s that Marathon Girl. The small hills were nothing to me today, and I sprung up and down them easily, with power and energy to spare.

Farm machines sat idly in the fields, resting, after beginning the arduous job of turning the soil over to signify the end of yet another life cycle. The nearly naked trees cast long, skinny shadows across the roads, making interesting patterns among the crisp fallen leaves. Aromatic pines mixed with burning fires and decomposing organic stuff, creating a heavy, sensual musky scent that is unmistakably Fall.

It’s all so connected – this running and these farms. Watching the ground spring to life and then go to sleep again is a miracle that is deeply connected to my soul and brings me into a beautiful, coveted state of being. I am returning to the earth – to my life. I am shedding old skin, old thoughts, old behavior with every mile; my sanity is being restored to me.

My Self is re-emerging after a very long, very difficult winter. She is strong. She is determined. She is beautiful. And I love her.

Running for My Life - My First Marathon

2011-11-04T20:13:00.000-04:00

Running is the greatest metaphor for life, because you get out of it what you put into it.

~ Oprah

I think Oprah should have stopped at thefirst part of this quote. Running is thegreatest metaphor for life. Period. Running shows me my life on a 360-degree, giganticrotating movie screen in full HD resolution with vibrant color. My training runs are old films. My races are unwritten stories.

When I am awake, I meet the Universe on thecourse – I breathe her in and my entire Self is flooded with some unseen electricenergy that undoubtedly comes from a power greater than myself. The smells, the colors, the fresh air… theyall rush through me together with every blissful breath. And I am changed. I am bettered. I am alive, and I know that I am.

I think I slept through most of the MarineCorps Marathon.

I dressed in the dark and rode the metro withthousands of others to Rosslyn to find Charity Village. It was very, very cold, and we were bundledup in disposable layers trying not to think about our frozen parts.

The pre-dawn air was still quiet as we allmentally prepared for the long morning ahead. As we shuffled our feet across an icy bridge, I saw the orange glow ofthe rising sun behind the DC monuments, turning them into magnificent, familiarblack shadows against the sky. I was oddlycomforted by that.

Charity Village was a muddy mess, and I feltmy prissy little girl protecting her new running shoes from the goo at allcosts. It was like finger-painting allover again – yuck. It was probablyduring this time that I began to enter Survival Mode. I found a port-a-pot and then we headed downtowards the starting line, which was facing us, so I had quite a walk before Ifinally located the corral for a 5-hour finish time. I squeezed in next to a young guy wearingVibrams and khaki shorts and a tiny Asian girl who looked like she was freezingto death. I sort of remember the gungoing off, but it was anti-climactic, since we still had a good 10-minute delayuntil we were able to cross the start line and start jogging. The tension was incredible.

I ran unconsciously. The sights and sounds of nature wereinterrupted with throngs of huffing runners and cheering spectators. Thousands of feet hit the pavement over andover and over again and drowned out birds and the blessed quiet. I was in a foreign land.

I was on pace to hit my time goal for thefirst 11 miles. The route was hilly (Ido remember that – and a lot of friends complained about it later), but I didnot feel impacted at all.

I scanned the crowds for some girlfriends atmile 2, but all I saw were unfamiliar faces. At mile 3, I heard someone screaming my name, and turned just in time tosee my best friend and another girl (also a marathoner) waving frantically tome from the street. I snapped out of mystupor and felt warm and happy and loved. “You got this,” I told myself. Iwaved back and trudged on, saving precious energy for the final four.

I had to go to the bathroom early on, but Iknow from my training runs that sometimes the urge can be suppressed with adistance run, so I just held it and hoped for the best. The port-a-pot lines were long, and I didn’twant to have to stop so soon. Ienviously watched men stop along the side of the road, do their business, andjump back into the crowd. It seemed likewe were on a wooded road forever, and I saw some women jumping off into thebushes. I decided I would be much happierif I could stop worrying about my bladder, and I joined them.

“Is this the girls’ section?” I asked.

They laughed and nodded, and we all squattedthere together in the trees, feeling no shame whatsoever about our animalbehavior. I pulled up my shorts andhauled ass back into the mass.

I vaguely remember coming to a small town andseeing familiar buildings. Eventually, Irecognized it as Georgetown and recalled various previous adventures to thisiconic place which all seemed like a lifetime ago.

The head fog returned for a few miles, andthen, without warning, both of my knees started hurting like hell. After my initial “oh shit” reaction, I had tofigure out how to manage the next 15.2 miles. Would I create a permanent injury by continuing? Would I be able to run at all? Then, more “oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…”

The miles began to get longer. I remember thousands of faces – coats, hats,scarves – signs and waving gloved hands… then they would all disappear and itwas just the sound of the feet again. Around the 13-mile mark, the runners started to thin out a bit, and lotsof people were stopped at the side of the road stretching. Was I supposed to do that? I didn’t know… Keep going…

“Whose idea was this? I’m never doing this again… There is no way Ican finish…”

I don’t remember when I saw him the firsttime, but the second time was at mile 18, he says. I stopped for a quick second and cried thatmy knees were broken. I was devastatedthat I wouldn’t make my goal time. Heasked me if I wanted to finish. I’mpretty sure I rolled my eyes at him and kept going. He caught me again at mile 19, and I wasrunning with a smile. I had a secondwind.

I have a vivid memory of wanting to flip offpeople who were screaming, “You’ve got this!” I wanted to scream back and say, “Fuck you. You don’t know shit. Stop standing around and give it a try.”

Eventually, my anger yielded to extremeappreciation, and I found myself whispering “thank you,” under my breath forevery smile, for every sign, and for every darling child with an outstretchedhand waiting excitedly for a touch.

I remember one brief moment when the Capitolloomed large and magnificent right in front of us – the rest, I couldn’t tellya. The only things I remember about theNational Mall were all the people and the rows of trees with gorgeous Fallcolor.

We hit Crystal City around mile 24, Ithink. It was one of the two timesduring the race that the course looped back on itself, and we could see therunners in front of us going in the opposite direction. I wanted to hop the line and join them. That’s when it seemed like it would never ever end. He says he saw me there – that he screamed myname - and I just kept running along in my own little world. Brightly colored flags lined the streets,along with cheering throngs, and I knew we were almost there. Keep going.

One more quiet section of road, and then Iheard the announcer. The finalhill. I mustered up everything inside ofme and took it without consequence – I only know it was a hill because I sawthe road incline, but I did not feel the challenge of it at all. Numb. Themusic volume grew. The announcer wasblabbering about the people in front of me, I think, who had raced onto thecourse to finish with their loved one. “Pleasedo not finish if you don’t have a bib. Please leave the course.” My eyessuddenly focused on the huge air-filled red arch across the road that signifiedthe finish line. I pushed forward,raised both hands in the air, and gave a loud, “woo hoo” as I crossed the mat.

I did it.

I thought I would cry. I didn’t.

We moved forward on auto-pilot and a Marinehanded me a mylar blanket. “Where’s mymedal?” I thought. Ahh… it wasnext.

The line shuffled through photo ops andsnacks. One Marine asked me, “How’re yadoin’? You okay?”

“Not really,” I whined.

He looked me straight in the eye, scanned myface and my body, and said, “Well, you look great – your makeup isn’t evensmudged. You look good!” God bless you, UnknownSoldier.

I made my way back to the mucky CharityVillage to meet my loved ones. They wereglowing and supportive and all of the things that we long to have around uswhen we feel vulnerable and tired. Ireceived a second medal from my hosting charity – the Organization for Autism Research, and then we drove to the Metro 29 Diner in Arlington for morepost-race chit-chat.

When I finally limped “home” that evening, Iemptied the water heater with a steaming hot shower, obediently took the fourAdvil given to me, and crawled into bed for eleven hours of blissful sleep. By the next morning, I had my legs backwithout a trace of marathon-running evidence.

But I have a medal… and a picture. I guess I did it.

Ausuivant!

Marine Corps Marathon 2011

2011-11-04T11:09:00.000-04:00

I did it!

Joy Unleashed

2011-10-28T05:28:00.003-04:00

I've been awake since 4 a.m. I am still lying in bed, overcome by emotions that I've never experienced before.

I've never worked so hard for anything. I've never pushed my body to such extreme limits. I've never kept going when everything was screaming at me to stop. I had no idea I was capable of anything so big.

I'm driving to DC later this morning. I have several social events to attend throughout the weekend, and Sunday morning I will be waiting at the starting line with 30,000 other human beings who are as excited and thrilled as I am to be there - all of whom have been on this long journey with me in different parts of the world - all of whom will be participating in the culmination of this adventure called marathon training.

I can't stop the tears; I'm not sure what this feeling is - relief? Gratefulness? Amazement? Joy? It's powerful. It's wonderful. It's divine.

It's the end, where I begin.

What a ride.

The Taper Caper

2011-10-23T13:04:00.000-04:00

I wish I could have kept up with my feelings here during my marathon training, but whatever it is that compels me to write seemed to be quiet for the past couple of months.

So here I am, in the final week of my pre-marathon taper, and I’m a bundle of energy and anxiety. I want to binge, but I’m not hungry. I want to shop, but there’s nothing I need. I want to have lots of sex, but… well… I don’t have a down side to that.

I feel like my insides are being twisted up like a wind-up toy. Dust is collecting in the corners, and I need to open a window and air out. Chemicals are dancing their way through my body in a too-crowded space, like sexy people in a popular night club with elbow-room only.

Physically, I’m happy to get a break from the high-mileage training program. I don’t particularly love running in the dark, and daylight is shrinking with every passing day. Emotionally, I am craving my favorite outlet like a junkie in rehab.

Just one more week of holding back. Seven days. Then I can unleash the beast within me with a 26.2-mile, limit-pushing challenge, the likes of which most of the population will never know.

Mind, get ready. Body, don’t fail me now.

Sweet Sixteen

2011-07-30T23:06:00.001-04:00

I’m not sure how long I was in the shower. My body felt cold to the core, which is strange, considering how overheated I was on the run. I let the hot water run over every inch of me until my bones warmed up and I felt normal again.

I’m still getting acquainted with the trail – different surface, special shoes, and much more social activity than my small-town farms (at least, after 9 a.m.) I don’t know why it seems more difficult to run than my local asphalt. Today, I had the additional challenge of carrying 66 ounces of fluids on my person while I began my 8-mile trek up the path. I finally stashed one 22-ounce container and gratefully retrieved it on the return 8.

I have trouble relaxing into the trail runs. My body still isn’t quite sure how to settle in. But somewhere along the 10^th mile, I felt like I could easily run until the sun set. Later, around the 13^th mile, I realized that was a delusional fantasy, at least for today.

My reward for completing the 16 was my newly acquired tradition of wading into the Delaware River and holding my balance against the cold current while my tired legs cooled off. A few fishermen were scattered along the shoreline, and they were my only company. All I really wanted to do after that was go home and crawl into bed – which I promptly did, after that shower.

Magic Shoes

2011-06-24T20:35:00.009-04:00

“That day, for no particular reason, I decided to go for a little run. I ran to the end of the road, and when I got there, I thought maybe I’d run to the end of town. And when I got there, I thought maybe I’d just run across Greenbow County. Now I figured since I’d run this far, maybe I’d just run across the great state of Alabama. And that’s what I did. I ran clear across Alabama. For no particular reason, I just kept on going. I ran clear to the ocean. And when I got there, I figured since I’d gone this far, I might as well turn around, just keep on going. And when I got to another ocean, I figured since I’d gone this far I might as well just turn back and keep right on going.”
~ Forrest Gump

It seems strange that only 4 short months ago, I hadn’t run more than 5 miles at a clip, and I really had no intention of ever doing so. Now, here I am, training for a 26.2 mile race with 29,999 other people in October to earn the title of Marathoner. It’s really kinda crazy. And, at the risk of admitting I have a (gasp!) goal, I have a secret dream of becoming an ultra-runner before I turn 50. Guess I should see how the marathon goes, first.

For almost 20 years, my Self was practically invisible – I gave up my life and focused on Mr. N/A. What did I do that made him upset? Why didn’t he come home? What was wrong with me that he’d prefer the couch and Johnny Walker Black to a warm bed with me? What could I do to make him happy? What if I changed my religion? Moved for his job? Went to therapy? My head was dizzy from years of trying to figure out what I did wrong and what I could do better.
Everything I did or thought was about him.

I didn’t understand.

Even after the divorce, I thought there was something I could do or say to make things more tolerable with him. There wasn’t. I was always a bad mother. I was always wrong. And after he finished beating me up, I usually did a pretty good number on myself.

I always wished I would one day become enlightened and have some answers I could assemble in a beautiful, perfectly written book that would save other women from the torture I endured. So far – I’m still in the dark.

But one day, for no particular reason, I decided to go for a little run. That decision changed my life forever. Since that day, I have run for 73.12 hours, my stats say. In all those hours of solitude, I have yet to experience any sort of “ah ha” moments that made any sense at all of my former marriage or my relationship with Mr. N/A. He remains predictably unpredictable.

Much like my body is teaching itself how to deal with the physical challenges of a long run, my spirit is evolving into a nurturing entity, not only protecting me, but moving me past my pain, resentment and discomfort.

I will probably never get the sincere apologies I feel I deserve from Mr. N/A. My gift is that I no longer feel like I need them.

Nothing is resolved; I have no answers.

But I am free, for no particular reason.

“Mama says they was magic shoes. They could take me anywhere.”
~ Forrest Gump

This is Your Today

2011-06-19T22:20:00.004-04:00

This is Your Today
by Benjamin Myers

This is your today, tomorrow stays the same
But in the distant future, hope is on display
Do you feel the shame, who else could you blame
The only thing that matters, is how you walk away

But the fog will clear as the sun appears
Believe me, my friend
Yes the fog will clear as the sun appears
Removing the pain of today

Feelings that betray, never feel the same
In all of this confusion, you will find a way
Breaking down the walls, aiming for the clouds
Reaching for tomorrow, embrace another day

But the fog will clear as the sun appears
Believe me, my friend
Yes the fog will clear as the sun appears
Removing the pain of today

Removing the pain of today
Removing the pain of today

This is your today

A Serendipitous Universe

2011-06-19T21:03:00.004-04:00

I can’t always tell when stars are lining up quietly around me to present me with a gift – a lesson, a bit of happiness, or exhilarating joy. But this time it’s simply unmistakable.

Shortly after my half marathon in May, I was browsing in a bookstore, waiting on my children, and my eyes focused on a book called Running on Empty, by Marshall Ulrich, an ultra-runner and adventure athlete who ran across America in 52 days at the age of 57.

It called to me.

After a mental debate about whether to buy the paper version or the less expensive electronic download, I decided on the latter and left the store empty-handed.

The next morning, I sat in my chair, opened the book from my virtual bookshelf, and lost myself in a most extraordinary story.

I read every word – right up to the end, and then I cried.

I felt sad. I felt the author’s loneliness and what seemed to be self-punishment as he pushed his injured body through the 3063 miles. While friends and supporters joined him now and then, he covered most of the miles alone, averaging two full marathons and a 10k daily. He surrendered unseen demons in the arms of his loving and supportive wife each night and he entrusted his body and its care to his support team while he was helpless to do anything other than run. I could feel the torture of his healing process.

What made the story even more dramatic was that he knew early on that he would not reach his goal of setting a new overall record for his effort, though he did set new records for his age group.

A good friend quietly suggested that perhaps the painful transcontinental run was symbolic of my former marriage. Determined to make it work, I pressed on, despite my injuries, but fell short of my goal of a lifetime love affair with Mr. N/A. The challenging journey made me stronger and brought me unexpected gifts, as only the masterful Universe can.

Yes. That’s it. I cried some more.

When I learned a couple of weeks later that this amazing man was going to be signing books locally, I jumped on the opportunity to meet him in person. Not only did I meet him, talk with him, and get a hardback copy of the book personalized for me, but I had the incredible, life-changing experience of running 3.4 miles with him in a small group run.

Lucky me with Marshall Ulrich

I am forever changed.

Oorah!

2011-06-07T20:34:00.001-04:00

Before I decided to do the Marine Corps Historic Half last month, I had already registered for the Marine Corps Marathon this upcoming October. The half was just a practice run to get acquainted with the whole distance-racing process and ambience.

I’ve never done anything quite like this before in my life.

The running statistic is that only .1 to 2% of the world’s population has run a marathon.

During my 13+ years of recovery, I’ve learned that I am a compilation of opposites. My self-esteem, which at times is frail and barely existent, can turn very suddenly into a brazen confidence that convinces me that certainly I can run 26.2 miles. Of course I can.

Can’t I?

Twenty-six point freaking two is pretty daunting. It puts a whole new twist on that “one step at a time” concept.

I’ve got a lot of distance to cover (literally and otherwise) before October. I’m both thrilled and terrified.

Some training days I feel philosophical, and I compose lengthy narratives in my mind comparing running to life with not-so-original metaphors. Some days are grueling, and I think of nothing but finishing the run. But the majority of the days are just plain great, and I feel happy everywhere that I can feel.

The “runner’s high” that I previously had experienced only as a brief electric adrenaline shock has evolved into a sustainable blissful state that lasts long after I take off my shoes. I really do believe more therapists should prescribe running instead of Prozac. And I also believe that more unhappy husbands should take up running instead of a mistress (or two). What a wonderful world it would be… shiny, happy people…

Today I am most grateful for my health – for my legs and for my feet - for my strength and, mostly, for my heart.

Ode to the Eighth Mile

2011-06-04T21:17:00.001-04:00

The Universe created the weather today with runners in mind. It was ideal, with overcast skies, a coolish breeze and “just right” temperatures.

I had 10 on my schedule, so I tweaked a 5-miler by adding a new loop and set off, armed with diluted Gatorade and organic energy chews. I got so lost in the run, I hardly noticed the extra baggage.

The first 3, which are usually tough on me, flew by without much to-do. My body seemed to settle in quickly to a comfortable pace and just stayed there. Miles 4 and 5 took me through new territory, so that distracted me for awhile. Tiny white butterflies at the edge of the field played tag with each other alongside me, teasing and encouraging. I smiled a big smile to myself that came up from my feet.

I had company for mile 6 – a shirtless blonde who seemed to know what he was doing and gave me shit for my bright neon pink shirt. “You need a brighter shirt!” he shouted as he passed (with a smile). I chased him as the distance between us grew for about a mile – up two hills – and finally lost him as he turned off in the opposite direction at the top.

I happily set off towards home, feeling energized and confident in the final stretch.

And then…

The ecstasy of mile 8.

I’m in love with the eighth mile. If I could just spend my whole life there, I would surely live happily ever after. The kinks have been worked out, the stresses have melted away, and my body stops working hard and just glides forward and does what it needs to do. My legs are sturdy and strong and ache-free. The eighth mile is to my run what the 40’s are to my Self. I’m more present. I’m focused. I’m done hurting myself. I know I can do it, and I feel GOOD!

I know the short runs serve their purpose, but oh god, the long runs are where my love lies. Especially that mile 8. It charms me every time.

The Essence of Training

2011-05-26T12:24:00.001-04:00

Sometimes it seems like my whole life is about running, but I believe running is about my whole life.

I have discovered, along with millions of others, the amazing benefits of exercise and pushing my own body’s limits. It’s not about the race – not about winning or achieving a personal best. It’s about the process of getting there. The training and preparation routine affords countless opportunities to reveal and respond to stresses that keep me from living my best life.

Stored-up hurts become undeniable as the layers of junk that have hidden them for years begin to melt away – it’s like sunshine streaming into a dark, forgotten room and lighting up everything in a warm glow. The unseen monsters that lived in the blackness come into focus slowly, until I’m standing there, surrounded by familiar clutter.

While I’m running, I begin to sort through the mess on auto-pilot.

Sometimes I cry for no apparent reason on the road, and sometimes I feel a wave of exhilaration; I suspect I’m letting go of a few things, making peace with others, and tucking the rest away safely for another day. The past is packed up with today’s emotion.

More and more of my Self is being revealed. My body physically clears the clutter and keeps what it needs for the journey, while my spirit does the same for my soul. Every mile takes me closer to Truth. My mind is still somewhat untamed, but the rhythmic lull of the run soothes and rocks it to sleep for awhile so my energy can remain focused on recovery.

Break it down and build it up – stronger, leaner, better. The essence of training.

Unexpected Results

2011-05-16T16:09:00.006-04:00

2011 Marine Corps Historic Half official finish time: 2:12:50.

I discovered that running in an official race is very different from running through the farmlands of New Jersey, and not just because of the hills.

The dawn air was electric. Grey clouds hovered over the course, but the rain held off, thank goodness. As I approached the starting area, 100's of port-o-pots lined the street. "Ridiculous," I thought. "Go before you come to the race." I quickly found out why port-o-pots are a critical part of a half-marathon experience.

My nerves tickled me and my stomach turned upside down. I felt excited and scared to death all at once. What if it wasn't going to be a good running day for me? How could I commit to something if I wasn't sure how I would feel? What if Hospital Hill kicked my ass and I had to walk? Worse yet - what if I got hurt and couldn't even finish? These, plus a thousand other thoughts spun crazily in my mind as I took my place at the 2:00 - 2:30 expected finish-time mark.

The invocation... the National Anthem... Drew Carey's brief opening words... and then the shot.

The crowd began to move slowly towards the starting line, breaking into a slow stride just as we crossed onto the course. I coached myself, "This is my race. Run my own race." The familiar tunes in my ears reminded my feet to slow down and not worry about the dozens of runners who were passing me like I was standing still.

The zen of solitary running became a distant memory as I struggled to absorb what was happening around me. The worry of being in someone’s way soon became less important than figuring out how to move beyond a crowd in front of me. Silent breaks between music tracks were filled with the rhythmic sound of 100’s of shoes landing on pavement and the kicking and crunching of paper water cups underfoot.

We had driven the course the night before, but short of a couple of prominent landmarks, I had no idea where I was most of the time. I just followed the pack. And those hills that didn’t look too intimidating in the car nearly did me in.

I felt a zap in my energy during mile 8 just before a woman appeared out of thin air and kept a beautiful pace right beside me. She begged off at the beginning of mile 10 for water and wished me a nice race. My angel.

The worst climb, affectionately known as Hospital Hill, kicked my ass hard and almost convinced me to walk. But the humiliation of admitting I had to walk part of my run was too much, so I slugged out the mile-long son-of-a-bitch and declared victory in the end. My relief at the top was short-lived, as another incline immediately followed, leading to a grueling uphill finish.

But finish I did, and I am very pleased with my pace for this challenging premier run.

And if lowering my head for a female Marine to place that beautiful medal around my neck wasn’t reward enough, the greetings I received from my loved ones afterward was simply overwhelming. Twenty-five-year-old friendships warmed my heart with smiles and hugs, and Facebook posts and texted congrats filled me up with gratitude for being blessed with such wonderful people in my life.

I’ve never felt quite so loved and supported.

Old Movies

2011-04-27T14:32:00.002-04:00

My daughter has a fascination with old family videos; she’ll pile up a stack of tapes at my mother’s and hole up in the back room for hours.

While I love to watch clips of my children when they were babies, I get a sick feeling in my stomach as I recall the surrounding events and the pain I carried around inside. I don’t know how I functioned.

Mr. N/A hid behind a video camera at the Indiana open-house for our first baby in 1993. As family and friends made their way in and out of the house to offer congratulations, I wore pearls and a calm smile while I made friendly small-talk and gratefully acknowledged the gifts. I don’t think anyone would have ever guessed that Mr. N/A was fucking another woman and sending her love poems, much less that I knew about it.

How did I do that?

Sigh…

It’s both interesting and informative to look back at old movies. Every viewing simply reminds me of how far I’ve come and the strength I surely had to endure those awful days.

Some people ask me why I stayed so long. My answer is always this: I loved him.

But eventually, enough was enough, and I simply could not find the peace and happiness I sought while living with Mr. N/A. Since he would not agree to a separation and treatment, I had no choice but to file for divorce.

The old movies remind me that there were moments. But mostly what I see is a stressed mother, a zombie father, and lost children, sinking deeper and deeper into the alcoholic family dysfunction.

I am grateful every day that I have finally found my peace, and that my children have found the support and love they deserve.

My life has moved from fuzzy black and white to full HD color. And I love the view.

Leaps and Boundaries

2011-04-18T12:38:00.000-04:00

Inspired by the very helpful staff at Princeton Running Company and my cushy new running shoes, I managed to put in 15.13 miles last Saturday morning before the clouds began to wring themselves out.

Self-imposed limits and old ideas are melting away as my legs carry me easily through the New Jersey countryside. If anyone had forewarned me 10 years ago that I would be running further than I was willing to drive for groceries… well… I wouldn’t have believed them. Especially not if they told me I’d be doing it in Central New Jersey – and loving it.

This is crazy shit.

I’m being propelled, literally and figuratively, through my anger and discomfort into a brand new life.

As I leave my past behind me, I climb over the worn-out walls I spent years building around myself. Freedom is mine at last.

Waking Up

2011-04-13T14:49:00.001-04:00

(I admit I find it flattering, entertaining, and slightly amusing that Mr. N/A and Sleepover Girl have continued to visit my blog regularly for at least a year now. Certainly my life isn’t that exciting, although it is much, much happier.)

This past weekend, I set out to run a 7-mile route through the countryside in an attempt to curtail my mileage a little before I start my official race-training schedule (per advice from more experienced runners). I missed a turn and did 10. Oops. What a blessed mistake. I love the way it feels to run that far.

For someone who never liked to be outside unless the weather was perfect and I had a very good reason to be, I certainly am spending an awful lot of time outdoors lately. I even rode my bike the other evening as a cross-training exercise - almost hit a squirrel.

And this morning, I did 5 miles with the local earthworms in a cold, gentle mist – and felt great about it.

One thing I know is that people can change. I can’t always count on others to change, but I know I have the capacity for it myself. It’s possible. If I can, well… anyone can.

It takes courage to change. Stepping into the unfamiliar is frightening and shakes you down. You discover muscles you didn’t know you had. Sometimes you wish you could just drop out of the race, but if you hang on, unimaginable gifts are sure to come your way. You find yourself waking up, and you didn’t even realize you had been asleep.

We're waking up
We're waking up
And right on time
And right on time

~ OneRepublic, “Waking Up”

Let Me Go

2011-04-05T20:46:00.002-04:00

Saturday afternoon I hit the pavement for another leisurely weekend run. I debated with myself about whether to run 8 miles or 10. I finally knew I would go for more in the end, so I set my Nike+ gear for 10 miles and set off, armed with a great playlist full of my favorite running tunes and a happy spirit.

Daffodils and forsythia popped the landscape with a burst of bright yellow color, and I felt like I was floating down the middle of the empty country roads in a Spring dream.

As I neared the 10-mile mark, I knew I wouldn’t be able to go home yet. A little voice said, “Eleven miles completed.” Then twelve. At 12.5, I knew there was no way in hell I was going to stop there, so I completed 13.3 miles – my first ½ marathon.

Nothing ever felt so good.

My runs are teaching me that letting go doesn’t mean I have to figure it all out first. I don’t need answers and explanations. It’s really as simple as breathing. We don’t think about breathing. We just do it. Letting go is like releasing my thumb and forefinger from the string of a balloon and letting it float away. Sometimes the most complicated things are effortless, after all.

The sense of relief and joy I am feeling is unlike anything I’ve ever known.

And more will be revealed…

Thanks for Making Me a Fighter

2011-03-27T20:23:00.004-04:00

"Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.”
(Christopher Robin to Pooh)
- A.A. Milne

Spring is still teasing us around here. Bright sunny days beckon us to play outdoors, but the brisk temperature demands a warm coat – not very Spring-like.

Saturday I decided to do a long run, despite the “feels like” temperature of 28. I mapped a new route of 8 miles on unfamiliar local country roads, and I wasn’t disappointed with the scenery. I breezed through two small towns and 118 acres of preserved farmlands. Traffic was minimal. As I rounded the corner for home, and the little voice on my Nike+ workout app congratulated me on my 8 miles, I decided I had some energy left to try for 10. So I passed my house and headed through the neighborhood for a short 2-mile route I know very well. My feet knew the way without much input from my brain.

Elated, I finished up with 10.5 miles – my first ever double-digit run. Wow.

This new girl is one tough cookie.

Run Away

2011-03-26T11:39:00.001-04:00

I’ve crossed a line with my running routine. I’ve discovered exciting, scary new territory with my distance, endurance, and state of mind. And it’s exhilarating.

I never dreamed I could run 8.25 miles on a Thursday afternoon in the cold and not be dead shortly after.

Not only was I still breathing – I felt absolutely incredible. My body seemed grateful, not resentful. My feet easily moved from running shoes to stilettos without screaming at me. My appetite did not spiral out of control in a crazy attempt to make up for all the lost calories. My mind was quiet and clear.

And now I want to do it again.

For the cost of a good pair of running shoes, I’m getting one of the world’s most effective therapies. I apologize to all the runners I deemed mentally unstable for running in all sorts of insane conditions – I totally get it now. Or else I’m crazy, too.

I’ve outgrown my neighborhood; there aren’t enough miles in it to satisfy me anymore. My new trips include traversing the surrounding farmlands and country roads, breathing in the spring scents of manure and fresh mulch as the farmers prepare to sow this year’s seeds and encourage a new year’s growth from their perennials.

I’m not exactly sure what I’m running toward, but I have a pretty good idea about what I’m running from. Every mile leaves a cloud of negative ideas and self-deprecating talk behind me. I’m running away from anger, fear, and self-doubt. I’m running away from the chains that bound me up in a very small little world. I’m running away from my dysfunctional upbringing – from my dysfunctional marriage – from my dysfunctional Self.

I am getting strong. I am building muscles for a new, sleek, more dynamic Self. I am beginning to see traces of her in the mirror. I feel her inside of me, stretching and growing and longing to push out all the yuck so she can have room to move and play and take me to places I’ve not yet been.

And I love her.

Time Takes Time

2011-03-26T11:01:00.000-04:00

They told me it takes time to heal from a divorce and an abusive relationship; they told me it may take years.

Five and a half years have passed since I sat before a judge who ruled on the dissolution of my marriage after an eloquent speech about the gravity of it all.

My divorce brought enormous amounts of pain, anger, and sadness. It affected not only me, but certainly my children and anyone else who has had to endure my frustrations at learning how to be divorced from a long-term marriage.

The marriage ended, but the abuse worsened. Fortunately, I no longer have to live with it under my roof, although co-parenting necessitates much more communication than I care to have with my former husband.

He is rude. He is condescending. He is controlling and demanding. He isn’t nice, except when the world is watching.

And I was angry at him for a very long time.

Healing doesn’t happen overnight. I didn’t get to test out of parts of the process because I’m smart. I couldn’t rush it along with sheer will and determination.

Healing takes time, and time… takes time.

Fear Less

2011-03-10T20:33:00.001-05:00

Maybe Forrest Gump’s decision to put his past behind him by running coast to coast until he was done was brilliant, after all.

I have a goal to run 500 miles in 2011. (That doesn’t count any walking. I’m only counting running miles.) I’m pretty far behind schedule between my health and the weather.

Today I did my longest run ever – 7.1 miles. I have no idea what prompted that, as I began with the intention of running 3 miles, and I was merely hoping to survive that. My body entered some floating, zen-like state, while my mind remained crisp and clear and in the present moment, acutely aware of the black pavement passing beneath every stride. My breath was consistent and easy; it felt so good to be able to breathe deeply after my long winter battle.

It feels good to breathe after my 5-year divorce battle.

I had no idea where I was going on today’s jaunt – I just kept running. I had my gadgets to track my distance and time, and I just ran here and there and everywhere until I thought I needed to stop to get some work done. I hardly broke a sweat. I was not exhausted or short of breath. I am not sore. In fact, I feel pretty damn terrific.

Sometimes I surprise myself by doing things I never ever thought I could do. Fear has held me captive with negative messages and old ideas based on untruths I’ve been told. Fear told me I would get hurt or “it’s not okay.” Fear told me to avoid risks and play it safe. Fear said I had to be in an elite group to do some of the things I always wanted to do.

I didn’t know my path after the divorce, either. I just kept going. Got the kids. Rented a house. Got a job. Bought a house. Dug a flower bed. Put out the trash. Shoveled my driveway. One foot in front of the other. And here I am, doing things I never thought I could do, having things I never thought I could have, and experiencing things that previously existed only in my fantasies.

And life is good. Really good.

I think I’m finally – finally – leaving the past behind me, enjoying the run, and headed no place in particular.

Up in Smoke

2011-03-03T20:16:00.005-05:00

Anger is good. Anger is like fire – it’s cleansing.
~ Tyler Perry

Tyler Perry was on Oprah today, discussing his abusive childhood. He moves me. His movies stir me. His soul is connected with Love and Truth.

This afternoon, he said something like this:

The strength you have when you take [the abuse], is the same strength you need to let it go.

That packed a big punch.

When I think of some of the things I endured in my marriage, I can hardly believe I survived it: discovering his affairs during my pregnancies, birthing babies with the humiliation of knowing he was leaving the hospital to go see her, being abandoned with a new baby – 3 times, lies, lies, and more lies. How did I even get out of bed, much less take care of our children?

And it’s no damn wonder I got mad.

My anger ripped through me like a raging inferno and burned for a long, long time. I think the worst is over, and the smoldering remains are much easier to contain now that the biggest blazes have died down.

Surveying the damage, I’m salvaging the parts of my Self that are still intact and examining the parts that may need to be rebuilt. What is left?

Hope did not die in the fire, nor did my belief in a power greater than myself that can restore me.

I am Surviving.

Self-Love rises up where Self-Loathing melts away.

I am the Mother of 3 exquisite people.

I am willing to Change.

I didn’t Cause it, I can’t Control it, and I can’t Cure it.

Love endures.

Letting it go requires grit and fortitude. I think I can do it. I guess my Optimism survived the fire, too.

Fly-By Saturday

2011-02-26T18:02:00.001-05:00

My productivity is soaring today, despite the mystery disease that is clinging to me like lint on a black wool suit.

As thick, nasty goop drains down the back of my throat, my mind is clearing up. It’s like some unseen cleansing ritual has possessed my sinuses and decided it’s time for a purge. After a month of it, I decided to back off the assorted pharmaceuticals and let my own body do the healing. So far, I feel better, not worse. I should have known better – I’m not a pill-pusher.

My body has been screaming at me about something. My immune system is weak and all kinds of little medical curiosities have arisen in the past couple of months. It’s interesting, even if I have absolutely no insight about it. Nothing serious has come of any of it, thank goodness, but I consider it all a big wake-up call. I need to take better care of myself.

This winter was cold and hard; I am ready for green grass, tulips, and longer days. I’m not looking forward to the rainstorms that accompany Spring, but I can already feel the difference in the air and I can smell the morning after and its promise of gorgeous days ahead in my mind. Blooming life all around – it’s intoxicating.

I’m anxious to write a fresh new chapter – excited to see what 2011 holds.

This day flew by with a blink. Why do Saturdays come and go so quickly?

[We] Became Willing...

2011-02-25T22:35:00.001-05:00

I am willing.

I’m not sure what that means, exactly, but those are the words that are coming to me right now.

I am willing to write. I am willing to share my story to the best of my ability with a hope that someone, somewhere, won’t feel quite so all alone with such great big feelings.

I am willing to feel my anger. And I am willing to let go of it.

I am willing to love and be loved in return.

I am willing to try something new.

I am willing to fear less.

I am willing to trust those who are trustworthy.

I am willing to get comfortable with Joy.