My morning runs are pure gold; the music in my ears, the sound of my shoes hitting pavement, the beauty of a day not yet begun, quiet thought and the chance to enjoy just me. These runs, depending on the day, are friend, confidant, consoler, companion, lover, healer, counselor and so much more. Some days my mind wanders, flowing in and out of different thoughts and other days the thoughts jackhammer in a staccato rhythm, bam, bam, bam, one thought to the next. There are runs where I unravel problems and some runs that I just am. This morning was another beautiful union and as I ate up miles I appreciated the fall crispness. After a couple of days off, I relished the solitude and was thankful for my many blessings starting with, the single blessing of that moment.
Today, my thoughts seemed to be behaving and had chosen a single purpose to delve into while I ran; creating a life with the choices we are given. Every person has a different experience, a different tune to march to and a different ending to the story they choose to write. As I run, I think of how our boys have been raised in an environment where boundaries do not exist to what can be achieved. If they believe and are willing to work they can create what they want. We all can. Unfortunately, many people exist in life without ever really having lived. Along the way they forget how to dream, the blinders come out and the hamster wheel seduced them. Everyday becomes nearly identical to the next; get up, go to work, come home, pay bills and do it all again. Different life events will be sprinkled in, but the bulk of it remains the same until they retire. For some, retirement becomes the waiting room for dying. Time is spent wondering "what if" or lamenting some wrong or another.
The lure and "safety" of the hamster wheel can draw us away from creating and experiencing life to the fullest. We have heard the sayings numerous times; eat dessert first, use the good china everyday, laugh, dance in the rain, don't wait, take a chance. What keeps us from jumping in and creating what we want, creating what we love? Many will answer money, upbringing, life situations, but I believe the single greatest factor that keeps us tied to simple existence is fear. Fear of failure can paralyze us. We would like to believe other people's thoughts, perceptions or comments don't matter, but on some level they can influence our path. We worry who sees when we fail once, twice or mutltiple times in pursuit of a goal. The comments and judgements will inevitably come from one or multiple people and those comments rub raw just like salt in a wound. These fears keep us from leaving the safe and mundane.
Just as potent as failure is fear of success. Success can break us out of the painfully comfortable life we are existing in. The rat race lulls us into complacency, hypnotizing us to forget our dreams and our goals. The quiet whirr of monotony whispering over and over, it is good enough, it is good enough. When the blasted wheel finally stops our sight and vision have vanished and all we can do is wait for the end. The few times we view success we may freeze. If we are successful once it means we would potentially have to be successful again. Expectations would change and our life would change. Change is terrifying! Even though the grind is slowly killing us it gives the illusion of safety and contentment.
We love to travel as a family! The memories we have created with each trip become fabulous stories and have stayed with our children long after thoughts of a toy or game. My children have experienced first hand that each new place has something different to offer, new food, new customs, new people. Fear could easily have robbed this treasure from our family! I was terrified to start traveling! I am a homebody, an introvert and large groups of people send my heart racing and I can end up in panic mode. Added to that is the well-known, "what if game". What if the plane crashes, what if you get mugged, what if, what if, what if. Interestingly enough, the largest group of supporters of the what if game are those who are so entrenched on the hamster wheel they haven't yet ventured out. I made the choice to face my fear. It was empowering to deal with it, to curb the terror and really enjoy amazing experiences! I have eaten at crazy, fun restaurants, had conversations with people who didn't understand english, waded in the Black Sea and hiked the hills in Kyoto. My kiddos are amassing similar memories.
When we face fear and move beyond what other people may or may not say, think or feel about us, we take the first step toward owning and creating our life. Each morning we have a choice to work toward what we want. It won't happen overnight. It is a long and sometimes treacherous journey, but we have to bravely take the first step. When we really want something we can make it happen. Unfortunately it means facing fear and taking responsibility for what we choose to do and not do. It means choosing not to be a victim and sometimes going the extra mile when we don't feel like it. It means breaking from status quo and soaring like an eagle even when it is uncomfortable. When the decision is made and the first steps are taken, life begins to change. We realize there is great goodness in the world, despite what we see and hear in the media. Opportunities that were hidden become available and the path toward the life we want becomes clear as glass.
As always, though, there is a price for creating what we want. When we choose to step out, it sends a wave through the people around us. Some may not understand but will try to be supportive and others will panic. Those who panic are locked into the grind or don't want to take responsibility to change their lives. Their reaction is to attack us and how we are changing ours. They will gladly share 1001 reasons why we won't achieve what we want. They will try to steal our dream because they are too afraid to pursue their own! We have to have enough strength, desire and belief to step away from those people. Don't let their small minded thinking impact our grand plans. As we move forward we have to choose the people that fill our space. Are they people who will encourage and give energy or at the very least not steal energy? We have all been surrounded by those who's lives are constant drama; who exist to share one problem after another; who tend to be frustrated with first one group and then another for many perceived injustices. These are the people who can rob us of the energy needed to continue the journey. As we all know misery loves company and to create what we want, we have to limit time with these people.
As we pursue our vision sometimes we have to have faith and leap when we don't see the safety net. We must trust that our heart is being tugged in a specific direction for a purpose. When we don't trust or take a leap of faith we can spend a lifetime wondering what we missed. The only boundaries on the life we want are those we choose to put into place. Creating what we want is terrifying. The fear will push us into the role of victim, will spawn comparison, negativity and complacency. Fear has nothing to lose by tethering us to its side. We, on the other hand, have everything to lose when we are held captive by fear.
While creating my life I have learned many things; age is only a factor if we make it a factor; excuses are the devil's playground; if we never take a chance we will never experience true greatness; there will always be somebody better; there will always be somebody worse; we need courage to be true to ourselves; it is difficult to flock with the turkeys when we need to soar like eagles and we are never given another today.
As I finish my run, I smile and breathe in the beauty of the morning. Thousands of stars twinkle through the dark mantle of the sky. I am blessed and thankful for where my thoughts wandered this morning. Today is a gift that I will treasure. I will not be ruled by fear and will take the next steps necessary to create the life I want for my family.
Tuesday, October 11, 2016
Saturday, July 30, 2016
Destiny
Words tumble around in my brain and through my thoughts pleading to be released. Energy pours from my body as those words find their home; sometimes sliding right into place and other times impatiently hitting the page like gunfire, waiting to be moved, molded and formed into the perfect tale. The stories, too many to be imagined, long to be enjoyed, but fear keeps them inside. What if I share with the world and the world throws them back? Will my heart break? Will my soul bleed?
Doubt clouds my vision and I question if I am supposed to write beyond my own personal escape. Am I a storyteller and is this my gift? Are the words I savor meant to touch other lives? Stringing words together seems so elementary. We are taught from the beginning how to form sentences and how to link words. What makes the way I combine them different from anybody else? The uncertainty terrifies me, but my entire spirit sings and the world opens when I create. My words waltz and cha cha. They are seductive and create beyond a simple sentence. Deep in my bones I feel the difference, but the questions taunt me each time I grab my pen or turn on my keyboard. Is it fear of failure or success? Is there panic that such intimate parts of my soul could be scrutinized with anger, hate and dismissal? Why would my words draw others? Is it worth the struggle, pain and vulnerability? Do I believe enough to fail time and again? Perhaps my greatest fear is that writing is not my gift.
The path is unclear, but deep in my heart I feel the power. Words romance me as no lover ever could. They tempt and tease, urging me to draw people in, painting a different reality, even if for a few minutes. I long to spin an escape, projecting images in hearts and minds; creating characters that take them on an unimaginable journey; painting the innocence of a summer's day or the thrill of a Halloween night; rekindling the joy of experiencing the fantastic. I want my words to speak like a long lost lover, to caress hearts, draw tears and evoke laughter. The tales should be a springboard, teaching children how to dream and believe; coaxing them to find the world locked inside their imaginations rather than the world locked in an electronic box.
Everything I see and feel is in words and stories. A tree is not just a tree, it has a spirit and a story or poem that needs to be told. The words are full of depth and dimension, the story is thought provoking and beautiful. The poem flows with the life of an early spring creek. I yearn to bring that fullness back to a world focused on the surface, to elicite discovery and unearth images of dragons, heroes or forest glades, igniting individual vision and stoking the creative fire burning in every soul.
The words draw me back to my question; am I supposed to write for other people? I wish the path were clear and the answer was posted on a large billboard or written in stone. I wish I knew, without a doubt, that this is my journey and my calling. Unfortunately there is not a direct answer, no bolts of lightening or booming voices from above. The words beckon so I must decide. Logic says it is crazy to dream; better to place your odds on a sure thing; do not take chances; it is a hobby at best, but my heart sings a different truth. The shackles of an unimaginative world snap under the expansion of it breaking free; free from logic and status quo. My heart feels and sees knowledge and truth, but knows I need to take the leap without seeing what is underneath or on the other side. The words entice me to awaken their stories. Writing is pain, passing, life, death, fear, hope, belief, love and so much more. Writing is my path and my journey. The words are my destiny.
Doubt clouds my vision and I question if I am supposed to write beyond my own personal escape. Am I a storyteller and is this my gift? Are the words I savor meant to touch other lives? Stringing words together seems so elementary. We are taught from the beginning how to form sentences and how to link words. What makes the way I combine them different from anybody else? The uncertainty terrifies me, but my entire spirit sings and the world opens when I create. My words waltz and cha cha. They are seductive and create beyond a simple sentence. Deep in my bones I feel the difference, but the questions taunt me each time I grab my pen or turn on my keyboard. Is it fear of failure or success? Is there panic that such intimate parts of my soul could be scrutinized with anger, hate and dismissal? Why would my words draw others? Is it worth the struggle, pain and vulnerability? Do I believe enough to fail time and again? Perhaps my greatest fear is that writing is not my gift.
The path is unclear, but deep in my heart I feel the power. Words romance me as no lover ever could. They tempt and tease, urging me to draw people in, painting a different reality, even if for a few minutes. I long to spin an escape, projecting images in hearts and minds; creating characters that take them on an unimaginable journey; painting the innocence of a summer's day or the thrill of a Halloween night; rekindling the joy of experiencing the fantastic. I want my words to speak like a long lost lover, to caress hearts, draw tears and evoke laughter. The tales should be a springboard, teaching children how to dream and believe; coaxing them to find the world locked inside their imaginations rather than the world locked in an electronic box.
Everything I see and feel is in words and stories. A tree is not just a tree, it has a spirit and a story or poem that needs to be told. The words are full of depth and dimension, the story is thought provoking and beautiful. The poem flows with the life of an early spring creek. I yearn to bring that fullness back to a world focused on the surface, to elicite discovery and unearth images of dragons, heroes or forest glades, igniting individual vision and stoking the creative fire burning in every soul.
The words draw me back to my question; am I supposed to write for other people? I wish the path were clear and the answer was posted on a large billboard or written in stone. I wish I knew, without a doubt, that this is my journey and my calling. Unfortunately there is not a direct answer, no bolts of lightening or booming voices from above. The words beckon so I must decide. Logic says it is crazy to dream; better to place your odds on a sure thing; do not take chances; it is a hobby at best, but my heart sings a different truth. The shackles of an unimaginative world snap under the expansion of it breaking free; free from logic and status quo. My heart feels and sees knowledge and truth, but knows I need to take the leap without seeing what is underneath or on the other side. The words entice me to awaken their stories. Writing is pain, passing, life, death, fear, hope, belief, love and so much more. Writing is my path and my journey. The words are my destiny.
Sunday, July 24, 2016
Summer
Every season dresses the earth with unique beauty; the pungent spice of autumn, the crisp sparkle of winter, the earthy sensation of spring and the heady abundance of summer. Through each season, though, I am reminded of how the summer speaks in a love language that grips my soul and entices me beyond any other season. I am a summer girl.
Summer days begin with warmth and sated, heavy air. Pre-dawn lacks the coarseness of winter and bears a soft, fullness that encourages relaxation. The hiss of early morning sprinklers, the rat-tat of water tapping homes and sidewalks rides the heated blanket of air, sneaking a stacatto rhythm through open windows. Birds stretch their wings, chirping contentment and singing sweetness into the symphony of the day. The music of the morning mixes with the flavors and scents of waking up.
As the sun slides lazily over the mountains, painting a brilliant pink path across dark blue, it seeks to wake up sleepy flowers. Vibrant petals are tucked away at night ready to burst forth with the first morning kiss. The air is lazy and rolls to tickle and caress rather than sting and bite. Bunnys sprawled in the grass nibble quietly watching other animals either wake up or retreat for sleep. Movements are slow and unhurried.
The sun stretches fully over the top of the horizon and its rays are magnified by the deep green of manicured lawns and leafy trees. Colors become bright and saturated and the morning song bursts with a different, but wonderful beat; cars rumbling by on the way to work followed closely by childhood chatter and laughter. Bike tires kissing concrete are in tune with the high pitched buzz of mosquitoes, and the deep drone of bees flower hopping. The scream of a hawk adds a taste of percussion to the song and the constant prattle of crows blends with the chorus. Life is abundant and the joy is evident! Abundance brings a slower rhythm encouraging neighbors to smile and talk for a bit, not driven in by the shriek of old man winter. The day feels relaxed and languid even as the time-clock beckons.
The days are interrupted, on occassion, when the dark, banking clouds of a thunderstorm march through. The wind soldiers ahead shaking flowers and trees, yanking at ponytails and whipping through windows; strong but lacking the ferocity of a winter wind. Lightning cracks the sky, shooting the sizzle of electricty into the air. Thunder rolls with the cadence of a military band and the air sparks with the excitement of a summer storm. Raindrops jump from the clouds and begin their assault on the day; splashing on pavement, dousing flowers and trees and aiming for an unsuspecting eye or back of the neck. As with most summer storms it blazes through, soaking streets, sidewalks and lawns; chasing kids on bikes, walkers, runners, golfers and baseball players. Just as swiftly it rolls out, leaving behind cleaner, laden air, with a hint of ozone and electricity. Vegetation smiles and the edges of everything appear a little softer.
As the days end, evenings stretch out giving the illusion of more time! The sun stays longer, turning cheeks pink, limbs brown and hair lighter. The smell of dinner on the grill mixes with fresh mowed grass. Golf courses prosper, encouraging a round or two. Baseball complexes come alive with the sharp crack of a bat, cheers from spectators and players and the distinct spitting of sunflower seeds. Dust, sunscreen and bug spray tug at memories of bygone summers and towns grow as summer celebrations, parades and fairs beckon friends and family back to the heart. Parks are full of dogs playing fetch, frisbees, pick up games of basketball and the raucus sound of kids sliding down slides, playing catch and squeezing every ounce of sun out of the day. The sense of urgency has disappeared and everyone is content to savor every moment that the season brings!
When the sun finally pulls the last of its beauty behind the mountains, leaving a quiet trail of orange and red, the night quiets down. A stray laugh rolls on the air, a dog or two raises the twilight bark and a muted converstion carries from one window to another. The night stills and the day is complete. The fullness and abundance of a summer day closes its eyes leaving a trail of happiness, contentment and in my case speaking to my soul as no other season is able.
Summer days begin with warmth and sated, heavy air. Pre-dawn lacks the coarseness of winter and bears a soft, fullness that encourages relaxation. The hiss of early morning sprinklers, the rat-tat of water tapping homes and sidewalks rides the heated blanket of air, sneaking a stacatto rhythm through open windows. Birds stretch their wings, chirping contentment and singing sweetness into the symphony of the day. The music of the morning mixes with the flavors and scents of waking up.
As the sun slides lazily over the mountains, painting a brilliant pink path across dark blue, it seeks to wake up sleepy flowers. Vibrant petals are tucked away at night ready to burst forth with the first morning kiss. The air is lazy and rolls to tickle and caress rather than sting and bite. Bunnys sprawled in the grass nibble quietly watching other animals either wake up or retreat for sleep. Movements are slow and unhurried.
The sun stretches fully over the top of the horizon and its rays are magnified by the deep green of manicured lawns and leafy trees. Colors become bright and saturated and the morning song bursts with a different, but wonderful beat; cars rumbling by on the way to work followed closely by childhood chatter and laughter. Bike tires kissing concrete are in tune with the high pitched buzz of mosquitoes, and the deep drone of bees flower hopping. The scream of a hawk adds a taste of percussion to the song and the constant prattle of crows blends with the chorus. Life is abundant and the joy is evident! Abundance brings a slower rhythm encouraging neighbors to smile and talk for a bit, not driven in by the shriek of old man winter. The day feels relaxed and languid even as the time-clock beckons.
The days are interrupted, on occassion, when the dark, banking clouds of a thunderstorm march through. The wind soldiers ahead shaking flowers and trees, yanking at ponytails and whipping through windows; strong but lacking the ferocity of a winter wind. Lightning cracks the sky, shooting the sizzle of electricty into the air. Thunder rolls with the cadence of a military band and the air sparks with the excitement of a summer storm. Raindrops jump from the clouds and begin their assault on the day; splashing on pavement, dousing flowers and trees and aiming for an unsuspecting eye or back of the neck. As with most summer storms it blazes through, soaking streets, sidewalks and lawns; chasing kids on bikes, walkers, runners, golfers and baseball players. Just as swiftly it rolls out, leaving behind cleaner, laden air, with a hint of ozone and electricity. Vegetation smiles and the edges of everything appear a little softer.
As the days end, evenings stretch out giving the illusion of more time! The sun stays longer, turning cheeks pink, limbs brown and hair lighter. The smell of dinner on the grill mixes with fresh mowed grass. Golf courses prosper, encouraging a round or two. Baseball complexes come alive with the sharp crack of a bat, cheers from spectators and players and the distinct spitting of sunflower seeds. Dust, sunscreen and bug spray tug at memories of bygone summers and towns grow as summer celebrations, parades and fairs beckon friends and family back to the heart. Parks are full of dogs playing fetch, frisbees, pick up games of basketball and the raucus sound of kids sliding down slides, playing catch and squeezing every ounce of sun out of the day. The sense of urgency has disappeared and everyone is content to savor every moment that the season brings!
When the sun finally pulls the last of its beauty behind the mountains, leaving a quiet trail of orange and red, the night quiets down. A stray laugh rolls on the air, a dog or two raises the twilight bark and a muted converstion carries from one window to another. The night stills and the day is complete. The fullness and abundance of a summer day closes its eyes leaving a trail of happiness, contentment and in my case speaking to my soul as no other season is able.
Monday, July 4, 2016
Freedom!
The morning has a jumpstart on me as I get ready for my run. My body is tired, having slept very little last night and my equilibrium is off. I am moving slowly and much later than normal, but today of all days I need to run. Today is July 4th, Independence Day!
Getting ready I hear the birds singing and chirping. There is wind, but it is still a bright, sunny, beautiful day. The pre-run rituals center me and help me prepare; lacing up my running shoes, putting in the earbuds, turning on the run tracker and finally filling my body with music!! Immediately as I head up my first hill I realize this is going to be a difficult run. My body is heavy, my legs are like rusted iron, I am already parched and the desire to stop is so strong I can taste it. The battle begins of mind over matter!
Attacking the hill, though, I think about what today actually means. Today is a celebration of freedom or as our local event has been aptly named, Freedom has a Birthday! Pushing my body I realize how thankful I am that because of visionaries before me and men and women who have sworn to protect our freedoms I am blessed with the choice to run or not to run. I can dress for my run so that I am comfortable and not too hot. I can set out on my own and know I am safe. Even in the early morning hours when my shoes usually hit the asphalt I know I am safe.
I crest the top of the hill and truly look around. The sky is a brilliant blue with just hints of cotton candy clouds to break it up. The warm sunshine kisses my cheeks and the wind tugs not so gently on my ponytail. I know this neighborhood, as I know almost all of the other neighborhoods in our town. The homes sit side by side, decked out with flowers, trees, and the brilliance of green grass. I know these people, friends and aquaintances with whom we have created stories and memories. We have experienced trials, heartbreak, cried and laughed with each other. We have watched as our children have grown; some moving on, some on the cusp of an entirely new life and some just experiencing their first precious breaths. We have cheered at sporting events, clapped at awards ceremonies and watched as some have stumbled, fallen and then made the choice to get back up. Our children are blessed as they experience the freedom to grow up without limitations, knowing they can be or do anything they choose. Nobody else will decide their path and if they start down one direction and decide to change course, they can.
My body finds a rhythm and my shoes begin to dance with the asphalt. I tackle another hill and think of my famiy and friends who have made the decision to don a uniform and protect the freedom of our great country; my brother, cousins, nieces, grandfathers and friends. I am so thankful for their sacrifice, knowing they have tackled miles and miles of hills and endured experiences many of us can't even imagine. Some have made the ultimate sacrifice and some return with ghosts and shadows. Freedom is not free and I am thankful for the men and women who have chosen to pay that price for us.
Turning a corner the sun is now caressing my back. The wind pushes against me and my feet continue to eat up miles. My body still struggles, but it endures joyfully as I think about the day ahead! Later, we will head down to the park to mingle with friends and neighbors. Booths decked out in red, white and blue, will be set up all around the park promoting small businesses, charities, political parties, local youth groups and many other organizations. We will walk around, laugh with friends, eat funnel cakes and ice cream . We will grill hamburgers and share a meal with Grandparents and will be truly thankful that we have this opportunity.
I am acutely aware that many things in our country are not perfect. I know many issues need addressed and systems need changed. I worry about what our children will be facing when they are our age. But, I believe when you focus on negative you draw more negativity. I choose to focus on the positive and be thankful for what we have; look at things with an attitude of gratitude. Today I choose to focus on the wonderful things, starting with our freedom. We have freedom to live and work where we choose, the freedom to speak our opinion on political matters, shop where we want, raise our children (as many as we want) the way we want, run when and where we want and to be who we want.
As I struggle through the final mile I am thankful and blessed. I run for those who can't, for those who did before me and for those that will after me. I run for those who gave the ultimate sacrifice, allowing me to run without worry, and for those that continue to protect our freedom. I run for those who were lost too early and never experienced life, for those who lived long full lives and for everyone in between. I run for and with freedom!
Happy Independence Day!!
Getting ready I hear the birds singing and chirping. There is wind, but it is still a bright, sunny, beautiful day. The pre-run rituals center me and help me prepare; lacing up my running shoes, putting in the earbuds, turning on the run tracker and finally filling my body with music!! Immediately as I head up my first hill I realize this is going to be a difficult run. My body is heavy, my legs are like rusted iron, I am already parched and the desire to stop is so strong I can taste it. The battle begins of mind over matter!
Attacking the hill, though, I think about what today actually means. Today is a celebration of freedom or as our local event has been aptly named, Freedom has a Birthday! Pushing my body I realize how thankful I am that because of visionaries before me and men and women who have sworn to protect our freedoms I am blessed with the choice to run or not to run. I can dress for my run so that I am comfortable and not too hot. I can set out on my own and know I am safe. Even in the early morning hours when my shoes usually hit the asphalt I know I am safe.
I crest the top of the hill and truly look around. The sky is a brilliant blue with just hints of cotton candy clouds to break it up. The warm sunshine kisses my cheeks and the wind tugs not so gently on my ponytail. I know this neighborhood, as I know almost all of the other neighborhoods in our town. The homes sit side by side, decked out with flowers, trees, and the brilliance of green grass. I know these people, friends and aquaintances with whom we have created stories and memories. We have experienced trials, heartbreak, cried and laughed with each other. We have watched as our children have grown; some moving on, some on the cusp of an entirely new life and some just experiencing their first precious breaths. We have cheered at sporting events, clapped at awards ceremonies and watched as some have stumbled, fallen and then made the choice to get back up. Our children are blessed as they experience the freedom to grow up without limitations, knowing they can be or do anything they choose. Nobody else will decide their path and if they start down one direction and decide to change course, they can.
My body finds a rhythm and my shoes begin to dance with the asphalt. I tackle another hill and think of my famiy and friends who have made the decision to don a uniform and protect the freedom of our great country; my brother, cousins, nieces, grandfathers and friends. I am so thankful for their sacrifice, knowing they have tackled miles and miles of hills and endured experiences many of us can't even imagine. Some have made the ultimate sacrifice and some return with ghosts and shadows. Freedom is not free and I am thankful for the men and women who have chosen to pay that price for us.
Turning a corner the sun is now caressing my back. The wind pushes against me and my feet continue to eat up miles. My body still struggles, but it endures joyfully as I think about the day ahead! Later, we will head down to the park to mingle with friends and neighbors. Booths decked out in red, white and blue, will be set up all around the park promoting small businesses, charities, political parties, local youth groups and many other organizations. We will walk around, laugh with friends, eat funnel cakes and ice cream . We will grill hamburgers and share a meal with Grandparents and will be truly thankful that we have this opportunity.
I am acutely aware that many things in our country are not perfect. I know many issues need addressed and systems need changed. I worry about what our children will be facing when they are our age. But, I believe when you focus on negative you draw more negativity. I choose to focus on the positive and be thankful for what we have; look at things with an attitude of gratitude. Today I choose to focus on the wonderful things, starting with our freedom. We have freedom to live and work where we choose, the freedom to speak our opinion on political matters, shop where we want, raise our children (as many as we want) the way we want, run when and where we want and to be who we want.
As I struggle through the final mile I am thankful and blessed. I run for those who can't, for those who did before me and for those that will after me. I run for those who gave the ultimate sacrifice, allowing me to run without worry, and for those that continue to protect our freedom. I run for those who were lost too early and never experienced life, for those who lived long full lives and for everyone in between. I run for and with freedom!
Happy Independence Day!!
Monday, March 28, 2016
Therapy
The alarm cut through the early morning, surprising me. Most mornings I quietly snapped it off at least 30 minutes before, but today my body was heavy and my mind tangled and full. The quiet click silenced the beeping and my body rolled out of bed. If I let my mind think I would lose the battle and not get up. I didn't want to face the day, the knots ensnaring my brain and bogging down my thoughts had generously shared their tension with the rest of my body. Discipline had to kick in.
The routine of getting ready was helpful, but I still felt detached and heavy. My mind had become so snarled that stress kept racing through, tightening kinks and adding confusion. In this state I was vulnerable and felt it as I laced up my shoes. The cellar door was open and negative comments, that had been buried, wandered up adding fuel to the mess. The snarky comments about my running added pounds to what was already present; it ruins your knees, you have so much more time for something like that because your children are older, I wish I had the kind of time you must have to be able to run, why would you even want to do that. . . Feeling weak, those silly comments swirl around fighting my decision to be up. Discipline prods me forward.
With a quiet word to Jim, I throw on my hat and gloves and am out the door. It is a struggle from the beginning. My legs are lead, my heart is heavy and my mind is an endless mass of confusion. Within the first block the desire to stop is almost overpowering. Tears fight their way to the surface and sit poised on my lashes. I never cry and the depth of this emotion stuns me. My mind is exhausted and prompts internal discussions to turn back. Thankfully the intimacy of the dark gathers me. The solitude speaks quietly to the snarls and the stars wink their understanding. I need this morning's run as much as I need the air to breathe.
A song fills my ears and it seems the music has heard the needs of my heart. I listen and search for my rhythm. It is missing, but I press on, gauging my time by the number of songs that play. My pace seems slower, saddening my heart, but seeming to be consistent with the weight of my mind. I press on. Today my furry little friends seem to know that I need a solitary run and have stayed tucked into their burrows. Finally, the steady beat of my feet on the road begins to eat away at the sadness and worry in my soul. Fluidity graces my rhythm as the tangles and knots, taut with frustration, lack of understanding, pain and fear begin to move. The coils are tight and it is difficult, but I begin to process.
I begin the painstaking process of unraveling, trying to understand or at least accept enough to minimize raw emotion. The internal conversations ride my thoughts, sliding in and through, loosening snarls and untying knots. The weight begins to slide down through my shoulders, gravity pulling, leaving negative energy puddles with each footstrike on the ground. My open conversation continues mile after mile until the worst of the mess has been sorted through. My legs no longer feel encased in lead and my heart is lighter. The chatter has stopped.
Music surges and I move from just listening to the song, to feeling the music. Realizing how active my mind was for the first part of my run, allows me to appreciate the silence. I feel an openness to hear what I need to hear. My body feels better and is releasing the burden that smothered it at the beginning. As if re-awakening I look around, appreciating those as tied to routine as I am at such an early hour. Familiar cars drive by, the steady blink of the traffic lights keep time and each upheaval in the sidewalk reaches up as if grasping for a friend.
The run is helping and I feel lighter heading into the final mile of eight. My legs are stronger, my breathing is even and my emotions are under control. Although problems weren't resolved I am better equipped to manage each situation objectively. I push the final half mile, savoring the rhythm of my shoes on the road, the music dancing through my veins and the heat of my body contrasting the cold of the morning air. The final 400 meters, I dig in, my stride opens up and my arms pump. Any remaining weight falls off, crashing on the street like the boulders off a sheer cliff. I stride over the worry and pain, finishing under glow of the street light.
My breathing calms back to normal and I slowly walk into the house. Checking my stats, my pace was good, as are my mind and body. Nothing was solved, but the stress and worry was released. Today I will work through each problem or situation proactively. Decisions will be made that are not fraught with irrational thoughts and raw emotion.
I feel better. I am better. I am thankful for the quiet, the solitude and the therapy of my run!
The routine of getting ready was helpful, but I still felt detached and heavy. My mind had become so snarled that stress kept racing through, tightening kinks and adding confusion. In this state I was vulnerable and felt it as I laced up my shoes. The cellar door was open and negative comments, that had been buried, wandered up adding fuel to the mess. The snarky comments about my running added pounds to what was already present; it ruins your knees, you have so much more time for something like that because your children are older, I wish I had the kind of time you must have to be able to run, why would you even want to do that. . . Feeling weak, those silly comments swirl around fighting my decision to be up. Discipline prods me forward.
With a quiet word to Jim, I throw on my hat and gloves and am out the door. It is a struggle from the beginning. My legs are lead, my heart is heavy and my mind is an endless mass of confusion. Within the first block the desire to stop is almost overpowering. Tears fight their way to the surface and sit poised on my lashes. I never cry and the depth of this emotion stuns me. My mind is exhausted and prompts internal discussions to turn back. Thankfully the intimacy of the dark gathers me. The solitude speaks quietly to the snarls and the stars wink their understanding. I need this morning's run as much as I need the air to breathe.
A song fills my ears and it seems the music has heard the needs of my heart. I listen and search for my rhythm. It is missing, but I press on, gauging my time by the number of songs that play. My pace seems slower, saddening my heart, but seeming to be consistent with the weight of my mind. I press on. Today my furry little friends seem to know that I need a solitary run and have stayed tucked into their burrows. Finally, the steady beat of my feet on the road begins to eat away at the sadness and worry in my soul. Fluidity graces my rhythm as the tangles and knots, taut with frustration, lack of understanding, pain and fear begin to move. The coils are tight and it is difficult, but I begin to process.
I begin the painstaking process of unraveling, trying to understand or at least accept enough to minimize raw emotion. The internal conversations ride my thoughts, sliding in and through, loosening snarls and untying knots. The weight begins to slide down through my shoulders, gravity pulling, leaving negative energy puddles with each footstrike on the ground. My open conversation continues mile after mile until the worst of the mess has been sorted through. My legs no longer feel encased in lead and my heart is lighter. The chatter has stopped.
Music surges and I move from just listening to the song, to feeling the music. Realizing how active my mind was for the first part of my run, allows me to appreciate the silence. I feel an openness to hear what I need to hear. My body feels better and is releasing the burden that smothered it at the beginning. As if re-awakening I look around, appreciating those as tied to routine as I am at such an early hour. Familiar cars drive by, the steady blink of the traffic lights keep time and each upheaval in the sidewalk reaches up as if grasping for a friend.
The run is helping and I feel lighter heading into the final mile of eight. My legs are stronger, my breathing is even and my emotions are under control. Although problems weren't resolved I am better equipped to manage each situation objectively. I push the final half mile, savoring the rhythm of my shoes on the road, the music dancing through my veins and the heat of my body contrasting the cold of the morning air. The final 400 meters, I dig in, my stride opens up and my arms pump. Any remaining weight falls off, crashing on the street like the boulders off a sheer cliff. I stride over the worry and pain, finishing under glow of the street light.
My breathing calms back to normal and I slowly walk into the house. Checking my stats, my pace was good, as are my mind and body. Nothing was solved, but the stress and worry was released. Today I will work through each problem or situation proactively. Decisions will be made that are not fraught with irrational thoughts and raw emotion.
I feel better. I am better. I am thankful for the quiet, the solitude and the therapy of my run!
Sunday, March 20, 2016
Speed
The first taste came before I began kindergarten; it was a game on the streets in my old neighborhood. We were young and there were four of us; my best friend Kelly, Melanie, Michelle and myself. It began innocently enough, a little bit of taunting and then easily enough I was hooked. Freeze tag introduced me to my first taste of speed. Kelly, the lone boy in our group, would be "It". The streets rang with laughter, squeals and screams as Kelly took off after us, focused on picking us off one by one. I remember the summer heat, wild flowers from the field, the smell of fresh tar on the street, and my pig tails whipping around. Melanie and Michelle were frozen down the street and Kelly started toward me. My sandels slapped on the sidewalk and I could hear Kelly's sneakers coming up behind me. The moment his hand reached toward me, something inside me erupted. It was like a tiny flame had been doused with gasoline, it exploded. My feet flew, Kelly missed and his hand only caught air. I raced down the street, Melanie and Michelle cheering. I unfroze them and we were off again. From that point forward the allure of that feeling would beckon me. I was addicted.
Over the years the addiction of speed would taunt me. I tried to ignore the desire most of the time, but it still pulled at me. I was not considered to be someone with athletic ability. Usually I was the smallest in my class, the runt in my family, and the four-eyed, bookworm, geek devouring books like they were my only source of sustenance. All of that made it difficult to be seen or feel like someone that could run let alone be graced with speed. Regardless, that small flame stayed, ready to re-kindle at a moments notice.
My sophomore year in high school I gave into my addiction. The need for speed moved to the top of my list. At the end of a pre-season volleyball practice the coaches lined us up and pitted the sophomores against the JV and Varsity. Each class chose one person to represent them in a head to head competition of killers. The winner and their team would be finished with practice and running for that day. Suprisingly my team chose me. I lined up against a well-known senior. She was an unbelievable athlete; a volleyball player, basketball player and a star sprinter for the track team. I was nervous until the whistle blew. We took off. We were even for the first couple of lines and then I broke away. Line by line I lengthened my lead, the joy of speed spurring me on. I crossed the final line first, surprising my coaches, the senior and myself just a bit. It was an absolute rush!!
My true love affair with speed and sprints began during high school track. The pure unadulterated joy of muscles bunching, arms pumping, feet flying and breathing in perfect unison hooked me. It was so elemental and sexy. I loved the feel of my body pushing through the pain threshold. It was addicting and exhilirating!!! I pushed my body and loved the way it responded. On the track I loved running against other women and winning, but always stayed focused on being better than I was! Each practice I would push myself to the absolute limit, finishing first on every run. I loved the speed, but my form was a train wreck; elbows out, arms crossing my body, and my core in constant motion. Tirelessly, my coach worked with me giving me relay batons to teach me proper form, focusing on looking ahead, on my toes and finishing strong. As my form got better I got faster and the addiction grew!
Practice was great, but there was an incredible buzz during meets! Each of my races were unique, 100 meter, 200 meter, 400 meter, 4x100 meter relay and the 4x400 meter relay, and each fueled the desire for speed. The weather could be good or bad, it truly didn't matter. On the sunny days, the sun would tickle the back of my neck, fueling my body with Vitamin D. An incredible comradery was formed running against the same women in each meet. Prior to each race we would chat, catching up on life, but with each heat the chatting would get a little more quiet. When it was finally my turn at the line, all other sound and confusion completely disappeared. The only sound was my slight breathing and the starter. The desire and yearning for what happened next was shimmering, waiting for the hit in the next few seconds.
My eyes were trained on the starter waiting for those words, "Runners take your marks." My body was so tuned into this routine I didn't even need to think; the feel of my feet in the uber light spikes, two large frog jumps, shake the legs out, crouch down, left leg stretched back past the block and then settled in, right leg stretched back past the block and then settled in, spikes against the rubber foot plates, one knee up and one knee down, wipe hands on the side of my shorts and then placing my hands perfectly against the white of the starting line, simple joy in the pyramid they formed, head down and then utter silence. "Set." Adrenaline courses through my body the instant the gun goes off. Muscles bunch; shoulders, arms, back, quads, calves, hamstrings and then uncoil, the flame exploded me out of the blocks. Nothing mattered but pure speed, strength and power. Using every ounce of energy the body could provide it was me against me. The draw and passion of the run spurred me forward, teaching me to fly. I would win races or place most of the time, but it was more about the addiction to speed and adrenaline. The focus and feeling of being so powerful, muscles pushing their limits, blood flowing, lungs straining, all in unison for one end result. The finish line was close and one final lean to break the tape. The body goes from pure speed to rest in a split second, but the adenaline of the race and the run feeds the soul.
Now that I am older my addiction for speed has transitioned. The love of the run still courses through my soul, but now my runs are longer and more languid rather than fast and explosive. I never stopped running, but the character of the run has changed. Now I devour the miles, craving the quiet and solitude of solitary runs. Music courses through my veins as my mind adapts to the hours spent unspooling whatever tangles I encounter. I love being competative and constantly strive to improve each race and maybe grace the podium of age group, masters or even overall female winner. In the miles of running, and the days of strength training my body still craves speed.
On a beautiful February morning my need for speed was fed in tantalizing gulps. The 800 meters to the track unspooled my mind and prepared me for the sprints. My body was taut thinking about the joy of the track. Early morning sun kissed the bleachers and my heart surged at the eight perfect lanes in front of me. The air was crisp and the morning sounds filtered through the music in my ears. Pure desire filled my body as I stepped into lane 4, no starting blocks just simply my left toe to the line. The first 100 meters brings such happiness. The thrill of crossing the finish line feeds my soul, even with the only witnesses being a small bunny and a couple of pigeons. The walk back to the starting line calms my breathing while the blood zips through my veins. My muscles feel alive with speed and fluidity! It is like flying. The second 100 meters sees my form focused, elbows tight, core strong, arms moving, hamstrings and quads bunching and pushing. There are no limits, velocity and the finish line in sharp focus. Steps devouring the red track. Each walk back calms my breathing and allows me to appreciate the beauty of the early morning; the color of the sky and clouds skirting across the blue. Cars pass the track, out running early errands and another runner joins me. All of this contributes to the joy I am experiencing. The morning takes me through ladders, an 800 to the track, 3 - 100s, 3 - 200s, 2 - 400s, 2- 200s, 3 - 100s and another 800 home. The feeling of powering the curves, striding the backstretch, and pushing through the final 100 feeds my starving addiction. Power and passion are synonymous with speed.
I am not as fast as I used to be and my body may be more accustomed to miles, but the love affair with speed is always there. The passion to go fast and the personal power that comes from knowing my body remembers and will willingly course down the track in the pursuit of this addiction and the ability to fly.
Over the years the addiction of speed would taunt me. I tried to ignore the desire most of the time, but it still pulled at me. I was not considered to be someone with athletic ability. Usually I was the smallest in my class, the runt in my family, and the four-eyed, bookworm, geek devouring books like they were my only source of sustenance. All of that made it difficult to be seen or feel like someone that could run let alone be graced with speed. Regardless, that small flame stayed, ready to re-kindle at a moments notice.
My sophomore year in high school I gave into my addiction. The need for speed moved to the top of my list. At the end of a pre-season volleyball practice the coaches lined us up and pitted the sophomores against the JV and Varsity. Each class chose one person to represent them in a head to head competition of killers. The winner and their team would be finished with practice and running for that day. Suprisingly my team chose me. I lined up against a well-known senior. She was an unbelievable athlete; a volleyball player, basketball player and a star sprinter for the track team. I was nervous until the whistle blew. We took off. We were even for the first couple of lines and then I broke away. Line by line I lengthened my lead, the joy of speed spurring me on. I crossed the final line first, surprising my coaches, the senior and myself just a bit. It was an absolute rush!!
My true love affair with speed and sprints began during high school track. The pure unadulterated joy of muscles bunching, arms pumping, feet flying and breathing in perfect unison hooked me. It was so elemental and sexy. I loved the feel of my body pushing through the pain threshold. It was addicting and exhilirating!!! I pushed my body and loved the way it responded. On the track I loved running against other women and winning, but always stayed focused on being better than I was! Each practice I would push myself to the absolute limit, finishing first on every run. I loved the speed, but my form was a train wreck; elbows out, arms crossing my body, and my core in constant motion. Tirelessly, my coach worked with me giving me relay batons to teach me proper form, focusing on looking ahead, on my toes and finishing strong. As my form got better I got faster and the addiction grew!
Practice was great, but there was an incredible buzz during meets! Each of my races were unique, 100 meter, 200 meter, 400 meter, 4x100 meter relay and the 4x400 meter relay, and each fueled the desire for speed. The weather could be good or bad, it truly didn't matter. On the sunny days, the sun would tickle the back of my neck, fueling my body with Vitamin D. An incredible comradery was formed running against the same women in each meet. Prior to each race we would chat, catching up on life, but with each heat the chatting would get a little more quiet. When it was finally my turn at the line, all other sound and confusion completely disappeared. The only sound was my slight breathing and the starter. The desire and yearning for what happened next was shimmering, waiting for the hit in the next few seconds.
My eyes were trained on the starter waiting for those words, "Runners take your marks." My body was so tuned into this routine I didn't even need to think; the feel of my feet in the uber light spikes, two large frog jumps, shake the legs out, crouch down, left leg stretched back past the block and then settled in, right leg stretched back past the block and then settled in, spikes against the rubber foot plates, one knee up and one knee down, wipe hands on the side of my shorts and then placing my hands perfectly against the white of the starting line, simple joy in the pyramid they formed, head down and then utter silence. "Set." Adrenaline courses through my body the instant the gun goes off. Muscles bunch; shoulders, arms, back, quads, calves, hamstrings and then uncoil, the flame exploded me out of the blocks. Nothing mattered but pure speed, strength and power. Using every ounce of energy the body could provide it was me against me. The draw and passion of the run spurred me forward, teaching me to fly. I would win races or place most of the time, but it was more about the addiction to speed and adrenaline. The focus and feeling of being so powerful, muscles pushing their limits, blood flowing, lungs straining, all in unison for one end result. The finish line was close and one final lean to break the tape. The body goes from pure speed to rest in a split second, but the adenaline of the race and the run feeds the soul.
Now that I am older my addiction for speed has transitioned. The love of the run still courses through my soul, but now my runs are longer and more languid rather than fast and explosive. I never stopped running, but the character of the run has changed. Now I devour the miles, craving the quiet and solitude of solitary runs. Music courses through my veins as my mind adapts to the hours spent unspooling whatever tangles I encounter. I love being competative and constantly strive to improve each race and maybe grace the podium of age group, masters or even overall female winner. In the miles of running, and the days of strength training my body still craves speed.
On a beautiful February morning my need for speed was fed in tantalizing gulps. The 800 meters to the track unspooled my mind and prepared me for the sprints. My body was taut thinking about the joy of the track. Early morning sun kissed the bleachers and my heart surged at the eight perfect lanes in front of me. The air was crisp and the morning sounds filtered through the music in my ears. Pure desire filled my body as I stepped into lane 4, no starting blocks just simply my left toe to the line. The first 100 meters brings such happiness. The thrill of crossing the finish line feeds my soul, even with the only witnesses being a small bunny and a couple of pigeons. The walk back to the starting line calms my breathing while the blood zips through my veins. My muscles feel alive with speed and fluidity! It is like flying. The second 100 meters sees my form focused, elbows tight, core strong, arms moving, hamstrings and quads bunching and pushing. There are no limits, velocity and the finish line in sharp focus. Steps devouring the red track. Each walk back calms my breathing and allows me to appreciate the beauty of the early morning; the color of the sky and clouds skirting across the blue. Cars pass the track, out running early errands and another runner joins me. All of this contributes to the joy I am experiencing. The morning takes me through ladders, an 800 to the track, 3 - 100s, 3 - 200s, 2 - 400s, 2- 200s, 3 - 100s and another 800 home. The feeling of powering the curves, striding the backstretch, and pushing through the final 100 feeds my starving addiction. Power and passion are synonymous with speed.
I am not as fast as I used to be and my body may be more accustomed to miles, but the love affair with speed is always there. The passion to go fast and the personal power that comes from knowing my body remembers and will willingly course down the track in the pursuit of this addiction and the ability to fly.
Saturday, January 16, 2016
Peace
I pause to listen.
The air is bright, clear and beautiful, broken only by the slightest shadow of a bird in flight. The crispness is invigorating and the blue sky winks with the faintest hint of white, wispy clouds. The security of faith and joy surround me like impenetrable armor. With each deep breath oxygen enters and my blood flows strongly through my body. I am at peace. I am thankful. I am blessed. My body feels better than it has in years and my mind has shed the shackles! Freedom and hope race through me like happy toddlers. The vision portion of my brain, tired of being squashed behind fear and fatigue, has elbowed it's way to the front of my consciousness. It has thrown off the deep, dark void that engulfed it. The elixir of joy is my morning tea, filling my heart, feeding my soul and relaxing my mind. Embracing peace, life has once again become vibrant! The heavy cloak of monotony, mediocrity, and survival has been replaced with the lightest gossamer of trust, blessings, joy, happiness, abundance, belief and hope.
The renewal of faith over fear has thrown open the windows in my heart that were locked, dark and dusty. My mind swirls once again in technicolor; bold, beautiful yellows, vibrant greens, cerulean blues, pinks, reds and turquoise. The black and gray are necessary, but no longer play center stage, dousing the other colors. New vision fills my soul as if being projected on a drive-in movie screen, larger than life. Dreams erupt like fireworks and belief captures the brilliance.
The past few months have birthed transformation and multiplied faith. There will always be darkness and light, as one is impossible without the other, but now light abounds. I dance and my heart sings in the radiance. The darkness and fear, though present, no longer control. Burden, necessity, doubt and survival have resumed their proper places in the dictionary and no longer occupy space in my mind. Each morning begins, as it should, with joy and a beautiful red bow, ready to be unwrapped as the gift it is.
I pause to listen and am at peace.
The air is bright, clear and beautiful, broken only by the slightest shadow of a bird in flight. The crispness is invigorating and the blue sky winks with the faintest hint of white, wispy clouds. The security of faith and joy surround me like impenetrable armor. With each deep breath oxygen enters and my blood flows strongly through my body. I am at peace. I am thankful. I am blessed. My body feels better than it has in years and my mind has shed the shackles! Freedom and hope race through me like happy toddlers. The vision portion of my brain, tired of being squashed behind fear and fatigue, has elbowed it's way to the front of my consciousness. It has thrown off the deep, dark void that engulfed it. The elixir of joy is my morning tea, filling my heart, feeding my soul and relaxing my mind. Embracing peace, life has once again become vibrant! The heavy cloak of monotony, mediocrity, and survival has been replaced with the lightest gossamer of trust, blessings, joy, happiness, abundance, belief and hope.
The renewal of faith over fear has thrown open the windows in my heart that were locked, dark and dusty. My mind swirls once again in technicolor; bold, beautiful yellows, vibrant greens, cerulean blues, pinks, reds and turquoise. The black and gray are necessary, but no longer play center stage, dousing the other colors. New vision fills my soul as if being projected on a drive-in movie screen, larger than life. Dreams erupt like fireworks and belief captures the brilliance.
The past few months have birthed transformation and multiplied faith. There will always be darkness and light, as one is impossible without the other, but now light abounds. I dance and my heart sings in the radiance. The darkness and fear, though present, no longer control. Burden, necessity, doubt and survival have resumed their proper places in the dictionary and no longer occupy space in my mind. Each morning begins, as it should, with joy and a beautiful red bow, ready to be unwrapped as the gift it is.
I pause to listen and am at peace.
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