Bathing in Lazy

 

I don't relax well.  Sure I have moments where everything goes to jello but they're fleeting and few.  It's not that I don't need to relax, I do, but the pull of all there is 'to do' is much greater than the voice telling me to sit down.  This body is usually on the move.

 

One good by-product of running longer distances is fatigue.  I ran on Saturday with a new crew of old friends, Clair (whom you may know), her husband, Mike and our buddy, Larry, pack leader.  It was perfection.  We were four forty-something's churning out the miles on a crisp winter day running the picturesque back country roads.  We chatted it up and I giggled every time Larry signaled us about oncoming cars like a mother hen because he really is that nice.  Father protector.

 

By Sunday my body was tired.  My mind was tired from loose thoughts needing rounded up, so I made rest my goal.  After my usual coffee and meditation time I began Sunday morning in front of the woodstove and didn't move for four hours.  I sprawled on the floor and got lost in cooking shows, let my daughters play with my hair and watched them make a huge mess in my yarn and beads. My son disappeared into the world of Minecraft.  I submerged myself in a big ol' bath of lazy and dragged myself to shower around lunchtime.  One long, slow, do-nothing, sloth-like morning is about all I can muster but it is enough to reset what needs resetting.

I'm eyeing a new (small) race, the trail could make things interesting and provide a memorable baptism into the world of racing.  Four hours is a long time to ponder such important things.

Running, Resilience and Marky Mark

 

It was date night last Saturday so we went to dinner and then saw Broken City.  We'd been waiting for it, fans of the lead actor, or as my husband says, "I love me some Marky Mark" (who remembers the early 90's?).  I don't have to convince him to go see a movie starring Mark Walhberg, he thinks he's dragging me. 

 

It's not one for those averse to violence, cussing, or mortal sin, but rather a study of all three, a good, hard look at human nature with plenty of Hollywood drama thrown in. I sat there curious more than anything about the back story of the lead actor (as I often am), wondering about his real life's journey. I assumed Marky Mark's story was troubled and had to look him up.  Sure enough I found the tale of a former 13 year old coke addict, gang member prone to assult-turned long-time married successful father of four.  He attributes his turn around in part to a special priest who put him on the right path, the wake up call only prison can give, and reportedly attends daily Catholic mass. 

 

Just like an American movie, his life seems (on the surface anyway) to have had a happy ending, or middle as it were.  We all like happy middles, overcoming the odds, turnarounds, the underdog, triumph over tragedy, stories of resilience.  At least I do.

 

If I had to pick a word or a theme for myself this year, or something to strive for I'd pick resilience.  I thought about it before I went to see the movie. I've been mulling it over for some time.  Mr. Mark is resilient.  It's a hopeful word, a pick-yourself-up-and-dust-yourself-off kind of word.  It conjures images of coming back stronger, better, brighter with a whole new outlook.  Like a rubber band only improved. 

 

For whatever reason, call it a perfect storm (stormy, yes), I've felt a flip of the switch inside.  A change in perspective from swimming upstream to down, difficult to easy, complicated to simple, work to play, guilt to pleasure.  I'm reminded that every day is a do-over, a chance to start again, create the life I was intended to live, and to run with it.  And run I shall, I'm eyeing some ways to keep my feet busy this year and have plenty of company for the ride which is perhaps the best part, the icing on the cake.

As far as Mark Wahlberg goes, I'll continue to see his movies with my husband and I'm glad he's still alive.  I don't miss his days as a rapper/hip-hop artist, but I wish they hadn't cancelled his brother's TV show, now that was some good stuff.

Worst shower ever

 

I showered with this stinky boy last night in the small, stand-up shower off the mud room after he'd been sprayed by a skunk, or rolled in it, no telling, each possibility as plausible as the other.  There was no other option, it was all or nothing.  We were locked in together, in a tiny, steamy, coffin-like sauna of brewing stench that made my eyes water, he just panted and tried to bust out.

 

The things we do for our pets.  Or maybe I did it for me.  He could care less if he stinks.

 

I know, I know, you'll tell me there are fool-proof remedies and I know there are but I wasn't about to get out of my pajamas at nine o'clock to go pick up 3% hydrogen peroxide on a Sunday night so I could give him yet another dousing.  No, this would have to be good enough and good enough it was.

 

Now we've bonded in a new way, one I hope never to repeat only somehow, I feel certain we will.

Knittermission

 

 

This is my go to scarf.  My warmest, cuddliest, squishiest, coziest one, perfect for the dreary winter weather we've had lately.  I made it a few years ago and love it so much I had to make another.  I'm happy to say my elbow is much better and has allowed me to knit, half of the new one is on the needles.  If this weather keeps up and they cancel school based solely on the threat of snow as they are known to do, I just might finish it up by the weekend.

 

The particulars:

the yarn

the shop

the pattern

the needles

Run rain run

 

Yesterday I ran in the rain and now my husband and both of the kids' bus drivers think I'm crazy.  The one with the crochety voice, snarled lips, lap blankets and who puts the heat on when it's 70 degrees out especially.  I've run in the rain before, my husband even ran in the rain that morning, but somehow when I do it it's weird and to that I say, poo.

 

My little blue jacket was a wise investment and kept me perfectly dry underneath, 'cept for the sweat.  My hands and feet were soggy but once I got going the water was no problem, I was focused, stopwatch in hand, repeats the goal. 

 

I have a stack of new books thanks to friends and I'm hopping from one to the next, feeling incrementally inspired as I go.  I also have a plan and in the wise words of my friend, Larry, "plan your run and run your plan".  Larry, I'm trying.

 

What's a little weather when you read a book about a guy who has run through every kind of storm, or when you read about your friend's adventure race in Borneo where she wound up with staph infections, 400 leech bites and lung flukes afterward and shrugged it off like the rest of us would a bad haircut?  I've started Chi Running and am thumbing through Run Less Run Faster on loan from Clair as well as The Runner's Diet so I can learn what I'm doing wrong there, I'm sure there's plenty.  And then there's a little book about healing, for the inner me, something I can only take in small doses but it's time and it's a good accompaniment to my daily meditation.

 

Whatever comes of all of the reading/running/biking the silver lining is this:  I am fully distracted and not perseverating on how much I dislike winter.  I dare to say I am finding just as much opportunity in winter as summer and if the weather gets a little hairy there's always the treadmill. As I write this I also see I'm not alone in my pursuit of wetness and fitness, that Clair also plans a full on dreary, rainy, winter run today and to that I say, it sure is good to have crazy friends.

 

 

Small victories: singletrack round II

 

I will never be a professional mountain biker, that isn't the goal. But I got out there again and down and up the hill I wouldn't even try last time. This new adventure is about saying to hell with 42, trying something new, getting out there even in the winter (yesterday it was 65, okay, doesn't count) instead of holing up inside and complaining about the cold.  It's about looking fear in the face, trying anyway and coming up on the other side.

We won't talk about how I almost took out my riding partner, yep, clipped her right in the side as I yelled, "i'mgonnarunintoyoui'mgonnarunintoyoui'mgonnarunintoyou!" and bam! I did as she stood there trying to catch me.  At least she laughed.  She said she thought I was going to stay on the trail.  A good assumption (yes!), but she doesn't yet know who she's riding with.

I'm tired of being afraid, of limiting myself due to the little voices in my head that don't believe in me and tell me I can't.  Yes, I landed on my ass once but I got back up.  No I didn't make it up every hill but I tried every one, I made it over every log this time and worked on my technique and watched the pro and learned as I went.  Isn't that what life's all about?

 

Why run?

 

I thought about the thousand different reasons people run, everything from getting in shape to losing weight to accomplishing personal goals.  But when it comes to why I run, why I've always run, what it really all boils down to I came up with three reasons:

 

1.  I like it

2.  It's fun

3.  (at the present moment) I can

 

Of course I can go into much more detail than that, breaking each item down into sub-parts but I might lose you so I won't.  My husband says I like the idea of fleeing and he makes his index and middle fingers run down the arm of the couch when we discuss it, and in a way he's right and uses an interesting choice of words.  Fleeing without running away.  Yes.

 

I'm planning on running more in 2013, big foot in big mouth, thanks in part to two very strong supporters:  husband, Clair, both of whom apparently believe more in my abilities than I do in myself.  Funny what some people see in you that you don't see in yourself.  I plan to remedy that, maybe fake it a little till I make it, or just give up on perfection, get over it, get over myself, get on with life.