It’s funny sometimes how life works. One moment, we think we’re on a certain path and then something happens— a pandemic, for example—and everything we believed about ourselves and our lives evolves to fit the situation. And then we wake up to discover that we, too, have changed.
I have a huge confession to make: I’m not writing after work anymore. Since work is home is my home office, once I’ve finished the final task for the day, I allow the screen to go dark. My evenings are spent outside, tending chickens, my garden, cooking dinner with Rich and listening—really listening— to him talk to me about his day. Sometimes we watch silly videos on YouTube or TikTok. Other times, we let the screens go dark and do what people used to do: we talk to each other.
Going back to my roots
But, that’s not what this blog is about. I used to write about running a lot. I had a blog— two websites ago— that had a similar name to this one, where all I did was write about running. Back then (about ten years ago) running was my life. And, I was pretty good at it. I thought I had a shot at the Olympic Trials, and perhaps I did if things had worked out differently. Who knows? What I do know is that it was the thing that helped me to discover I had a writer’s voice and that I had a story to tell. Yet, when it finally got to a point where I couldn’t compete at that elite level any longer, it took a few years to come to earth and to learn to live life like a normal person again, and to learn to tell stories outside of that training and racing life.
In recent weeks, though, running has returned. Granted, not like before— I’m not fast by any means (although I will argue I’m stronger than before)— but I never expected my morning runs to come back to me. Yet, I lace up my shoes that are a bit beefier than slippers (but not by much) and head out into the quiet streets where all I all but vanish into the scenery.
Today I ran with wild horses. The stallion snorted and kicked and I did my best to avoid him while the mares watched warily as I passed on the deserted, rocky dirt trail out in the middle of nowhere (the ultimate social distancing.)
I guess I bring all of this up because I have spent a decade of my life telling myself I’m not an athlete, and I’m definitely not a runner. I’ve beaten myself up over it, actually, to the point where—for years—I didn’t really own running shoes because seeing them would just depress me. Sure, there were some fits and starts when I’d buy a pair and try to run intervals on the track my first day back, and then I’d get injured with reinforced this idea I’ve had for basically forever that I’m not an athlete, and that I am not good enough.
A running renaissance
This—whatever is happening now— is happening a lot slower. I don’t have any goals aside from getting back to my house from whatever route I’ve chosen because I’ve got work to do. I enjoy the world more than I used to— which means I’m making a point to notice things. The wild horses. Birds. The quality of light. The wind, and today the wonderful warmth of the sun on my skin. It isn’t about a pace per se (although I notice I’m getting better at this the more I do it) or about “beating” anybody (I always run completely and utterly alone.) Instead, I feel like it’s my journey. To where, I have no idea. But this part of my life has opened up to me again, and I have chosen to embrace it.
Interestingly, my work—which I am able to do remotely from home—has reinforced this running renaissance. I feel like I am in graduate school again, when my days were spent reading and writing and aside from one day a week when we met for classes, basically communicating with no one. This probably going to make me sound heartless, but I don’t mind being this alone. In a strange way, this experience has made me realize that I am embedded in so many relationships—even if I am not physically present with those people. Perhaps I feel more connected with them than I ever have before. I have reached out, texted, written letters, called, Facetime’d, zoom’ed, bluejean’ed and all the other new, weird verbs for the communication of this time.
I am never alone, not even when I’m running. My mind wanders into vibrant daydreams. Is it just me, or is life more colorful now? Perhaps its only spring cracking open the blooms and the warmer weather. Yet, for whatever reason I feel more grounded, more myself, than I have in a long time.
California Coast Classic—shouldn’t you be riding your bike?
I felt guilty this week for cutting back my riding miles. I actually had a night when I was worried about work, worried about training and fundraising for the CCC and then I started worrying about the fact that I wasn’t falling asleep. Finally, I told myself: “look— all you can do right now is your best. It doesn’t do you any good to obsess over things that aren’t going as planned, or that aren’t happening perfectly. All you can do is your best, and you have to accept that.”
I woke up with that idea and it has saved me this week. And so, I wanted to pass that on this week. No matter what is going on with you, remember that you are doing your best, and believe that your best is enough.
I am blessed to be a part of Team Carter 2020, and the entire California Coast Classic family. I am touched by the stories I read from other cyclists who struggle with arthritis. Their messages ground me, and I feel so fortunate to belong to something. And so, I am letting life unfold as it will: if I want to go for a run, I’m going to do that because, for whatever reason, it is what I need right now.
I hope you, reader, also remember that you’re not alone. None of us are alone. In my twenties, I corresponded with a man who wrote the book on solitude (literally, it’s called “Solitude”) and it’s based on his experience living in a remote part of Patagonia to study the effects of isolation for an extended period of time. You know what he discovered? He’s the one who coined the phrase I used earlier: “…I’m always embedded in multiple relationships.” Through the mechanics of memory, even when he was faced with capricious weather or the question of what to eat, memories of relationships appeared almost as conversations grounding him to the present moment, the past and future.
Optimism: For Now
To me, the world looks brighter. Simpler, perhaps… and in the next months and years, I am going to have to learn to live with less. I’m OK with that, though. I’m OK with the quietness. I am OK with living humbly— the origins of that word literally mean “close to the earth.” I am ready to evolve to whatever comes next…because so far, this journey has presented me with unexpected joys alongside the sorrows.
Perhaps I am not an athlete. But, I am a runner. A cyclist. A woman. An advocate for the Arthritis Foundation. A writer. A wife. And all of that is incredibly wonderful and more than enough.
Follow me on this incredible journey to the California Coast Classic!! Learn more about it on my official donation page. Donations are welcome and deeply appreciated.