peace.

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Go confidently in the direction of your dreams!

Live the life you’ve imagined.

As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler

~Henry David Thoreau

A week before the marathon, the doctor said don’t run.

I ran anyway.  A full and a half.

I lost my sweet dog.  And I have another sweet dog at my feet.

I lost a friend and gained another.

Three days ago, I had an MRI and the doctor put me in a cast.

Only one day before my job ended.

My job ended two days ago, and within 20 minutes I had an email from an old employer.

That said, come back.  We really really want you to come in.  Tomorrow.

Yesterday, I go in.  Cast, unemployed, fear.

They hire me on the spot for a substitute gig that pays into my retirement.

One son becomes a Freshman last night, one a Middle Schooler.

I have saved a little for the first time in my life so I can have a summer and pay the bills.

I play the hand I’m dealt every single day.

This journey is long, and I have simplified my life.

I love Thoreau.

a weird shift

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I saw this and absolutely loved it.  I am having a weird shift taking place inside of me.  I have come to accept that I’m not running for awhile.  I head to the orthopedic specialist in the morning to diagnose and create a treatment plan that will bring me back to running.  It’s kinda cool, because I can see what else I can do with this body.

This weekend, I went to Fresno to be with the women I love.  No longer am I riding the rails, but that’s another story for another time, and won’t be on the blog.  It’s a story that the women in my life hear.  Over and over and over.  And another friend who has been the recipient of late night gab fests, and finally I headed to Fresno for a job interview.  I am only less than a year away from retirement, so I NEED a job in a school district.  And, if I get this job, it will be an 85 mile commute, but the jobs are limited.  Especially for people about to hit the retirement curve.  **Pause for shock…you didn’t know I was that old***

I meet my diva for lunch at Rubio’s, and with a hair in the food, and the quick delivery of my money back, we head to a different joint to dissect her life and mine.  I spend time with an old friend who I met 25 years ago, and she lends me her apartment.  She, a Giants fan, and me, an avid Dodger fan.  I spend time on her balcony while she reports the Giants did this, and oh look at that…and I listen to the wind chimes and enjoy the solitude.  A few of the gal pals I message with all day long decide that yes, we will meet at the Farmer’s Market.   I spend a few moments thinking about the joy of last summer, and the sparkling pool, and yeah.  But, it’s different.

I have one moment of my heart jumping out of my body, but guess what.  I think I might be a grownup.  I get up on Saturday, and chat with friends and head to places where I know I’m alone, and see a women who has my history.  She,  with 40 years of sobriety…and I am just brimming over with emotion.  After a bit of conversation, I decided that I either have to stay or go.  I decide that I don’t live there…and I later come back to my town.  Where I write and ponder.  It takes a long time, and I am not having fun, but this part is so necessary for growth.  For peace and balance.  To be able to not regret the past, it is absolutely imperative that I go through that inventory process.  I don’t see my part. I call someone who continually lifts me up.  I am full of a noisy head, but I head to see friends, because when you’re that out of balance, there is no where else to go sometimes.

I later land in a meeting, and wonder why I’m there.  I’m bored already with meetings, and isn’t it enough already?  I’ve had no drink since 1979, and why.  I just feel rotten.  In the last two months, I fall in love with and help start 2 women on the recovery journey, and I think…they are both gone.  What the hell is the point?  I’m in a room full of crazy people.  I recognize myself.   Just as I am about to leave, here she comes.  Girl with 30 days, who had so much promise like we all do.  And she can barely look up.  I recognize the shame of alcoholism.  The lowered eyes as if to say, look, I’m only here because I have no idea what to do.  After the meeting, I come to her, and she is drunk.  And.  She is me.  I try to get her to let me take her to her parents’ house, but she refuses.  I talk to another lady who helps me decide what to do.

Today, I bring my running partner to her half marathon, where I do not allow myself any pity.  My job is to support her, to be there, and we head for omelets and waffles and diet cokes after, like we’ve done so many races before.  We sit and chew over all of the things we haven’t talked about since she got faster, and I got older.  Some things are the same.  She PRs by 4 minutes, and I couldn’t be more proud, and we look at her splits.

I am home.  I’ve picked up my dog, I’m getting into the spa, and I’m feeling the shift.  I’ve sat on the spin bike, done an ab workout, cleaned the pool and am in the quiet once again.  Change is happening inside of me.  I am following direction, the dictates of a god, and the girl that was brought out in this last year?  She is here.  Which is another story for another time.

There is a shift.  And.  It feels weird.

the trifecta.

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About a month before the San Luis Obispo Marathon, I was having trouble with my left foot.  I’m sure I blogged about it.  It didn’t hurt when I ran, only when I walked.  I was at the end of a fantastic training cycle using the Hanson plan, and knew I would run a 5:15 marathon.  I was supremely confident.  Except for the foot.

About a week before the marathon, I went to the doctor, because getting out of bed was difficult.  Could barely walk at times.  We did an X-Ray, which showed nothing, and he set me up for an MRI.  Because I loathe this procedure, I put it off.  He said he didn’t think I should run the marathon, and I dismissed him, because I was sure I knew my body, and it was ready.

I ran a full marathon.  In my first race report, full of drama and self examination, I mentioned that everything hurt.  Except my foot.  Then last weekend, I ran a half marathon.  For the first six miles, I was floating, and then I was limping by mile 10, but not because of my foot.  My right knee.

*note:  I am 53, and my last blood work showed that I have a vitamin D deficiency, thus prompting my doctor to make me take a bazillion tabs of vitamin D a day…so.  I am aware.*

Since then, I’ve run a few times.  3 miles, 5 miles.  Then, because I kept having this nagging pain, I thought I better get the MRI.

Yesterday the verdict came in:  Stress Fracture in the Middle Cuneiform.  Which, was like speaking Greek to me.  The language I used privately cannot be repeated here, but I have certainly had a need to wash out my mouth.  I am not happy, to say the least.  However, now there is a reason my foot hurts.  I finally found a diagram that makes sense, the one above, because the middle cuneiform is exactly where my foot aches.

The doctor called today.  On Monday they will determine whether or not we have surgery or a boot or something else.  She said to put no weight on it this weekend.    Meanwhile, my gal pal over at ultrarunnergirl, sent me this website, because before I train again, I will be doing swimming, aqua jogging, and anything else except running.  http://wellimtryingtorun.blogspot.com/

I lost my beautiful Princess, and ran a full marathon and half marathon on a stress fracture.  Sort of like the perfect trifecta of bleakness.  All running is on hold.  Again, thanks to this wonderful community of runners who make me laugh, send me links, private message me support, and remind me that this is just a small blip in the journey.

how did this happen already?

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Are we here already?  Swimsuit season?  It’s May.

How can it be that almost half of the 2012 calendar is in my trashcan?

Other musings:

  1. In 8 days, my son graduates from Middle School, and will be starting High School.  Wait, I’m not ready.  I just don’t know where the time went, as it is only yesterday he was in Pre-school.
  2. The work year will be done in 20 days.  Again, have I been completely asleep this whole year, and how is it that I am within 6 months of being eligible for retirement?  Wait.  I’m not sure that’s right, and I obsessively check my calendar to make sure I’m not going to be 55.
  3. My other son will be in 7th grade.  Unreal.  He has to first get by Pre-Algebra, but I have an eyeball on it every.single.day. until school is out.
  4. My foot.  It’s okay, but I have an MRI scheduled in the morning, just in case.  Because I’ll be toeing the line once again in December in Tucson, and certainly need to get this under control.
  5. I am in this house going on 18 years.  18 years ago this summer, I moved into this town, this house.  For the last 5 years, I’ve stuck my foot in the side of the foreclosure mountain, and have not left yet.  Soon.  Soon.
  6. Job interviews.  Here we are in Pink Slip California again…but this time, it’s a crapshoot.  Each day in five counties, I scour the possible options, and I apply for everything.  I have exciting interviews coming up.  For the first part of my career, I stayed in jobs many years.  In the last 7 years, I’ve been in 5 school districts.  I’m sure the right one is just around the corner.
  7. And lastly, love.  I have an amazing therapist helping me unwind a 9 year old girl who possibly sabotages every good thing that comes in her way…but more than that…she is helping me change the 50 year old thought patterns of my self worth.  Once again, I am falling in love.  With me.  She teaches me today that the love I give is amazing and beautiful, and it’s time to give it to me as well as another.  Painful, thought producing, and joyous all at the same time.

On the running front, my body practically screamed for a run yesterday…a mere 3 miles followed my bubble heaven, but I needed to be out there.

It’s mid-May.  How did this happen?   Simply.  One day at a time.

<3

in theory.

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Last week something big happened in my life.  And something big was happening in a friend’s life.  She was tapering for a sub 2 half marathon, and very nervous.  And, meanwhile, this really big thing was happening in my life.

I decided that I should not tell her.  Not burden her with this really big thing.  She was tapering, and therefore all life should stop.  In theory.  She should focus on her race, not my big thing.  So I didn’t tell her all week.  The third friend and I?  We just talked, and she helped me through it.  She and I decided not to tell the friend who was tapering so as not to distract her from this very big goal.

What ended up happening?  I felt all week that I was keeping something from her.  She knew, of course, that something was up because I wasn’t my normal chatty self.   I kept saying, “Oh how are you?”  ”How’s your head?”  and because I wasn’t telling her about this really big thing, she wasn’t telling me about something equally big that happened in her life.  Turns out we were both on our respective floors with our respective therapists, carving out answers to questions that were going unanswered about situations in our lives.

I needed her.  I thought I was doing her a favor by not troubling her.  She barely missed her goal.  I ended up on a half marathon course telling anyone and everyone about my trouble when friend number three starting singing payphone off key.  

I have some wonderful women in my life who trudge the road with me…sometimes I’m ahead, and sometimes I let them show me the way.  One such woman stayed in contact with me day and night the last few days.  She was someone, in theory, that I was helping.  But.  I became real with her.  Dropped the “I’m sober 33 years and know what to do” act.  Cried.  Told her what was going on.  And it was easier the next time she needed me.  Opening up to her was the most important event of our friendship.  On that note, I have women I’ve known for years.  Who know me.  Who stay up late with me texting and talking and calling and chatting.  Women who I can text a WTF to, who know EXACTLY what to say, and how to apply the girl code.

In theory, I guess, life should stop while tapering, so we can focus on our races.  So we can just…you know, relax.  In theory, if I am your sponsor, then I should not burden you with my issues, that I should take them to MY sponsor, who in turn takes hers to HER sponsor.  In theory, I should be a grown up and not be hurt by something I saw coming a million miles away.  In theory.

In life, however, family members and lovers hurt you, beloved dogs die, children need parenting, laundry and chores need doing, and bills still need to be paid.  Life does not stop because you have a marathon, or some other big event on the horizon.   I’m lucky to have so many friends in my life that know exactly what I need and are continually there, if I would only ask.  I’m lucky to know that I need to lean on people, to let them really see me. 

Friend number three texted me this week saying she couldn’t come to our standing lunch date because something really big was happening in her life.  I texted her back:  I will hunt you down.  I will be there.  After all this, I was not going to let her go through what I went through.  I found her.  We met.  We problem-solved over coffee and quiche and cake, and though nothing was resolved, I was just, you know, there.

I’m traveling to parts all ’round here and there to play and to interview and to see where life will take me next.  Thankfully, I have a pocketful of people that don’t just say they are there…they really really are.

Diva Half Marathon Race Report

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Pink.  Boas.  Tiaras.  Tutus.  Roses.  This was just some of the schwag you got when you ran Divas San Francisco today.  I usually am not one who goes after that kind of a race.  However, several months ago, my Gal Pal #1 and I bought bibs for this race.  Last week, I sold my bib and decided not to run, thinking it wouldn’t be a good idea to run a half 2 weeks after a full.  Lo and behold, i end up with a bib anyway.  It’s like I was supposed to be out there today for some reason.

Gal Pal number #1 and I hook up this week when she asks if she can pick me up and take me with her to the hotel…Gal Pal #2 gets my bib…and the universe starts in motion for today’s race.

We drive over to the race yesterday.   Now, here’s the misleading part.  This race is not in San Francisco, it’s in Burlingame.  The race touts itself as “you’re only steps away from beautiful bay views”…One of the first misnomers of the weekend.  We check into the hotel, and start non-talk talking and laughing that ended only 24 hours later.  Not once did we turn on the tv.  Just talk, talk, talk…including a speaker phone call from another friend of ours where, we…talk.

Dinner consisted of a Mexican restaurant that featured the weirdest karaoke songs.  Plus, we didn’t connect the inflated tequila bottles and insane noise with Cinco de Mayo.  We both had enchiladas and broken chips, and tried to figure out where the start line was.  We wandered into something known as Prime Time, and after that bizarre experience, headed home to look for chocolate, which was not to be.

This morning, Gal Pal 2 & 3 drove in to Burlingame, and we all started prepping for this race.

My foot was jacked from the pre-marathon injury two weeks ago, but Gal Pal 2 also was injured.  We had agreed to run it together.  Run or walk, whatever.

Mile 1-5 were pretty much bliss at 11:30 pace.  I felt trained, and was starting to connect to some redemption from the race I had pinned my hopes on the week beforehand.  I hopped onto the side at 5.5, and went to the bathroom, losing my last pair of Dollar Store gloves to the task at hand.  We turned around at mile 6.5, and started the second half on the hottest and most uneven pavement there was.

At Mile 8, she started singing  PayPhone by Maroon 5 which has been my personal go-to song of late.  She and Ali both know…this is my anthem right now.  She starts singing, and I try to make my music louder.  She starts, and I start.  Talking.  To anyone around me.  On why that’s my theme song.  On the emotional redemption I need on this course today.  She and I run, walk, run.  It passes.

Then, the water stations are filling water out of garbage cans, there is no Gatorade, and did I mention it was hot?

We finished the race in under 3 hours, which was the goal.  around 13:00 minute mile.  The initial quick pace was hampered by the jacked up foot aching, and then all of a sudden a knee snap, and a quad muscle that flings out into the universe.  Me.  Limping, but running.  So yeah.  There’s another half marathon in the books.

But.  I will tell you.  These lady’s races aren’t really for me.  I could have gagged with the amount of perfume, the massive sea of pink, the tutus and jewels.  It’s really not me.  I’m more of a road race without frills kind of girl.  I want the race organizers to spend money on more volunteer stations, more drink, maybe some nutrition.  They are now pandering to the chicks who run.  Lots of fun, but less aura of a challenge than, say…Fresno Half Marathon.  Like Rock N Roll and even NIKE, these type of races are becoming machines.  Big money makers, with…no prize money for the winners today?  (I haven’t checked, just heard this.)

So.  We drive home.  I’m in Compression Socks and drinking ice water.  Tired.

I turn on a movie I DVR’d a few weeks ago.  The Bodyguard.  Given that the weekend Whitney Houston died, I was busy rebuilding something broken, which is now broken again…this may not be my best choice for the night.

However, I had a lovely time this weekend.  Lots of good talk, good friendship, healing tender mercies, new surprises…and yeah.  Left some angst on the course.

 

My Princess Race

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I ran on Wednesday, for the first time since the marathon.  I was in bliss.  I absolutely know that running is in my blood now.  Even though I bonked in San Luis, I know what went wrong, and why…and I know how to fix it.

On Monday, I put my sweet Princess to sleep.  I have missed her every single day.  Chet is quiet…his co-dependent barks are no longer.  I finally spoke to her vet this morning, and she was glad that the other doctor did it, because she was attached to Princess.  She said I did the right thing, that Princess had a bad cancer in a bad place.  And, that it was okay.

However, I am bereft.  It took all week to even forgive myself.  I was simply not okay.  I laid in bed looking out at the pool, seeing her happy little run and bark and remembering what a great dog she was.  And then, I remembered…I have another great dog right here.  Chet and I went for our first big walk in a long time…the boys usually take them…but he and I walked about a half mile or more last night.  He was thrilled.  He gets the good bed, the extra treats, and more head rubs.  He knows I’m sad.  He is my constant companion in the mornings.

In the last three days, I’ve had more friends in my life show up for me in ways I couldn’t have asked for.  From chats at midnight, to long recovery-laced talks during the day, to signing up for 5Ks and looking for half marathons.  I’m blessed to be sober, and also to be able to tell my group how screwed up I was.  From texts to emails to word games to phone calls…I am completely grateful.

Which brings me to the title of this post.

I got a Diva bib and sold it.  Then got another one from a very special gal pal.  Then another gal pal texted that she was driving through and wanted to pick me up…offered me her hotel room.  Last week at this time, I was in a hole.  This week I head to San Francisco to run a half marathon.  I ran 5 miles this morning at HMPace, and it was fabulous.  I’m planning on taking my time in SF, and really.  I just want to hang with the girls.

This race gives you a tiara.  A boa.  A medal.  Champagne (gotta remember not to grab that one).  It’s out and back, pancake flat, and clearly caters to the foo foo girls runners.  It’s not even called an Expo.  It’s a Health & Fitness Boutique.  I think these people have the lock on the pink thing.  I think it’s a hoot, since I generally look like a boy sans makeup and matching outfits.

But.  This race?  This race is for Princess.  It’s only fitting that I get all the trappings for her…for the two mismatched owner and dog team…not really Pink girls, not girls who would have pink boas.  Except this weekend.  I run each mile for her.

a long tribute to my sweet girl.

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About a million years ago, I walked into the shelter, looking for a chocolate Lab.  We had seen Chet on their website, and thought, well…it’s time.  Actually, my thoughts were to get dogs to save my failing, faltering marriage.  This is not a good plan, by the way.  He left the following February.

We saw Chet jumping, and I told the boys, just let me go look around.  I saw Princess in the back of her kennel.  I asked the girl to let me see this dog.  She opened the gate, and Princess walked over to me, and immediately sat at my feet.  Her eyes begged “Rescue Me”, and she was so sweet and docile, and well…she loved me.  We heard that she had come to the shelter pregnant, and all puppies were euthanized.  The last family that had her had a lot of noisy children, and Princess hid behind their couch, so the family brought her back, and in bringing her back, gave me the biggest gift of all.

This picture is the first night we brought her home in the Spring of 2006.  As I sit here typing, I remember that first night.  She didn’t come in, but sat outside my bedroom door with her head up looking around the yard.  Every time I woke, there she was, surveying her new surroundings.She sat there a lot.

We soon realized that the pink ribbon wasn’t really her.  In fact, she quickly became the dominant dog, and I pictured her name being Ginger or something.  Cigar in paw, glass of wine, ordering people around.

She has neuroses.  The first Fourth of July, I left the dogs home, and when I had come home, the screens were off of my window, and she had taken down my glass to get herself into the house.  She hated wind and weather, climbing into the smallest space by my desk.  She has chewed off door jambs, gotten out of the tiniest places, and literally has been in jail at least 8 times.  There was time I tried to set up one of those electric fence thingys and just as I was teaching her this, she looked at me with the collar on, and jumped right over the fence.  That was a short lived experiment, but I was desperate.  In any case, this $35 shelter dog cost me somewhere in the neighborhood of $1000.  At least.  Even after she is gone, I’m still paying the umpteenth ticket on time.

The last few years, the Police would call my cell, and say…We have Princess.  Who can come and get her.  She simply needed to run free.  Her issues were fireworks, loud noises and cameras.  I have had the iPhone text on silent for so long, because she simply would leave the room in a panic.  This is a dog who did not respond well when the ex husband and I argued.  Still today, loud voices scared her.  Reluctantly at times, I would get in my car and drive down to the shelter to get her AGAIN.  I would be mad at her.  Frustrated.  Get her in the car, to the vet, to the dog groomer.  Again and again.  I stopped trusting that she would stay.  I accepted she was a runner.

Last month, she was diagnosed with an ugly rectal cancer that was starting to invade her pelvis.  Our doctor told us she had about a month.  Well, today it was a month.  The boys told me she couldn’t poop on the walks, and I had been watching her daily.  She still barked at the mailman, the pool man, anyone who came to my door.  Today, she was barking like crazy at someone…This dog howled at fire trucks and in the end, could barely get out a weak growl.

But.  We didn’t want her to suffer.  The tumor was getting bigger, and I knew it was only a matter of time.  The boys and I discussed it last night, and decided that today was the day.  We were to take her to the vet and assess the tumor.  The vet said it was a matter of time, that there was the alternative of stool softeners, etc.  However, I knew my children, my lovely young men who had spent hours walking these dogs, could not take more of saying goodbye.  We had decided as a family that this was the right thing to do.  That we simply did not want her to hurt.  Not one more day.  The inevitable was here.

She was not happy.  Agitated.  I laid on her blanket.  The one where she would take her last breath.  We were all petting her and telling her we loved her.  The shot was quick.  Her eyes simply closed.  We kissed and hugged her and told her we loved her…again and again.  I can’t tell you that that 10 seconds was quick.  It was forever and fast at the same time.

And then she was gone.

In the last days, she let Chet lay with her, and this was unheard of.  He walked around and around, and laid under the table all day…he knew.  He comes by my chair all day today, after she left…his buddy gone.

We talked a lot today how we rescued her from the shelter.  But it was the other way around.  She would go put her head on the boys’ beds and give them comfort when I had no more words for what was happening to their world.  She would lay by my feet while I cried buckets of tears.  She loved her morning walks, and sat by the window precisely at 3:15pm when the bus would deliver her charges from school.  In the morning, she would help me go from door to door getting up the sleepy teenagers, but at night.  At night, she was on her spot right by my bed.

We knew she needed to run away.  Perhaps she needed to know that we would never take her back to the shelter…maybe she tested the waters to see if I would come back for her.  And I always did.   Because that’s how I love.

She saved me.  And I will miss her for a long time.