Crash Course

I went to bed with a scratchy throat last night and woke up with a head funk. There have been some nasty bugs going around lately and so far we've been able to escape most of them although it seems that it's more of an ongoing fight rather than a clean escape. For some insane reason I thought that the best way to cure the chill of the cold brought on by Jake's soccer game would be to order 20 pieces of breaded, boneless hot wings. Unfortunately the kick in the wings wasn't quite strong enough to drive out the chills and instead left me slouched over in my chair, nearly comatose and drooling with my eye stinging with wing sauce.

Let's just say that tonight wouldn't be a great night for this head cold to morph into the stomach flu. I threw up carrots once, which was a tough one. Pieces of semi-digested carrot got stuck in the snorty part at the back of my throat and nose. I've heard popcorn can be rough as well. And oh wow wouldn't you know it, all of a sudden I feel nauseous.

My posts about grace and hope and faith and hippie love are looking pretty good right about now, eh?

I haven't been able to run in like, forever (today is day two) and I'm feeling antsy. We had a staff meeting last night and my co-workers were laughing at how uptight I was, checking and re-checking everything a million times a minute. It's alright though because I had a couple of creaky spots that need some rest and a few days off should do the trick. I really want to race a half marathon next month but I'm worried that I won't be able to run it like I did last year.

We have a patient that comes into our clinic who was an avid road cyclist, and a few years ago he was hit by a car and needless to say, has had to set a "new normal" for his life since the accident. He asks me about my running and racing and I told him about my stupid fear of not running at the same caliber as I did last year. I knew as soon as I said it that it sounded so trivial and of course he reminded me that not only am I not guaranteed a personal best time at the race, but that I (we) am not guaranteed anything. I could wake up in a hospital bed, like he did, and be forever changed. Or, I could not wake up at all.

We stood across from each other in that room in silence for a bit. His eyes were filled with the trauma of the accident and cloudy memories of who he was before it happened. He taught me something in there more potent than any famous quote or verse ever has: to live thankfully in this moment because it's a gift, not an entitlement. We've all read and heard that stuff a million times before but seeing it lived out like that, feeling the energy of the wind in his face while he rode, the assault of metal and concrete on bone and flesh and the frustration of being stuck inside a body that is not his own anymore, all combined into one surge of tangible, moving silence... it spoke to me.

I want to live thankfully in this moment because it's a gift, not an entitlement. There's no guarantee that I will run that race as well as I did last year just as much as there's no guarantee that I will wake up tomorrow, or that I won't throw up buffalo hot wings all night tonight. But I'm thankful right now that I'm awake, that my body is functional, and that my wings are down. Oh, yes, that the wings are down. Amen.