A Marathon Wake Up Call

Up. Down. High. Low. Jazzed. Blase.  Some days, I make myself dizzy by how wishy-washy I can be. 

I want to be fit. I want to be healthy. I want to recapture those days not-so-long ago when I could fly around the track...or around the hilly neighborhoods of my little town...or down Peachtree Street during the Bucket List race I'd been training so hard for.

I want to run again.

I always seem to be on the verge of getting started again.  Always at the start of another foray into the lifestyle that will get me there.  Never halfway through.  And certainly never close to the Finish Line of this race I have set for myself.

The Finish Line.  That hallowed ground that all people, whether runners or not, aspire to.  We all want to get there....we all want that feeling of accomplishment that comes with a job completed. It is the Mecca of all journeyers....whether they are runners, or not.

But to a runner....it is so, so much more.  The Finish Line is sacred.  It is Holy Ground.  It is not merely symbolic; it is a tangible, visible goal that we shed literal blood, sweat and tears for months and in some cases (certainly in Boston's) years to reach.  And no Finish Line is more holy, more symbolic, than the one in Boston.  The Boston Marathon is not simply entered.  It is earned.

Yesterday, that sacred symbol was tarnished.  Bloodied is probably a more apt adjective, considering the loss of life and limb, the wounding of so many on a physical level....and so many more on an emotional one.  Whether Bostonian or not...whether a runner or not....we grieve the loss of innocence that came with the detonations yesterday at that holy Mecca.  No longer will eager, cheering throngs easily gather at any sporting event, anywhere, to celebrate the triumph of the human spirit without the spectre of death and destruction looming over them. Aside from the loss of life, that may be the the greatest tragedy of all. 

And yet, that human spirit will triumph.  The looming spectre of possible disaster will not keep us at bay, it will not prevent us from striving to attain that goal, any more than it will keep those who cheer us on from turning out en masse to do so in the future, in person, at that very same Finish Line where yesterday's tragedy unfolded.  If anything, it will cause us to become even more determined; more dedicated to our sport, and ourselves;  more driven to prove to ourselves, and to the world that we will not be moved... not by the cowardice of terrorism.  Even so, we will never cease to move toward that Finish.

My prayers are for all of those in Boston; the families who lost loved ones, or are even now holding bedside vigils with the wounded, or helping them to recouperate.  For all those around the country and the world who were affected in any way by this stupid, senseless tragedy.  For all the runners who pound the pavement day in and day out with dreams of their own personal Mecca dancing in their heads...that they will never give up reaching for that Finish Line.  And for me....that this will serve as a desperately needed wake-up call. 

It is not too late. There is still time to feel the wind in my hair again and the pavement ticking away under my feet, and the song in my heart that lets me know that my own human spirit is still triumphant.

Getting back on the horse. Again.

I think my life is a series of 'back in the saddle' moments.  I guess it always will be, but the important thing, I'm finding, is that I am, indeed, ready, willing and able to do just that, regardless of how many times it becomes necessary.  What in the world has sidelined me THIS time, you might ask, as well you should.  Well...

     1. A monster virus that laid me out for two days...literally.  Didn't get out of bed, except to run to the bathroom.  It wasn't pretty. At. All.

     2. One day later...a monster cold that I'm still coughing and sneezing from, three weeks later.

     3. The months of March and April are the two busiest months of the year for me at work....BTTW busy.

     4. My youngest daughter moving back home from Missouri with two little ones in tow, who are all now firmly ensconsed in our camper, because...

     5. Even though it is still Renovation Central, we FINALLY moved into our new house!

We're not totally settled in yet, but at least, the power tools are up and out of the way, and we have some furniture now.  This alone is enough to make me do the Snoopy Dance.  But I think it's obvious why my stress level has been through the roof the past three weeks or so. 

The thing is this....

     1. I may have been sidelined for two days with a nasty virus, but it's gone, now.  Been gone, in fact.  I got this.

     2. I may have caught the Cold from Hell....but I'm pretty much over that, too.  And as long as I've got a kleenex in my pocket, it's all good.  I got this, too.

     3. I may still be busy at work, but the worst by far is over...so, I got this.

    4.  The kids are moved in, and a routine has been established.  This, I got.

     5.  In fact, my daughter is helping me tremendously with getting my house in order, and I couldn't ask for more on that count....so I got this, more than any other.

Which means I have effectively run out of excuses why I can't get myself in gear right now.

*sigh*  It's hell starting over, but I only have myself to blame.  Not my friends, family, work, lifestyle, wild nightlife, or the mating habits of indiginous fauna in the tropical rainforests of Ecuador. 

Only myself. 

Well, that, and my penchant for scarfing down every available edible thing in sight, if I give myself the slightest excuse to do so.  I dread getting on the scale on Saturday, but if I start tomorrow morning, it will give me three whole days' head start on what I'm sure will be a significant blow to the beautiful number at the top of this page.  Still....all forward motion counts, right? 

So here I go, yet again.  Don't wish me luck, though.  Wisdom is what is needed here.....that, and a whole lot of common sense.