Races

Sunday, April 27, 2014

Redemption

Running marries two people that would never normally be brought together the way too many beers in a dimly lit pub tend to merge an unlikely match.

Lora and I both ran the Vancouver Marathon in 2009 and somehow, the photography company mixed up our photos and Lora received a picture of Mark and I at the finish line. Lora had heard about me through the land of running and when we finally met in person, she recognized me from the photo in her email inbox! What are the chances of that?!? As we fell into step with each other, it seemed as if every other aspect of our lives also lined up; we practically finished each others sentences.

Since that fateful day, Lora and I have logged thousands of miles together and as we weave through the trails like two fish in a school following the bend of a river, whether through silence or crying or laughing, we've shared it all. She's the only person that I can be inside out for, who I know won't balk at my ugliness but just hold it for a bit and then let it go.

Maybe runners just know how to leave shit on the road. Maybe we know that it's catharsis out there, you know? So when Lora and I run together, we get ugly together. We've even stop mid-run to cry together. But it's the silent runs that move me every time, the runs where we're clocking 7-minute miles side-by-side, breath in sync, like animals on a hunt. A hunt for satiety, for peace. And wherever we end up, we know we're not alone. And we know that we left it all on the road, that each moment is a fresh start, a second chance. That neither of us will ever be too sore, too far gone, too exhausted, to keep going. Because there's always tomorrow.


Sunday, April 20, 2014

Little Roots

There's a scene in the movie "Black Sheep" where Chris Farley slips and starts to tumble down a rocky mountainside, head over heel over head over heel and at one point he lucks out and grabs onto a bit of shrubbery. And he pleads, "hold on, little roots...stay strong!" right before the roots give way and the shrub and Farley continue rolling down the mountain at lightening speed. His bleeding and broken body finally comes to a stop at the base of the mountain and he picks himself up, looks back up from where he came from and exclaims, "what in the HELL was THAT?!?"

I relate.

My rocky mountainside has been a lot of things. Life will be going along as is and then wham! One misstep takes me careening down a brutalizing path of sharp edges and hard knocks. Grace is found in those little roots that seemingly pop up out of nowhere. Sometimes the roots keep us from falling completely to the bottom and other times they just give us a chance to catch our breath but either way, they're a break. That's what grace is: a breather. A break. Respite. A chance at renewal. A bit of healing happens where we can regroup, self regulate, chin up, and keep going.

May your humble little roots hold you for a while, long enough for you to catch your breath, so that even when you find yourself in a puddle at the foot of the mountain, you'll still be able to get back up to see where you came from, and where you are now going.

Happy Easter.



Thursday, April 17, 2014

Cooped Up

I've had a writer's block lately because honestly, I feel a bit post-partumy and I'm afraid of publishing my thoughts and feelings in case they are incriminating. But then, when I was hanging out at Christy's, eating her Kraft Dinner and leaking breast milk on her couch, she reminded me of how she loves to read my writing because it's real. Some people buy new furniture and keep the plastic wrap on their lampshades and I say fuck that! Rip it off and shine those lights all over the damn house because whatever we've poured our hearts and minds and souls into are contained within those four walls and that stuff needs to be lit up.

But then. But then I was having coffee and muffins with my aunt and uncle and they helped me realize that maybe I don't need to write about everything that is happening right now, that maybe I can write about it later. Like, later later. When I'm not IN it. Because have you ever bought one of those rotisserie chickens that they make in the store? It always smells like fart. Right? It stinks up the cashier area, it reeks up the minivan, and turns the fridge into a burp. But later on, once you cut up the chicken and incorporate it into a dish of some sort, it becomes quite un-fart-like, if you aren't a complete donkey in the kitchen.

My days can be unglamorous at best. Today? Today smelled like fart. Do I need to write about it? Probably not. But will I be able to help and encourage someone else one day when I can look back and remember what I went through? Hopefully, yes. Because that's what this life is all about: eating Kraft Dinner and leaking breast milk and drinking coffee with the people we love, because love has a way of turning stinky chicken into a satisfying meal.


Friday, April 4, 2014

Bear in Area

As seen on yesterday's run...
Having a baby wreaks havoc on a woman's emotional temperature. It's a collision of sorts where the uterus freezes over and clamps down to its original state while the furnace of the breasts expand to epic proportions. By merely walking into a room I can both kill off unwanted organisms with my icy glare and obliterate their remains in my fiery wake.

I think when women have babies, there's some sort of hormone released in our bodies that makes us capable of homicide, to you know, protect our young. Things like germs on shopping cart handles keep us awake at night. Our babies cry for 5 minutes straight and all of a sudden we give ourselves a diet overhaul and throw out anything dairy, wheat, caffeinated, and edible for the sake of our newborn baby's digestion. And if that doesn't work, we spend $180, 000 at the natural food store on ancient remedies that promise calm babies and a solid night's sleep. And when said remedies don't work, we bring back the dairy, wheat and caffeine and raise them a bottle of wine.

Luckily, the postpartum crazies pass just as fast as our newborn baby's gassy poop rockets--one minute we're crying in pain and the next minute we're rolling around naked, grinning from ear to ear. Life is messy, but it's rewarding. There are rough patches, but they pass as quickly as they come. Babies grow. Mommies lose their bear fur and turn back into humans. And hopefully, the people we had obliterated in our emotional wake come back to forgive us.