Enough

Many times my writing is prompted by thoughts or feelings as I run. Today was different, I was overcome with such a strong conviction in the middle of the day to close my eyes and write. I have learned to follow those feelings. As I wrote, tears streamed down my face and my soul ached. This story is not about me, but believe we have all been in similar dark places. The desperation that comes with depression and suicide is painful and as a warning this story is raw. I'm not sure why I needed to write this, but maybe the words will speak to someone. YOU are enough.


ENOUGH
Walking up the well worn dirt trail the wind whipped around, tugging and pulling at her hair. The bite of autumn seeped into her body. Carefully watching her step through the rugged ruts she focused on reaching the top of the hill, her thoughts distant and full of discontent. The day itself echoed her feelings. It was late afternoon, with very few people on the trails. The chill having chased them all inside. Her shoulders slumped and hot tears clung to her eyelashes. She was lost. Her soul ached for some type of confirmation. Breaching the top, the wind began a new onslaught whipping her curls across her face, stinging her cheeks. Still in shorts and her favorite sweathshirt she shivered. Searching for solace she tried to take a deep breath and it caught. She couldn't seem to fill her lungs.

Sitting down she carefully set her rifle next to her. Despite the bleakness enveloping the town it still held an untainted beauty. Looking below, houses were clustered in quiet neighborhoods with streets connecting succinctly, in mostly straight lines, to the north, south, east and west. It was all very neat and tidy. Looking west the clouds were low, angry and grey, chasing across the sky engulfing other clouds in front of it. Snow was expected in the high country, which didn't come as a surprise. It was September and fair game, but she wasn't ready for it. Did it really matter, though? Next to her, the deep wood and black barrel of her rifle was a sharp contrast to the silty white dirt and faded rocks. She sighed and a tear escaped her lashes trailing down her cheek to fall onto her exposed legs. She was lost. Her heart ached.

Helplessly she wrestled with the thoughts racing through her mind, hoping for the cool salvation of logic. Trees swayed in the wind, rustling their leaves, lawns, still a vibrant shade of summer green surrounded homes and bright flowers tumbled from flowerbeds and flower pots. It all seemed a different lifetime, so far from where she sat with muted colors and an unfamiliar detachment. In this moment, her thoughts were bleak, racing on the wind; sadness, anger, darkness, worthlessness, hopelessness. These feelings were no stranger, fighting against her with each situation. Each time she wrestled the thoughts, pushing them down to the pit of her stomach and trying to move forward. Every happy thought or memory, though, was shadowed with unhappiness. She was a failure. She knew it and could feel it. More and more she struggled to get out of bed, struggled to face the day. The joy and happiness that was once an integral part of her soul escaped on the back of the wind.

Her brain fought for logic, replaying what everyone usually says when there is internal pain; you have so much to be thankful for, a roof over your head, food on your table, you have a family that loves you, even if you don't think so, tomorrow is another day, there are so many people who have it much worse. Unfortunately logic wasn't taking her past the deep seated darkness. Logical arguments didn't make sense and made her feel worse, more of a failure, as every moment of thankfulness could be blotted out. The pain and sorrow was illogical. She thought of all the conversations in situations like this, what everyone immediately said; how could that person do that? What a selfish decision. They were married and had children, how could they not think of their family?

Honestly how could she continue? The pain was so intense. Getting up was more and more difficult as her continuous failures played day after day through her mind. Her heart looked at situation after situation, moment after moment. Where did she bring worth? People she loved and invested in needed her simply to need her, not because she brought value to their lives. Her family cared, but that seemed tied more to the tasks she did than the person she was. Many times the burden of keeping up with everything drained her, especially when it seemed she couldn't do anything right. She was drained. She didn't have the strength anymore. The mask she wore hid the daily struggle, hid the circling thoughts and the constant beckoning of the darkness.

Her breathing hitched again. Absently she caressed her rifle looking around. Clouds hid the sun as they banked and tumbled over each other in every direction. The town was subdued, reflecting the weather and the rumble of traffic was lost on the wind, making cars seem like silent ghosts. Birds were hiding in trees, huddled up, not ready to feel the bite of winter or cold. Glancing up, hoping for something, she saw a lone hawk riding the wind. Wings fully spread gliding on buffeting air currents. She wondered if she would miss moments of beauty like that. In truth, it didn't matter. She brought pain to people. She was reminded often of her flaws. She knew perfection was unachievable but wished she could find some value for her life. She was always at fault, hearing her flaws recited by others; controlling, unforgiving, selfish. She could hear the quiet conversations, how each situation would have been better had SHE not been there. Those around her seemed so unhappy and just maybe they could find happiness once again. She had never been any good. What friends would miss her? She didn't really have any.

Her head ached as the darkness licked at the side of her vision and whispered quietly in her ears. The pain would be over. Escape the darkness. Be free from your failings. You don't matter anyway. Do you think they will miss you? The truth is their lives will finally begin when you are gone. You brought no legacy, no brightness to this world. You didn't touch people or make things positive. You were the problem in all of those situations. The thoughts beat at her. She fought against the pain, each time it crept closer, but she was losing. She was a failure. She had no worth. She brought nothing valuable to the world and people around her.

Tears streamed down her face without her realizing. The wind called seductively with the darkness. She tried hopelessly to draw on her faith, calling out quietly for guidance, for hope, for something to erase the darkness, help her see worth. She knew she was lacking, though. Voices, reciting all the different rules necessary to be saved, drove through her mind; regular church goer, tither, must attend this church or that church, reconciliation, baptism, must receive communion regularly, must fast, must pray, must, must, must. In darkness she didn't meet those rules, and based on those thoughts was unworthy of his love, his acceptance and his guidance. The world outlined conditions to be children of God and she didn't meet those. Scripture said the least of these and she was not the least.

People didn't understand. The void yanked happiness away. There was no light, her presence brought nothing but pain and sorrow. She sobbed. The words circled like the hawk above her, worthless, never good enough, amount to nothing, hopeless, stupid, the world will be better without you. It is your fault. Your fault. Your fault. My fault for all of it. The wretched darkness would disappear and the sun would shine brighter for everyone who knew me. I am poison. My thoughts draw out the worst and not the best. Their lives will be better and happier without me in them.

Reaching to her left she grabbed her gun. The barrel was cool, black steel to match the blackness of the day and the blackness of her heart. Life will be happier without me. Propping the gun between her knees, butt balanced in the silty dirt, she caressed the end of the barrel. Tears streaming down her face she opened her mouth. Running her hand softly down the barrel she closed her eyes and found the safety, quietly clicking it off. There was no more joy. She couldn't talk about it, she couldn't burden others, she couldn't fight the pain and sadness anymore. A cloud of darkness surrounded her waiting patiently. Awkwardly stretching her hand she reached the trigger. Wind roared in her ears, but the town below her continued. In a few seconds it would be better for them all. The clouds would leave and the sun would reappear. They would find the happiness she couldn't find. Pushing on the trigger she closed her eyes. Enough. Mouth wrapped tightly around the barrel, she felt the click and in an instant a flash ripped through her brain. Her body relaxed and the darkness lifted.  

Looking over she saw herself, or what was left. It was then she felt him. He was sitting next to her, quietly watching her. Tears were still flowing down her face. Was that possible? Her heart didn't feel the escape she hoped for. Reaching over he pulled her to him, cradling her head on his shoulder. She sobbed uncontrollably. Years of sadness and pain, years of feeling unworthy, of not meeting expectactions, years of failures and years disappointing others ran as salty rivers down her cheeks and into his robes. She cried for her decision, not knowing how she could have changed it. She cried for the burden she had left and the way her family would see her. She felt it would be one more testament to her weakness, to her unworthiness, to her flaws and imperfection.

He held her closely as she continued to cry. His heart ached when his children were lost. In moments like these, though, he could feel the anger well up as intensely as the sadness. Anger that only a parent can understand. Anger fueled by the pain and anguish of one of his children. He held her, stroking her hair, quieting the wind and willing the clicks of time to stop. He held her tightly as her body continued to be wracked with sobs. In her years he had never seen her cry so much. He knew her heart and mind, but sometimes such deep pain was hidden even from him. Sensing the end of her tears and feeling her body begin to grow heavy, he gently he pushed her up so she could see him. She kept her eyes cast down, not wanting to see the condemnation or the validation she was a failure. She felt, even in the eyes of the Lord she was worthless. How could she be anything less with the damaged shell sprawled out on the ground next to her.

His heart ached as he felt her thoughts. Tucking her hair behind her ears he looked deeply at her. You are light and your light is needed. Darkness fights against you, against all. Don't bear the burden of perfection. It is unachievable. Focus on me, focus on my gifts. You have my strength and are stronger than the weakness of humanity. ALL of my children are blesssed with my strength. It doesn't come from human based buildings, or rules and regulations, but directly from me. When the darkness whispers, look up, search for me with your heart. I am always near. There is more to your story sweet one."

The wind whistled around her and she felt the cold steel tap her teeth. Her finger was poised and pushing slowly. Moving her finger she pulled away. New tears poured from her eyes as she gingerly moved her rifle. Tapping the safety she set it back down next to her.  

Through the wind she heard the cry of the hawk, drawing her gaze up. He rode the air circling just above her, The smallest opening appeared in the clouds and the warmth of the sun kissed her upturned cheeks. She felt his hand on her shoulder and heard his voice in her heart. I love you child. You will always be enough. 

Change

The alarm tapped into my mind like the incessant buzzing of a mosquito. Quickly snapping it off, I lay with my eyes closed for a couple of seconds. I didn't want to run. My eyes remained closed as my brain warred with the pros and cons of running. Eight miles seemed infintely longer at 3:00 in the morning than it had a mere 4 hours earlier when I closed my eyes to sleep. The dark room lit up momentarily as I glanced at my phone for the temperature. 55 degrees was perfect running weather. Change was coming and runs at that temperature would be fewer and further between. Rolling out, I gathered my watch, phone and earbuds, vowing to get it finished.

Stepping onto the front porch I breathed deeply, stretching my arms above my head. The moon lounged plump and bright in the western sky. It's light bathing the ground and mixing with pre-dawn blackness to paint the sky deep charcoal and blue. Only the brightest stars defied the moon's beams, peeking out at irregular intervals. Giving myself an internal pep talk, I set my Garmin and took off. The focus would be to finish without thinking about mile splits.

Striding the first stretch, my muscles warmed up quickly, allowing me to enjoy the morning. Getting into a rhythm I savored the surrounding beauty and the silence of my sleepy town, thankful I chose to get out of bed. My thoughts, for the most part, were quiet, which is unusual considering my mind is typically on maximum overdrive. The internal quiet allowed me to reflect on the past week and weeks to come. Change. Today would be the first full week of school for my youngest. Summer is officially over. My heart ached thinking about it. I was now hugging a junior in high school each morning.

Summer flew by and I thought of the little moments over the past few months that meant the most to me; the few sleepy mornings Rockstar wasn't up for weights at 6:00 or 7:00, when he would search me out for a morning hug, the hugs and smiles as he headed out the door before the sun was up. The rustling of T as he was up for weights and then work, the hugs, prayers before breakfast and then watching them both drive off to meet their day. Each morning as they left I stood at the door or on the porch and waved. They always drive slowly and wave back. It seemed a simple thing to wave the first time T drove off in his truck at 16, but now I treasure those quick moments. The ability to watch them grow up in a single snapshot taken over and over again.

My oldest has been slowly moving into his new apartment and yesterday was his final day at home. I cried and I'm not a crier. I have savored every moment with him this summer, hugs, laughs, memories, meals and even laundry. We have been prepping and planning since before the 15th, his official move-in day. He's excited, as are we, but I believe we were all dreading the change. He might have even delayed making the final jump to help his parents transition. An apartment is more permanent, without the need to come home for meals or laundry and seems to be the next step towards self-sufficient independence.

With each step this morning I work to regulate my breathing and heart rate. Thinking of the over six years I've run this town, I glance at homes I've passed hundreds upon hundreds of times. I've watched patterns, routines and seasons change with each home. I've seen grass and flowers grow, bloom and die, winter wind bang the windows and snow pile around the sidewalks. I've seen sprinklers paint the dark streets and golden leaves chase each other to the ground. I have seen windows bright with red, white and blue bunting, jack-o-lanterns, turkeys and glowing Christmas trees. Change is inevitable and necessary and just like growing pains, can sometimes hurt. It helps challenge us, forcing us to grow by looking for new and different experiences.

With each step I kiss the pavement and absorb the beauty of the summer morning. Music streams through my buds, but doesn't impact me as much as in days past, simply providing background music for my swirling thoughts. The sky seems darker mid-run with the moon dropping for a much needed nap on the other side of the world. Hidden stars begin to peek between what is left of the dark dawn. Warm breezes, full of summer, touch my senses with smell. Wanting to cling to summer as long as possible I breathe in; a field of flowers, freshly mowed grass mixed with the sweet scent of a cherry lollipop, brewing coffee drifts from the hospital and a few fast food places warming the stoves for breakfast. Each car I pass carrys its own signature; fresh cologne, cigarette smoke or the pungent smell of  an unwashed body. It is a tapestry that mixes beautifully or painfully with the vision of the morning.

Moonbeams bounce off leaves, turning them from dark summer green to fairy world silver. Grass, damp from sprinklers, catches the moon and reflects glowing diamonds caught between the blades. Orion, the mighty hunter, begins his hike slowly across the sky waiting for the bright camouflage of the sun. I imprint all of this, knowing this will change as well. In a month, or even a week the bite of fall will change my runs. The fairy silver and green leaves will morph into the yellow, red and orange of autumn. The soft edges that accompany heat filled summer days will give way to the sharpness of cold air and biting wind.

Despite my earlier struggle, the run is going well, my legs are loose, my shoulders remain relaxed and I continue knocking out mile after mile. Bunnies race me up empty streets and cats watch and wonder with shining eyes. Each one receives a smile, wave and a quiet good morning. The time changes with each step and I am closer to finishing. Toward the final mile the solitude and stolen moments of quiet begin to disappear. Others begin to rise, preparing for their day. Lights click on, shining through windows, bathing sidewalks and streets in a calm yellow glow. The purr of engines can be heard coming behind me and the unblinking stare of headlights trumble toward me. The morning is beginning and homes are waking up.

I think of my house, the beginning and end of my runs and home to so many, moments, memories and changes. Though not fancy, our little house has watched us grow, making many changes with us along the way. It was our first major purchase as a couple, with two empty bedrooms and plenty of room for guests. It has seen us raise our boys, provided shelter, kept us safe and weathered many storms internally and externally. Guest rooms turned to offices, a nursery and toddler rooms. Toys changed to sports equipment and we changed again by adding a basement with separate bedrooms. Decorations changed to reflect the seasons and the boys' ages. Now it changes again as we have a quasi-empty room that will once again be used for guests. The fence was the first addition to our home 22 years ago.  We were giddy with excitement to finish enclosing our backyard, providing a place for our big dog to romp around. In the years that have elapsed the space has changed, seeing plastic toddler slides and kiddy pools, a trampoline, slip and slides, nerf guns, golf balls and now a deck.

Change. I kick up my pace for the final half mile thinking of our life. In two more years our life will face another major change. Our house will be quiet, echoing only the ramblings of empy-nesters, but we will be thankful and embrace the new adventure.

Finishing the last hill I turn off my Garmin and smile. We have raised incredible young men, created amazing memories and a life to be thankful for and proud of. Each season of change hasn't been easy. We have fought, cried, laughed and loved. We have jumped in with both feet on big decisions, sometimes winging it as we went. Our lives have been measured by embracing moments during change; hugs the boys never stopped giving, regardless of their ages; "I love you"s  in front of friends, waves and smiles as they drove to school, sports or a job; pride and excitement for a first apartment. Life is measured by a simple, uprompted text from our 20 year old, the day after he moves out, "I love you guys."

Climb the Mountain

My eyes were gritty when my alarm went off at 3:00 am. Very little sleep the night before and a summer storm blasting through a couple hours earlier had me feeling groggy. The desire to roll over and snuggle under the covers was strong, but I needed to run. Sliding out of bed I began the routine that always soothed my negative thoughts and got my mind ready to run.

Dressed and ready, I cued my music and stepped into the early morning. Only furrows of hail remained from the storm; white, snaking over the inky blackness of the street.  Storm clouds lingered, adding layers of darkness by blocking light from stars and the brilliance of the strawberry moon. Giant ebony puddles overflowed from every dip and depression in the asphalt, shining with bright reflections from street lights and stop lights.

The instant I pushed play, music moved through my blood like fire, urging my muscles to ignite. Dodging water, I vowed to take it easy and get my feet back under me. It was quiet; birds still sleeping, maybe still huddled from the storm, and no traffic. My shoes kissing the street and my breathing were the only sounds breaching the silence. My soul yearned for this solitude as I merged to the middle of the road, hugging the center line. This was my town. My feet have left prints on nearly every street north, east, south and west. Some days the run challenged, other days it soothed, sometimes it was a chore and days like today the run is a need. My playlist, although set to shuffle, felt my mood; we would be rocking today.

The first mile is always the most difficult. My body and mind act like spinster sisters, spatting constantly at one another, making each step a chore. Gauging my first mile by the songs in my ears and the time it takes to hit turn points I estimate a fairly slow mile. Blocking out any negative thoughts this might spur, I just run.

Warm air, hovering close to 50 degrees, makes my mood soar. Periodically, spray from the wet road kicks up from my shoes, dotting the back of my legs. As I make my first turn, half a mile in, I smile. Steam covers my path, rising up from the wet streets like wispy phantoms. Plunging headlong into their midst I am briefly swallowed up only to emerge unscathed on the other side. Making my second turn I enjoy not having seen a single vehicle. Swinging wide, I avoid a puddle leaving the clear glass surface to reflect the blinking stoplights. Mentally I calculate my split as I near the end of the first mile. Anticipating the buzz on my wrist, as I cross the intersection, I look down, 8:15, quicker than I estimated. A good first mile split gears me up for a faster run with a strong desire to push rather than coast. The music zooming through my spirit agreed.

Stretching out my stride I think about how many runs have been in cruise control; going through the motions even when my soul cried out for more. In life, I have found myself simply going through the motions, acting as a spectator while real life happened around me. I thought about our weekend and the mountain.

As a family we went off the grid to celebrate my oldest's birthday and Father's Day. Preparation for these trips is always systematic and, at times, frustrating. 1,000 little things become irritants, perspective gets lost and auto-pilot engages. Once we were finally en-route, though, I took a few deep breaths and really looked around. We've traveled this interstate hundreds of times, but had I really noticed the old buildings next to the road, the way the mountains perched on the horizon like sleeping giants, or how clouds drifted and tickled peaks casting shadows over the valleys like birds of prey swooping over the fields? Maybe I've noticed some of those things, but more often I was lost in the movement to the next destination. How easy it was to go through the motions, simply existing rather than experiencing.

Beginning my ascent up the killer hill at the end of my second mile, I thought about our traditional camping spot and the surrounding mountains and hills. Once off the interstate we travel a dirt road that has felt our tires many times over the last 15 to 20 years. We know every copse of trees, every dip in the road, every turn and recognize every vast and beautiful mountain top. As we drove in this weekend I remember thinking how amazing the view would be from the top of any of those mountains. For almost 20 years I have watched, on cruise control, without ever really seeing or thinking about the beauty beyond. A fierce desire rose from my heart to not simply view the mountains from the windows of a car, but to go beyond what most people see. At that moment I knew we would climb a mountain.

My wrist buzzed, sharing a decent second mile. Pushing harder, I wandered back to the weekend.

After we were settled and fed, I broached the idea of hiking a mountain. I was passionate enough to climb by myself, but would enjoy sharing the experience with my boys. In mutual agreement we hopped into the CanAm in search of our mountain. It was a moment to treasure as our oldest drove, our youngest was in the passenger side, and the hubs and I, with our puppy, in the back. Memories flooded my mind of small boys anxiously hoping to be out of a car seat, then hoping to be big enough to ride up front and now to be passengers as they drove. We drove and I searched. I honestly didn't know what mountain would call us, but watched and waited. Through the trees it finally jumped out at me. It was peaked to a point at top and the walk seemed fairly easy and open without trees blocking the view. Pointing it out, we all agreed and the adventure began.

Dark skies loomed in every direction with the threat of a storm lurking ominously in the air. Questioning looks flew between my three boys as we began to hike up to one of the highest peaks just as lightning zig-zagged in the black clouds to the north. Inherently I knew we would be fine.

Leaving the CanAm, we had a significant drop into a wooded ravine before we started up the other side. Aspen trees, scrub oak, grass, sagebrush and other plants painted the landscape of the ravine making it tricky to find good footing. Our little Ally dog was thrilled hopping downed logs and making her way through an environment that had to be hundreds of times more difficult with her short little Shi Tzu legs. Chattering, we neared the botttom of the ravine, and heard a familiar crash. Instantly quiet, we listened as we heard branches breaking and the rush of an animal running through the trees. We had jumped something, maybe a deer or elk, but with the thick trees it was gone before we could know what it was. A small stream tumbled through the bottom, making the area perfect for hiding. It provided everything an animal needed, food, water and a safe, hidden area. It was secure, even just 100's of feet below the road. How many times had we driven right by this ravine with animals hidden securely in the bottom?

Beginning the ascent we paused often to look around, watching clouds roll across the hills, storms to form and the sun to peek out. Wildflowers in red, orange, purple, yellow and white were a brilliant contrast to the blue-green sage and the brilliant green of the mountain grass. Quartz dotted the hillside, shimmering with the brilliance of white diamonds. Birds chattered in the trees  while the wind danced around us, keeping the mosquitoes at bay. The sky continued a fluid transformation from white clouds to blue sky to black storm clouds and back again.

It was a quiet thrill to see tracks from different animals without a single human track. We paused often, as we got closer to the rocky peak, to take pictures and absorb the surrounding beauty. The incline was steeper just before the top, so we paused often to give little Ally breaks. Pausing one last time, with 20 feet to go, we turned and caught an antelope just below us. He had seen us, but wasn't overly scared, trotting by on his way to the next knoll. Antelope out number people in Wyoming, so we see them by the hundreds, daily, feeding alongside roads and in fields. It was still an incredible gift to be sharing his space so closely.  Smiling at each other we started to walk again when my oldest motioned us to stop. Another antelope came skirting around just below us. We watched the doe bound off toward the same knoll and started back up.

Reaching the top, we looked around in awe, 360 degrees of unhindered beauty. To the north wind generators lined a ridge like tiny soldiers. Mountains covered the other three directions with valleys, fields and rolling hills blending, shifting and shaping to form patterns not discernable from the road. The wind was whipping around like a two year old toddler, pulling at clothes and hair, yanking trees and moving clouds. It wasn't terribly cold and kept the mosquitoes away so we were patient and welcomed the wind. The views were indescribable and could never be experienced by simply going through the motions.

I gazed and absorbed every moment. Happily snapping pictures, I knew as monumental as this felt, in time my memory would fade as would the beauty and exhilaration of the moment. Years from now, these frozen images would spark a mental journey, reminding me of the decision to climb a mountain.

In no hurry to leave, we looked around, pointing out pretty views and shifting clouds.  Glancing again to the north I saw two elk appear just over the top of a lower hill. The wind was cooperating, so our scent wouldn't reach them as they meandered toward us. With no schedule to adhere to, we chose to sit between the rocks and sagebrush watching to see how close the elk would get. They meandered, stopping occassionally to feed on the lush grass. Once in a while they would glance over at the antelope still lingering close by.  Clouds drifted, sunlight snuck through, wind pushed at the wildflowers and grass making them bob and sway, the smell of sage tickled our senses, animals moved around us and our hearts were grateful.

Sitting quietly I heard my oldest whispering urgently to me. Turning, he and my husband were motioning for me to get up. Moving quickly and quietly, to where they were, I heard a soft bleat over the wind. To the south, lower on the point, a tiny antelope fawn was creeping between rocks, looking for it's mom. Dropping the few inches to the ground it nestled down near some sagebrush and effectively disappeared. This explained the antelope doe staying close. Reveling in the joy of seeing something so sweet, I crept back to watch the elk.

Moments later the boys were again whispering to me. Sneaking back, they pointed to the ravine on the east side. Ponds twinkled in the afternoon sun between pines, aspens and scrub oak. My eyes searched and finally caught what they were pointing out. Grazing slowly by the ponds was a moose. The elk were moving slowly below us to the west, getting ready to bed down, and the doe antelope waited patiently nearby to be re-united with here little one.  Marveling in the experience, we decided it was time to head back down and let the animals have their mountain back.

Driving back to the campsite I reflected on what we had seen. Had we simply stayed on the road, going through the motions and viewing everything through the window we would have missed all of those incredible moments.

The memory made me smile even as my muscles were feeling the pace in the final few miles. Clouds drifted in and out, spitting rain on me periodically. The strawberry moon peaked through a few times and I smiled, thankful for the moments. Racing down the last hill and into the final stretch, I finished and turned off my watch. Lungs laboring, hands on my hips, and my music off, I looked around absorbing the moment.

I would no longer be comfortable going through the motions, living life through the window and coasting on cruise control. I vowed, to the strawberry moon and myself, I would be present in the moment and always choose to climb the mountain.

The fall

I didn't run today. For those that know me, this could very well be a sign of the apocolypse. I always run; wind, rain, snow, negative temperatures, heat and injury. Nothing stops me from lacing up and running my town. Today was different.

The weather was bad with 24+ mph winds, snow and treacherous ice covering every single street and sidwalk. It wasn't the weather, though, that kept me from my morning ritual. I have shoes to combat the ice and appropriate clothes to run in the "spring" Wyoming elements. Pain kept me from my run.

About a month ago I set out for a regular 8.25 mile run. My soul was craving the solitude and I was excited to hit the streets on a day that wasn't windy, icy, snowing or overly cold. Anxious for a run in the balmy 37 degree morning, I dressed quickly in non-winter gear, threw my contacts in and laced up. Blinking quickly I realized my contacts were fuzzy, but being giddy about the weather prompted me to run without fixing them. It was 3:00 in the morning, almost everyone was asleep and although the sidewalks and streets were uneven and riddled with uplifts and potholes I had run the route hundreds of times and knew the danger zone like the back of my hand.

The morning was glorious; pockets of warm air nuzzled me, stars smiled and twinkled in the dark sky and my splits were fabulous. My foggy contacts had been a non-issue as I began the trek uphill into the danger zone. I slowed my pace slightly to accomodate 12 blocks of horrible sidewalks. Navigating the familiar terrain, I smiled when the blinking stoplight that marked the end of the danger zone was less than 20 feet away. Quietly congratulating myself on a successful foggy run, my foot caught a new uplift in the sidewalk. Caught in the euporia of thinking I'd made it caused me to react slowly. I fell. My slow response meant my knees took the full brunt of the fall. Crouching I took a minute to catch my breath and share some colorful phrases with the furry bunnies that watched from under the bushes. Getting up slowly I gingerly took a few steps and added a few more phrases to the bunny rabbits' vocabulary. I've fallen many times before, but this hurt like a son of a basket weaver. Hobbling across the intersection I glared at the blinking red and yellow of the stoplight. Walking slowly I tried valiantly to shake out my knees. I had a smidge over a 5K left so I gritted my teeth and finished.

Getting home I limped through my cool down walk and attempted some static stretches; nope, those weren't happening. Stripping down to get a look, I shook my head. My left knee was beautiful, swelled up to the size of a grapefruit, slightly colored on the sides and my right knee had two golf ball sized lumps at the top and bottom. There were really no scrapes, meaning my knees absorbed the full force and power of the fall. They hurt, something I hate admitting, but I'm a runner, stubborn and I can handle pain. The rest of the day was spent at a track meet cheering on my youngest, so I put on a happy face, scaled bleachers, walked corners and only threatened to throat punch my husband once when he accidently grabbed my left knee. 

The next day I realized I had a 30 day running streak on the line. Lacing up for a short 4.5 mile trial, my knees still swollen and hurting, I justified if I could finish the run, nothing serious was wrong. The sun was sliding down the western sky, warming the air and the birds singing brightly when I set out. Pushing the pain aside, I tried to focus on the beauty of an afternoon run, only stopping periodically to shake out my knees. Finishing, even slowly, was solid proof the knees were simply banged up. I would push through, having a strong history of running on banged up knees as well as sprained ankles, a broken ankle and a broken foot.

The runs continued, maintaining my streak, with swelling finally going down after a couple weeks. The bruising still paints my knees and the craziest lumps have become a semi-permanent feature. Each run brought additional pain and I found myself mixing my training around to avoid hills . As I set each week I would optimistically plan for a 14.5 mile run, knowing full well it wasn't happening. As stubborn as I am, I knew my knees could not withstand a long run. Every mile I would push back the pain, focusing on the fact that I was at least running. Some runs were better than others, but they all hurt to some extent. I found myself missing the beauty of the morning as I tried to manage pain. Setting out for the last couple runs I was optimistic, clinging to the good moments like a drowning man to a floating log. I accepted the slower, but consistent splits for the first 4 to 5 miles. Pain was constant, but manageable, until it wasn't. Near tears, I was forced to stop and walk with 3 miles remaining. Taking deep breaths and gently rubbing my knees I attempted to pick the pace back up only to be forced back to a limp. It was demoralizing and more than a little scarey. It hurts to walk, it hurts to have something touch my knee and it is difficult to get comfortable, none of which are good indicators of healing.

The simple and logical answer is to schedule an appointment with a doctor. Unfortunately my mind clouds simple and logical. I rarely go to the doctor unless it is serious; pnemonia, tumors, broken bones. The financial obligation weighs heavily, especially as I navigate trying to balance other obligations, but the greatest deterrant to the logical answer is the potential outcomes. By breaking down and going in, I open the door to possible diagnoses that I don't want to deal with, the greatest being the inability to run for a length of time.

Fear rides through my soul when I think about being unable to run. Running feeds my soul, while the morning grounds me and gives me solace. It is time to myself filled with music, nature, prayer and hope. When my alarm goes off, my heart leaps for the one thing that is solely mine. There are no expectations other than those that are self-imposed. and I am able to freely be just me. When I run, time stands still, giving me golden moments where I don't have to worry about someone else's schedule, what I need to plan for work, meals, what bills need paid, what the week looks like for the family, who's birthday is coming up and what volunteer activity I need to organize. Running is all about me, my thoughts, a dark, quiet, peaceful town and the rhythm of music, breathing and footsteps. I have faithfully braved the winter runs, bundled in pounds of winter running gear, sporting frosted eyelashes, cold fingers and wind-bitten cheeks to be more appreciative of the coming warm runs. As Mother Nature slowly shifts the seasons I dream of warm, unencumbered runs in shorts, a top and a ponytail. The sound of birds waking up and the sweet smell of grass, flowers and summer rain. As I sit here, my heart aches at the potential of missing those runs.

Watching the snow drift by my window I battle between logic and fear, weighing the potential impact of both decisions long and short term. An ache permeates up from my knees and a sharp pain shoots up the side. I balance the impact of doing further injury and potentially never running again against buckling down, facing the fear and simply being out for a shorter period of time. Clearly there is a logical choice shining above the illogical fear and stubborness. Biting through emotion I made the call and scheduled an appointment. Worry hounds my thoughts, and my emotions are dangerously close to the surface. I often tell people not to worry, and usually have faith that things will work out, but this time I tossed my own advice out the window. Tomorrow I face the repercussions from the fall, and pray that my age has simply reduced my pain tolerance.

Whistfully watching clouds drift in the grey sky, and listening to birds practice for the summer I feel a tear glide down my cheek. How I yearned to be lacing up and hitting the streets before "the fall."

Unapologetically me

January 1st and the start of a new year. Typically my day would have begun with winking stars and inky black skies just hours after the ball dropped, but today was different. The severe cold had me waiting until the temperature warmed up. The sun was making it's descent in the western sky when I finally donned my running gear. It was a change of pace sharing my run with a very active town. The temperature, hovering around 3 degrees, felt like a heat wave. The last few runs had been -12 and below, making 3 degrees feel warm and comfortable. A thrill tingled through my body as I started my new Garmin, an amazing gift from my boys. Starting the year by shedding my typical paraphenalia of smartphone in an armband, Fitbit, ancient Ipod and wired earbuds seemed appropriate. My body felt light and free and the OCD in my personality was excited the new Garmin would have it's maiden voyage on January 1st.  It was going to be a quick 4.5 miles, knowing I would run another 13 miles in less than 12 hours.

The sun graced my face as music flowed through my earbuds. My body today was more in tune to the rhythm rather than the run. Sensing my mood, my playlist was upbeat and rocking. Excitement raced through me as I started my watch and my shoes began dancing with the pavement. Taking off my mind circled thoughts that have occupied my conscience over the past few weeks. Undeniably I have been on a journey of change, growth and healing; the first day of the new year seemed a perfect time to evaluate the continued evolution. Finding my stride I thought about growth and realized true growth meant recognizing and accepting the woman I am and the one I'm becoming. We are not meant to stay the same, but to grow, believe, take chances, live, not just exist and learn to be uncomfortable. When we are uncomfortable is when growth begins.

As these ideas filtered, my eyes danced over details of my route that are often obscured in the early morning darkness. The route is inherently the same as are the houses and yards, but different details are highlighted in the depth of the night versus late afternoon.  People are virtually the same, revealing more during the quiet of an early morning or a late night. True vulnerability is exposed when parts we would rather keep hidden are shown in sharp relief without the distraction of the sun or the chatter of a busy life. We are fearful in solitude, but just as I see beauty in sleeping houses, quiet yards and dark streets our greatest beauty lies in the deep, quiet and defenseless moments. Without the chatter we are free to embrace the powerful, incredible individual that lies dormant within. We are challenged to become unapologetically us.

One of the most important and most diffficult steps has been recognizing and embracing who I am, the person I'm becoming and the person I long to be. I need to accept every aspect of me. You see, I am flawed and make mistakes daily. I do not meet people's expectations or their vision of me. I make people uncomfortable by hiking a less traveled path, refusing to follow the sheep, choosing to be disciplined and by boldly speaking my thoughts. In truth there are so many things I'm not that I fall short on numerous levels. I've learned, though, my lack is greatest when I measure my worth based on other's expectations.

As music raced through my veins I tackled a steep hill and felt powerful. This path has taught me empowerment and peace come from within. To reach the truest definition of success and our greatest potential we must not only accept who we are, but celebrate it. We must celebrate the differences that make us individuals.

Fear barricades the path to individual growth. Recently "society" has pushed to remove individuality, corralling people into convenient groups in the guise of celebrating individuality. People are categorized based on political affiliation, what school their children attend, what travel team they are on, what neighborhood they live and many other descriptors. These classifications come with blanket statements that are not true representations of the individuals unceremoniously lumped together. To further eliminate the celebration of unique gifts and push toward mass mediocrity society has begun to remove anything perceived as celebrating one person over another. Students who are good at math or athletics can't be celebrated in fear that someone not good at math or athletics will feel badly. The playing field must remain static without the pain and lessons of winning and losing. In many cases, though, the elimination is lopsided favoring one groups desires over another.

The Presidential and National Fitness Awards used to be presented to elementary students when my kiddos were in grade school. Schools would test different levels of physical fitness and based on how a student performed they could earn National or Presidential honors. After initial testing, the P.E. teacher at my boys' school gave students numerous opportunities during recess, lunch, before and after school to practice and re-test if they weren't happy with their results. My boys always made the personal decision to work tirelessly to reach the Presidential level, giving up lunch hours and recesses. My youngest struggled one year with the mile and re-ran it 4 or 5 times to finally reach Presidential. Each year was difficult but they learned discipline, tenacity, persistence, hard work and how to set and reach goals. The fitness awards were not for everyone, but they offered an arena to excel and a place to be recognized for those students with a gift for athleticism. Many schools are now choosing not to offer fitness awards, stating they are unfair and hurt the feelings of children who didn't earn the award. In an effort to appease one group the schools are squelching the individuality of another.

The Wright brothers, Albert Einstein, Steve Jobs, Bill Gates, Mark Zuckerburg, Thomas Jefferson, Henry Ford, Alexander Graham Bell, Rosa Parks and Kenny Sailors are all examples of incredible pioneers who, with quiet grace and dignity, embraced their unique beliefs and ingenuity. They didn't force others to believe what they did, they didn't follow the crowd, nor did they incite hate against those who saw things in a different light. They were respectfully unapologetic in being themselves and simply embraced their individuality.  It wasn't easy, as soaring never is, but their impact on current society is unparalleled. Without the courage to embrace their power, where would society be today?

My heart races faster than the run dictates as I think about the absolute terror of being an individual. Breaking from the societal norm has consequences. Speaking my mind, following my dreams and working for a life beyond mere existence opens me up to harsh criticisms and sometimes being labeled with horrible, hateful names. With that lingering fear it is understandable why so many quietly disappear into the folds of "individual groups."

I believe we all desire something different, but succumb to the false sense of strength and power bolstered by groups. We convince ourselves the true pain and fear lie outside of the group and continue to allow single loud voices to puppet our actions, even if we don't agree with those voices. The fear epidemic is great, transforming strong, courageous, self sufficient, successful people, to disinterested, unhappy, angry and unsettled masses. Fear keeps us in the masses and lashes out when someone decides to step out and away. Why does this cause fear? Why are people attacked when they choose to think for themselves, respectfully disagree with a different point of view, break from the crowd or buck the status quo?

Crossing an intersection I begin a gradual downhill section allowing my pulse to return to a beat that matches my feet. I think about fear as relax in my stride and allow gravity to do the work for me. Stepping away from the crowd forces those left to assess their lives and personal decisions. Evaluation can become painful when we are quasi-comfortable. It is almost effortless to be unhappy and, with the full support of the misery loves company crowd, we make excuses, become victims of fate and convince ourselves life has nothing more to offer. Fear keeps us from taking the step towards personal greatness and justifies attacking those who break away.

Embracing individuality forces us to take responsibility for the good in our lives as well as our bad decisions. It has become common to remove personal responsibility, play the victim and adjust complete societies to maintain group thinking and avoid all that encompasses individuality. If I sit down and eat entire bags of chips, don't exercise, become a couch potato, watch Hallmark channel all day and gain weight, the consequences of those actions are my fault. It's not the chip manufacturer's fault for putting a fatty, less than healthy snack in a big bag. It's not someone else's fault because I choose not to be disciplined. It's not the weather's fault because its cold outside to exercise. It's not Hallmark's fault for running movie marathons nor is it the furniture company's fault for making an extremely comfortable sofa. Embracing who we are means we take responsibility and own our decisions good and bad without blaming others. Tremendous power lies in taking responsibility for our actions.

In the final mile of my run I weigh the cost of giving into the fear versus forging ahead to become unapologetically me. Straightening my shoulders I vow to continue my own journey and by doing that I accept and celebrate who I am.  But in truth, who am I?

I'm a child at heart with no reason to change. I love Disney, Disney movies, Disney vacations and Disney runs. I believe in the magic and true meaning of Christmas, but still faithfully look for the bright red glow of Rudolf's nose on Christmas Eve while tracking Santa's route on Norad. I believe in fairies, elves, dragons and mermaids, carefully watching for them during hikes and outdoor adventures.

Running isn't always easy, but it feeds my soul. During early morning runs I say hi and good morning to every furry creature I see. I smile and wave to the local police officers who have to be up that early. I talk to the stars and play tag with the moon. I pray and thank God for each falling star and for each step I am blessed to take. I run because I love it. I don't cut weight, diet or eliminate food groups. I try to be healthy but enjoy a Mountain Dew daily and have a sweet tooth. I believe in drinking water, moderation and exercise and that life is too short not to eat the brownie, cupcake or cookie.

I hurt deeply when children, adults and animals are purposefully hurt and abused. My heart aches with their pain and I want nothing more than to make it better. I believe children are an incredible gift and love being a momma more than just about anything. My boys make my heart sing every single day.

I don't usually cry nor am I outwardly emotional, but I still hurt deeply. I handle pain inwardly and very seldom allow it to reach my eyes. If I cry and I'm not watching a sappy Budweiser or Hallmark commercial I usually have a pretty good reason.

I am an extreme introvert and people terrify me. Large groups and meetings exhaust me and I usually need time to myself to recover. I am painfully shy but have taught myself, out of necessity, to work around that shyness. I struggle striking up conversations and abhor small talk. I am comfortable riding in a car for hours and not saying a word. In general I don't trust people, but still try to believe and look for the best. If I tell you I love you, it is because I do. Nothing is guaranteed and I would rather you know you carry a special place in my heart. I am a loyal friend and will have your back. I tend to give people more chances than they deserve when they are continuously rude and treat me carelessly. I sense when life is happening for people around me and try quietly to lift their day. I don't like overt attention, but appreciate a quiet thank you.

I try to be positive, but sometimes fall into despair when doubt creeps in. I look for and find joy in the simplest things; the sound of bees buzzing, the beauty of a snowflake, the laughter of friends. I refuse to follow the crowd, regardless of the situation, just because it is the "in thing." People earn my respect based on the type of person they are and how they treat everyone not based on a title, how much money they make or where they live. I'm a hugger and believe hugs are a universal language that can melt away stress.

I am smart, can process new concepts easily and love to learn. I am extremely logical but temper it with my passion. I think for myself, do my research and try not to blindly regurgitate general information. Writing is my passion and my gift. I know soon my books will be dog-eared and tattered in book bags, on nightstands and in briefcases waiting to transport someone from the daily grind.

I work hard and believe I'm capable of reaching whatever goal I set. I believe in hard work, taking responsibility for my actions and doing more than is required.  I despise confrontation, but will stand up if I believe something is wrong. I won't tell you what you want to hear, but will give you the truth in a sweet way.  I am uncomfortable leading and organizing, but am more uncomfortable when things aren't accomplished. I love competition, like to win, and will always view myself as my stiffest competition.

Turning the corner I increase the pace for the final 100 meters. Smiling I simply tap my watch to turn off the tracker.  The run felt great and my head is ready to tackle the new year. I am flawed, will continue to make mistakes and will battle fear, but I am becoming unapologetically me.

The Yeti Tree

A whopping 11 degrees with 90% humidity greeted me as I stepped onto the porch. It was later than usual having spent time arguing with myself about whether or not I was going to run. I won the argument. With the music cued and my tracker going I was off. My mind chose a single train of thought this morning, reflecting on yesterday and the memories we created as a family with our annual Christmas Tree Hunt. Following that track I thought about each golden moment, the laughter, the joy and the precious time spent together. As I rewound those memories, I  kept coming back to our trees. Over the last 25 years our trees have been an interesting lot, each with it's own unique characteristics. My purpose has always been finding the special trees that need a home for the holidays and this year went above and beyond that mission. Please enjoy:

The Yeti Tree

Sitting quietly on the side of the hill Evermore looked around, branches rustling restlessly in the wind. The snow had come early and was very deep. Other trees had trunks buried at least two feet deep, but he was sheltered, caught up against a tall older tree and blocked behind many grandtrees that had gone to the great tree garden in the sky.

Mother Nature was fickle today, at first gently tossing fat snowflakes into the sky and then moving clouds to show tiny patches of blue sky and sunlight. He loved the sunlight best and thought it wonderful when she decided to sprinkle snowflakes and sun at the same time. The flakes would sparkle and shine in the golden rays, almost as if it were snowing brilliant jewels. Evermore sighed watching the clouds hide the blue. The woods rustled differently this time of year. Despite the snow and cold, people would come, braving the drifts and ice, scaling mountains and searching for the perfect tree. Many of his friends scoffed at this tradition; people coming to choose trees to celebrate Christmas. Of course they all knew about Christmas. The story of the birth of baby Jesus had been passed down for longer than his great, great, great grandtrees had been alive and many of the trees had seen Jesus stroll these very forests, especially when someone was scared or lost.

Santa Claus had also taken his place in stories whispered through the branches. Many years, he personally had seen the sleigh racing through the night sky, the sound of sleigh bells warming the hearts of even the scraggliest, crankiest trees. Sometimes he would land at the top of the hill, giving his reindeer a rest. His jolly voice would call to the animals, always bringing a fun treat for them to enjoy.

It was a beautiful time of year, but also a sad time for Evermore. Year after year he heard the cars, the voices, the laughter. Families, friends and dogs would traipse through the forest, darting from tree to tree looking at branches, touching needles and deciding which tree to take home. Some of his friends would move branches and droop as they didn't want to be a Christmas tree, but Evermore knew deep in his bark he was meant to be a Christmas tree. Unfortunately he was not the perfect tree and year after year they would pass him. Of course he understood, his branches were overly large and awkward on the bottom, spindly and skinny on the top. Not to mention many years ago the Yeti had come through looking for boughs to build a new nest. He had chosen Evermore's branches which meant his entire backside was naked. Not a single branch remained. This year was even worse, the snow, the slant of the hill and all of the fallen grandtrees meant he was almost completely hidden. He sighed again, branches brushing the snow.

It was a busy weekend. Evermore had heard many people come through, some close to where he sat, others far away. Even if he wasn't chosen it made him smile to hear the joy and laughter. It seemed when they came through the woods, people forgot their troubles, their happiness touching each of the trees and animals that called the forest home.

Hearing people draw close he swayed to get a better look. It was a family of four, a mom, dad and two older boys. They laughed as with each step the snow gobbled their legs up. The mom was leading the way, breaking trail and laughing as she tried to carry their little dog and manuever up the hill. Evermore quivered, they were actually going up the hill, closer to him than any other people had been all season. They passed just below him, but he continued to peek through branches watching them. He knew they were looking for trees, but they spent time sawing through snow, breaking chunks out and tossing them at each other. They jumped in the snow, dove in the snow and sat in the snow. Happiness tingled up Evermore's trunk as he could feel the pure delight exuding from them.

They continued on and Evermore, heard their voices bouncing on the breeze suggesting they were at the top of the hill. Moving his branches he heard the words that made his bark ache. "I found one here guys, what do you think?" A few minutes later "timber" rode the wind. Although sad he missed another chance, he decided to focus on the excitement they projected into the air. It made him almost as warm as a summer day. The conversations made him smile; discussions on how to get the trees out, which path to follow, who would carry the tree. He liked this family.

Evermore's needles began to tingle as he heard them just above him.

"Do you have the other tree marked."

"Yea, the one I wanted is right there, but I want to check down here."

He could hear the mom; snow crunching, chuckles, groans as she negotiated the steep mountainside and the deep snow. Her boys were above her, laughing and questioning what she was doing. As she got closer Evermore couldn't help but feel the smallest glimmer of hope. He knew he was hidden and out of sight, but what if? He felt the cold tickle of snow brush his bare back as she slid close and he heard, "Oh, there he is." In an instant she was in front of him, brushing snow off his branches, feeling his needles and looking at him from all sides as best she could in his little alcove. The mom looked at his bare back, and Evermore held his breath, knowing that was probably a deal breaker.

It was almost as if she was talking directly to him, "That doesn't matter, that side will be to the wall where nobody see's it anyway." He couldn't be hearing her right, could he? Was she actually choosing him?

"Guys, this is the one. Austin are you going to come down to cut him?"

His trunk warmed and his branches wiggled. He was going to be a Christmas tree. The dad stayed at the top of the hill and the mom and boys took pictures smiling and talking about him.

When they called "timber" Evermore knew he was on his way.

Lifting him up, they took him to the top of the hill and he was in awe. The whiteness went everywhere and the blue sky was endless. He saw another tree they had chosen and they began the journey back down the hill in a much less tangled spot. Evermore was so excited he kept trying to beat the son down the hill, sliding to be parallel with him. The family didn't mind, they simply laughed and moved him.

Evermore's excitement couldn't be contained. When the dad tried to put him on the roof of the car he kept right on rolling off the top and down the other side. They picked him back up and finally he was snugged on with his new friend, ready for the next adventure.

The family piled in and they were off. The joy coursing through his branches was indescribable. Wind shook his needles like never before and he could see forever; blue sky, cars, people, trees, deer, antelope. This had to be how the birds felt when they flew.

When the car stopped for good, they were both taken off the roof and put in a garage. The mom got out a tape measure and walked around, measuring both of them and looking at them up and down. His branches wiggled slightly when she decided he was going to be the upstairs tree. Carrying him in, Evermore sighed, it was warm and cozy with lights and decorations everywhere. He could see where he would be in a corner of honor. The family worked together and Evermore was settled into his stand. His bark dropped just slightly when they realized he wasn't going to stand on his own, his bare side made him unbalanced. Oh how he hoped they wouldn't get rid of him. He listened as they talked about what to do and how a Yeti must have taken a big bite out of him. How did they know? Working together they trimmed some of his branches and then gave him a little support with a string and the wall.

Evermore knew he was with the right family when they talked about previous trees that had been theirs, tying them to the walls, using shims to keep them straight and how every year their tree was special.

It was difficult to stay still as the family gave him a drink of warm water with a little sugar in it and then began to decorate him. The lights were bright and warm nestled in between his needles. Each ornament tickled slightly as it was hung on his boughs, but he smiled listening to the story that came with the ornament.

The final touch was  a beautiful lady in yellow at the very top. He truly felt like the perfect tree.

The family turned all the lights off, except his and a few other Christmas lights. Evermore stood tall as they made noises about the perfect tree, even with the Yeti bite.

The boys all snuggled into chairs and couches just looking at him and the mom and little dog crawled underneath the branches. Looking up through the branches the mom said, "You are the perfect tree." as she drifted off to sleep.

To Run

Stepping onto the front porch, I paused to absorb the pre-dawn, hoping this run would be better than the last few weeks worth. The struggle has been intense. My runs have been slow, my pace has been off and my body has felt disjointed. Discipline was the only thing pushing me when nothing else could.

The morning air was chillier than usual, a sign that summer was on the decline. Realizing days running in shorts and a jog bra were numbered, I was thankful to have pushed myself out of bed. Soon enough I would be back in winter gear.

The moon was fat and orange, hanging lazily in the dark sky. Although nearly full, it seemed muted with the orange absorbing the usual shine. Stars were patchy, peaking through leftover storm clouds and the roads were still wet from the night rain. Inky puddles filled every depression in the road. It was quieter than usual without the normal headlights or taillights. Intermittent street lights and periodic porch lights braved the dark. It was a glorious morning and I was thankful I chose to run.

My legs picked up their rhythm early and the music laced through my veins. Tuning into the soothing cadence I thought about what it meant to run. Over the last five years life has changed dramatically; my career, the growth and maturity of my children, family and friends. In that same time my relationship with running has evolved and with it I have learned many personal lessons and realized the truth in what it means to run?

To run means; understanding aches, pains and injuries. Learning to push through when necessary and taking time to let injuries heal. Listening to my body and knowing when to rest and when to overcome lack of desire.

To run means; learning the physical capabilities of my body. Recognizing perceived limitations and digging deep to push past them. Understanding my body is more powerful than I could have imagined and having the courage to embrace the strength.

To run means; taking responsibillity for my choices and not making excuses. It is never easy to wake up before the day stirs, sometimes with little to no sleep, to workout and run. Each day I choose to work toward a better me, knowing I am the only person that controls my decisions. I take personal responsibility  for my actions. When I don't train it reflects in my races, in how I feel about myself, my temperament and my energy level. When I train my race times are better and my entire being is much happier. It is empowering to take responsibility and not make excuses.

To run means; learning who I truly am without outside static. Running solo with very few distractions gives me time to get better aquainted with myself. My thoughts circle around strengths, weaknesses and how to embrace both. By strengthening my body, I strengthen my spirit and become happier with the person I see every day.  Solitary runs have made me comfortable with being alone and learning my power and purpose are found internally and not externally.

To run means;  learning to choose happiness. True joy is available to everyone, everyday; we choose to embrace it or deny it. The center gained from running has taught me that I choose to be happy or unhappy, positive or negative, view the glass half full or half empty. Life is not fair and we will always face obstacles, even life altering trauma, but we have the choice to react and blame or deal and learn.  I choose which thoughts run through my brain, not only during the run but after. If I am unhappy, it is because I have chosen to be unhappy, by focusing on negative thoughts and choosing to be around negative people. I have learned how important it is to determine who I want in my circle of influence. Who are the people who are empowered and strong? Who are the people working toward being better than they were the day before? Who are the people who choose not to live in a victim mentality day after day? Who are the people who will challenge me to be better? By choosing positive thoughts, being grateful daily and being around other positive people I can amplify my joy and encourage others to choose happiness. 

To run means; my day begins in peaceful compansionship with God. I appreciate his blessings and his works with every step, every breath and every thought. I see the raw beauty of my town set against an endless dark sky. I appreciate the beauty of a falling star or a burning meteor, the intricacy of a snowflake or the diamond twinkle of a raindrop.

To run means; sharing my morning with moments that are lost when the town wakes up; seeing mountain lions, raccoons, deer, antelope, foxes. Experiencing the beautiful rhythm of silence, making the first tracks in falling snow and enjoying running down the middle of an empty street.

To run means; gaining confidence I have never felt before. Confidence to know if I can mentally and physically knock out 27 miles in one run alone, I can conquer anything in my path.

To run means; learning the value and importance of tracking and goals. Watching trends in training and striving to make myself stronger and better each day. As each goal is reached it builds more confidence and feeds a positive, full heart. Setting a new goal brings excitement and joy.

To run means; knowing and understanding there will be good runs and bad runs. Each run will bring a lesson and be an integral part of the journey. It means understanding that not every day is going to be graced with unicorns, rainbows and lollipops and still choosing to persevere.

To run means; an appreciation of time. Time slows when I hit the streets. There are no distractions, no expectations just the music, the road and the run. I have learned to appreciate the importance of 1/10th of a second and to not take time for granted. We are given 86,400 seconds every single day and each second is a beautiful gift.

To run means; being in-tune with the world around me. Being watchful of a shadow within a shadow, the subtle difference of flower scents, changes in how the seasons look and smell. I have learned to be a better observer and listener and to appreciate changes that seem time-lapsed when I run my routes. 

To run means; creating a family that spans far and wide. Runners all over the world understand the time, the commitment, and the strength it takes to get up and get out every day. Runners ignore differences and celebrate every runner, regardless of size, shape and mile time.

My lungs labor as I finish my run. Thankfully it was a better run, still not the best, but better. Glancing around I realize, to run is to breathe, love, laugh, cry and celebrate. To run is to be thankful and blessed.

Run or not to run? Always to run.