Monday, March 8, 2010
and I ra-a-an...
Encouraged by the fact that I didn't keel over on Saturday, even after M. said, hey, "let's go for a walk" and that walk ended up being a 6K+ stroll on top of my morning run, I decided to run again on Sunday. And I ran in the opposite direction.
Now, hang on. That's kind of a big deal.
But why? You say. Runners have a number of routes, a handful of favorite courses and plenty of variations to keep things interesting. You ran in the opposite direction on the same route you run every. single. time? Um, so what?
Well, here's the what. It's true, when I do drag myself out for a run, my route is fixed. Out my door, along the river, to the trees we planted for our daughters. Turn around. Back home. It is exactly 5K and I know every crack in the path between here and there. Despite the occasional gaggle of geese, fishermen by the dam or a galloping retriever off the leash, I know what to expect. I don't have to think that hard and I can focus on getting myself from one point to the next. If that seems to be working itself out, I can let my mind wander to things like writing blog posts in my head or remembering completely and totally bizarre dreams.
Yesterday, I was feeling a little, oh I don't know, adventurous. So I stepped out of my door and turned RIGHT instead of left. I turned right and stayed on the top path, the one with more foot traffic, the one facing the busy street, the one that's a little more exposed.
The one that I was running when I broke my leg last year.
Last year, when I thought I could run right out of my pain. When I thought three weeks after giving birth was plenty of time for my body to normalize. When I still believed there was a beginning and an end to the emotions that we ball up and label as Grief.
I know better now.
The last time I ran this route I was doing this funky stop/start, walk then run then walk again kind of thing. And I honestly think all that jarring is what did my poor tibia in. Pretending I could sprint one moment, then gasping and clutching my sides and just trying to get one foot in front of the other the next.
This time, one year later, I know I'm not the fastest chic on the block (and thank you, lithe 6-ft tall athlete man for flying by me yesterday to confirm that). But my pace is steady. I know my limits and I know when I can push them a little. I know what a good ache feels like and one that signals I'm stepping strangely and need to readjust.
I know there is no end to grieving, but there are days when the path is easier than others. There are even days when you are willing to try new paths to get to your destination. That's my revelation.
And this, my friends, is my Perfect Moment Monday.
Perfect Moment Monday is about noticing a perfect moment rather than creating one. Perfect moments can be momentous or ordinary or somewhere in between. Go visit Lori from Weebles Wobblog, founder of Perfect Moment Mondays to read where she and others found their moments this week.