The trouble I am having lately with posting is too many intense topics swirling in my head for days and then I sit down to type and I’m overwhelmed with choosing one. So then I write and rewrite sentences attempting to merge them all together somehow and the result is something really half-ass that I wind up deleting. And then I don’t post at all. Sort of like when you go to TJ Maxx and fill up your cart and then realize as you make the slow stroll to the cash register that you are full of shit. You have no money for these things. You don’t need another dog bed, candle, calphalon pan, or pair of flip flops. And while maybe you really DID need the socks, you just can’t be bothered anymore.
So I’m just going to go for it. It’s a half-ass hybrid post. Who cares. Running and babies – these are a few of the things on my mind these days.
I’m back in therapy after several years and its been great. I talk about running and babies a lot. Actually, I cry, but whats new. Some pretty soul shifting events have occurred in my life in the last 2 years. My pregnancy with Oban, having an unmedicated waterbith, newborn induced sleep deprivation, breastfeeding, and now running. What they have in common is that they all required some level of commitment, endurance, and faith on my part. They were all extremely challenging and extremely taxing and yet they’ve all given me such incredible strength and satisfaction. The kind that wells up in your throat and makes words hard to find.
Almost all of these opportunities have presented themselves because of my son – his life has given me a kind of focus and grit that I never thought was in the cards for me. I feel totally empowered and enriched by my love for him, and yet totally incapacitated by the thought of ever losing him. The result of that, is a hot mess in the therapist chair every other week. I find myself in tears often when I talk about him. I silently cry when I watch him play. I cry singing to him. I cry hearing his laughter. I cry because there is something so beautiful it makes your heart want to explode – about your own flesh and blood. There is something mystical about the wonder and innocence and pure benevolence of a sixteen month old. And because I am neurotic, in these blissful moments a freight train comes a long, and as I am talking about or looking at or thinking about the joy of my child – I think cancer. I think suffering. I think tragic awful things. And then I think about other peoples children. I think about their mothers. And of course Elizabeth Mitchell is usually playing in the background. I don’t know how that woman sings those songs. My point is OH MAH GAWD! Having a baby rocks my world.
So running. Running has felt like a religious experience for me. And wow, I could have never seen that one coming! Honestly, I was almost entirely motivated to attempt a half-marathon just to impress my husband. I’m signed up for my first in March – the Atlanta Publix (formerly ING) Marathon. I started out with a Couch-to-5k program then worked my way into a 1/2 marathon training schedule. I have never run a race in my life. But 5 days a week now I go out there and run. I run in sleet, and snow, and crazy ass wind – and most of the time I spend half the distance trying to give myself a good enough excuse to stop, turn around, and go home – because its that unpleasant. But I do it. I plod along. And not a single run in 4 months have I completed and not felt like the baddest mother effer on the block. Every run is like its own mini labor and birth. The endorphins I felt walking from that birthing pool over to my hospital bed dragging half my reproductive self practically on the floor (eww i know, but crazy shit!) – are the same endorphins I feel when I have completed a really great run. It’s amazing. It’s living. It’s pushing your body to places it was meant to withstand and feeling so alive. I love it. It’s exactly what I never knew I needed. Birth and running shoes.