I am not myself these days. I’ve gone into survival mode: the stress of packing up my apartment, staying on top my work during an intense time of year in the office, and transitioning through one chapter of my life to another means the subtler pleasures and energy-demanding activities have to wait until I can resume some semblance of a routine again (January 24th will be a wonderful day). What I’m saying is that I’ve been too overwhelmed to blog, and too exhausted to run. I miss my symbiotic friends; they are my primary tools for mens sana in corpore sano.
Living amongst boxes, dust and ad hoc furniture arrangements (I am sleeping on an aero-mattress and my bureau is luggage beneath my kitchen table) is very stressful for me. But with every item that I pluck out of its cabinet or off its shelf to wrap up and tuck away for the next few months, I anticipate the day when I will unpack it in my new, shiny apartment. I imagine not only the dimensions of that domestic space, but the dimensions of the life that I am already beginning to build for myself.
I ran with MP on Tuesday morning. A little over 6.5 wind-nipped miles along the West Side Highway, like always. I love running with her because her company always pops my bubble of anxiety, frustration or sadness. Running next to MP means that sometimes we bitch, sometimes we confide, sometimes we talk about girly stuff like spa days and shopping–but we always laugh about it. Every Tuesday morning I count on her evenness–in pace, and temperament. It’s not therapy, it’s just unvarnished fun.
On Sunday I ran 2 easy miles around my neighborhood in the morning. My mom was coming over later to help me pack, and I wanted to kick the day off with some full-body motion. In times of duress, my emotional setting defaults to “Angry.” I didn’t want the anticipation of packing up a kitchen ruin the pleasure of having my mom all to myself. The 2 miles took me about 20 minutes, and that was just enough time to wake me up and let the sun do its good work on my mood.
Honestly though, I’m running two days a week only because I ran in the snow for about a mile on January 1, and that triggered Betty. Now whenever I run (and even sometimes when I don’t) she reminds me that I disrespected her boundaries by getting all burny and sore. I should have more compassion for my little right adductor brevis, but every time she burns at me it takes me right back to the Winter of 2009, which was a pretty crappy time for me. I think she knows something I don’t. Maybe this muscle senses when the rest of my life becomes too much to handle and throbs accordingly, the way some old folks have joints that tell them when bad weather is on the way.
Oh the New Years’ run. Let me tell you about that. I was in Lafayette, Colorado for the turn of the year. This was 99% a brilliant thing. I tucked away with my brother, sister-in-law, niece and nephew for five days in suburban bliss. (Just about the only way I can handle suburbia is when it involves these four amazing people. God I love them so much.) I was able to connect with some friends (thought I missed Matt because of effing snow. I hate snow, it’s official.) and really shift into a lower gear. I painted my niece’s nails. read my nephew books, and had some great heart-to-hearts with my brother and sister-in-law. The 1% that wasn’t brilliant? The two extra hours of 2010 I inflicted upon myself by celebrating the New Year in a later time zone. At 10 PM all of my East Coast friends were tweeting and texting up a storm, “Happy New Year blah blah effing blah.” With a bitter laugh, I proclaimed, I have had just about enough of this fucking year, and went to bed soon after. But back to the New Years’ run. I headed out with my friend AC, who I lived with in Sacramento CA and have always admired as an extraordinary athlete and a centered woman. We met in Boulder for our run, and it was it was 10°F. On certain stretches of the trail the wind blew with an evil intent. I had dressed as if I was an expensive cut of meat and needed to protect myself from freezer burn. At one point in the run, AC gave me her mittens because I was convinced I didn’t have fingers that extended past the first knuckle. I simply could not feel them. Apart from the moments in the frigid breeze and the mile through unstable snow, the 6 miles I ran with AC were the best thing I could have done for myself on 1/1/11. It set the perfect tone, the best precedent–running with a trusted friend, persisting in the face of adverse conditions.
No doubt, I’ll carry that through all the way to 12/31/11. Because even when I’m running alone (readers, get ready to either gag or be inspired), I am running with a trusted friend. Adversity sucks, but it won’t make the rules or determine the result.
Pigtails Flying 