Steroids

Barely 7 weeks before the New York Marathon and I have a 3-week injury that is not getting better. Mikey and Brix, my hotshot orthopedic surgeons think it's medial plantar fasciitis. I think it's the devil come to take away my New York Marathon dream one more time.

And already I am thinking I ought to work on my upper body strength --my fingers specifically--so I can claw my way to the finish line if need be. I might need to work on my teeth too. In case I need to chomp my way to the finish line. because I will do everything in my power to get across that finish line.

Ironically, I got this injury while trying out Chi running--the running style that's supposed to make you injury-free. It was during a run that I tucked in between a medical convention so it was on a treadmill and I was, sort of, rushing. I was doing speed training and feeling like a puny human being and a goddess at the same time life --the way speed training makes me feel in other words. And I think I landed too far forward--not just on the balls of my feet but on tip toes and bam! That was when I felt the pain.

And this pain has not left. I didn't run for 2 weeks--cross trained lang. Swam and biked until the pain went down to level 2-3 (on a scale of 1-10 with 10 being excruciating/disabling). Then after 2 weeks, ran for just 50 minutes. Pain went back. I went to mikey who had xrays on my right foot done. The good news is  I have zero fractures.

Last Sunday I did a 2 and a half hour run in UP. The pain came back with a vengeance. Funny thing is I could run despite the pain. It wasn't disabling. and I felt like I could run a few more miles after my run. But as soon as I stopped, there is no other word for the pain I felt but 'excruciating'. next day, it had gone down to manageable levels although I walked with a limp.

So now I am worried. And am thinking of dramatic scenarios I might need to contend with in case this doesn't get better. I will have someone inject steroids on my medial plantar area. or  I might do it myself.

Last Week to the New York Marathnon

Sunday, October 28, 2012

Did Pilates from 10-11 am at Gramercy Pilates Fitness on 39 East 20th. The Pilates teachers are top rate except that it isn't one and one and unlike dear old Pinas, I am expected to clean up after myself??!! Da nerve!! Der are no muchachos and muchachas in da US of A, most specially not in the Man-hat-of Tan. Da muchacha, she is staring at you in the mirror, wondering what you're waiting for?? Isprey da isprey of anti-germs already and make naspu naspu. No one here to do it for you, haller. Also you're expected to know how to maneuver those machines--the very same machines da super bait teacher in Pinas does for you so you look to your left and your right when da US of A Pilates teacher says to 'put the blue and red not the yellow' and you go to yourself, "Does she mean me? How dare she? I paid 59USD for 3 lessons!"  (hahaha! I know, right? STEAL! Thank you Groupon!) "Why she punishing poor helpless marathoner me?"

Autumn Run

Yesterday I ran in freezing weather--at 32 degrees fahrenheit or zero degrees celsius. I am currently in Maryland where fall is about to take a bow to usher in winter.

I love running in this kind of weather. I ran at dusk yesterday--my favorite time of day. The sun, as always before it waves goodbye, gave a most breathtaking show. The sky turned bloody red with a purple tint and deep orange. and I could make out, in stark detail the tree branches that were now bereft of leaves. Overhead, a flock of birds flew in graceful haste to wherever it is birds fly in graceful haste.

I think I love fall above all else bec I am in the fall of my life. I feel, oftentimes, that I am chasing daylight, cramming a lifetime of dreams and goals in what, I am afraid, are the last few remaining years of my life before winter sets in.

And I wish to go have a blazing fall before my glorious and victorious winter sets in.

Who Am I Running For in the New York Marathon?

Part 1 of the "Who Am I Running For in the New York Marathon?" Chronicles. 



For Rosanne Romero (seated on the wheelchair). I have known Rosanne ever since I was a kid at St. Theresa's. She is my older sister, Sophie's barkada. I remember how deeply in awe I was of her beauty. Rosanne will kill me for saying this. We've never had a discussion about this but I sense she minimizes her physical attributes. From her chosen profile picture of her dog to her FB albums which hardly 

has any nice pics of her. I don't know if she does it on purpose. I imagine she is weary of a lifetime of people telling her how beautiful she is. I'm shallow. Tell me all you want. Heck, I'll even pay you to lie to me and tell me forever how beautiful I am. :)

Rosanne is also a published author of this gem of a book 'Amusing Grace', one of the few religious books I love to read. Like all amazing books, hers made me laugh so hard and cry so hard..Rosanne's book as well as Anne Lamott's books are about the only contemporary religious books I love to read. The rest I think are just written by sanctimonious blow hards. Rosanne is the real deal.

She also has Multiple Sclerosis--a monster of a disease that has ravaged her and robbed her of a life of the simplest of functions--things we take for granted like the ability to hold something without it slipping off your fingers and breaking to pieces. I love that Rosanne has not romanticized this disease. And I love that she asks God such hard, heart wrenchingly honest gut questions---ones I've asked god myself, ones I've wrestled with--to the ground, muddied and bloodied.

Whenever I post pictures of me running a race or climbing a mountain, Rosanne will be there aching to know what that feels like. 'Is Pulag really as beautiful as this picture of it that you've posted? Can I reach its peak kaya if I walk real slow?'. I can feel her ache for the things lost to her forever (No wait! No such thing as forever! There' still research!). 'I want to climb Pulag..I want to run..or even just walk." It got to a point where I almost didn't want to post about anything about my running or climbing because Rosie's pain was too much for me to bear. It made me immensely sad that the things I loved doing had been taken away from her. Cards dealt, sorry. But then I got that Rosanne loved so much to hear about my exploits precisely because I could tell her about it.

So I asked her to choose her NYM kilometer for me to run. She chose km 42. The last km. I almost cartwheeled and whooped with joy. Km 42 is the Victory Km. You have run your race so well that you got to Km 42. You will breast that tape. "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.", from Scriptures. This is my Rosanne Km. I want to tell you Guber Romero how amazing it feels to run through the finish line of a full marathon. As accurately as I can describe it to you, this is how it feels: It feels like giant hands have scooped you up and swung you through. IT FEELS LIKE FLYING! No need to run and walk and climb, Rosie! We will fly through that finish line together!

Part 2 of "Who Am I Running For in the NY Marathon?" (paki-cue ang yuchub bidjo at fundraiser to :) )

                                              (Photo by Pio Fortuno)


For the kids of Kamp Pagkakaisa--kids who've been dealt the most awful cards in life, in my opinion. Abandoned at birth or neglected or abused---or all 3. And on top of that, these children have special needs--additional obstacles they need to hurdle in a society that judges them as less than human and where they are ignored and forgotten in the most awful and saddest of way

s.

But oh, no smiles could be brighter, no belly laughs so mirthful, no dance so given to total abandon, no embraces so complete and oh-so warm! There is a reason our 10 day summer camp for them is the high point of their existence as it is ours, their ates and kuyas. They have shown us places inside ourselves we didn't know existed until they touched us there. They redeem us.

And for them, their day in the sun, to let them remember their worth, that they are loved and that they are worthy and able and that they stand head and shoulders with the rest of us. A different kind of healing and remembrance.

Amazingly enough, we've been able to do this for close to 35 years now out of the generosity of family and friends. How 'bout it then? What do you say we give these kids something good to remember next camp? Pledge a thousand pesos at least for every kilometer I run in the NYMarathon and that kilometer is yours. Sharing of kilometers might happen ha?

I will write your name on my dibdib come Nov 4. Seriously. I'd do it. Geym? :D May Sharpie/pentel pen ako, ready to write your name. :D

Thank you, my friends for rockin' and rollin' with me this way ♥

Part 3. "Who Am I Running For in the NY Marathon?" 

Joey Alcaraz. I never got to meet Joey. He, however, is the brother of my grade school best friend, Yellie whose heart is badly broken because Joey died suddenly at the age of 52. Joey was a runner as well. And running the NYMarathon was one of his dreams. 

I asked Yellie to choose a km for Joey and I've been trying to rewrite what she wrote for days now. But really, sometimes one needs to step back and let other people do

 what they do best. In Yellie's case, it is to talk about the brother she loves so much and aches to still have with her.

This is what Yellie wrote:

Hi Wee! I really thought about what mile you'd run for Joey. I even discussed it with my siblings . . . Doing the NYM was also Joey's dream (that he was not able to do). So we figured that the 21st km would be a good km to remember Joey. That's the midpoint. A place where you say, "Ok, I'm halfway." Where you go the same number of kilometers to make it to the finish line. The line where you might want to quit, or where you'll now push to the end. At this halfway mark, I want you to think that you shared this dream with Joey . . . Running the NYM. And as you run the next 21 kms home, think of Joey running alongside you, cheering you on, pushing you to the limit. Picture him running the greatest marathon of his life in heavens' streets of gold with the strength and the glide of eagles. That should make you finish strong! Thank you Wee! Here's to the halfway point, and beyond the finish line!!!!"

Yellie Alcaraz-Nonato ♥ Salut to Joey running the NYM with me! :)

Part 4. "Who Am I Running For in the NY Marathon?" 

For Suzanne. Suzanne is my high school batch mate in St. Theresa's. We weren't even close then but like a lot of wonderful, magical things in life, I rediscovered her in midlife and she is one of the wise, compassionate, and yes, fierce women who surround me aka goddesses.

Suzanne is also a breast cancer survivor. I suspect a lot of her wisdom and strength and compassion and fierceness comes from staring this monster in the eye and saying, 'Not this time. Not right now! Go away!"

Km 5 goes to Suzanne David Villanueva. For you, honey bunny ♥ and for the many many many years we will travel together in this wonderful adventure called life. Salut!

Part 5. "Who Am I Running For in the NY Marathon?"

For the kids of Hole in the Wall Gang.

These are kids who've been dealt one of life's toughest blows that threaten to rob them of this time in every human being's life that passes by once and goes by too quickly, the gate that swings one way, this magical place we call 'childhood'.

With serious illnesses that will try even the hardiest of souls--like cystic fibrosis, congenital heart ailments, sickle cell anemia, leukemi

a, these kids soldier on from one grim medical procedure to another. For most of them, this is the only life they've know.

Because of your open-palmed generosity, I was able to raise over $3,000.00 for them--and in no time at all. It was just like asking for Chocnut.

So yes, because of you, some kids are going to know a different kind of healing. Where they get to be regular kids for once in their lives--carefree, pain-free, laughing and playing without a care in their lives.

From the deepest recesses of my heart, thank you. And from the children who cannot thank you themselves, thank you.

Part 6. "Who Am I Running For in the NY Marathon?"

For these wonderful human beings I birthed and who caused my rebirth so I had to blink twice when I looked in the mirror.

I looked the same (with giant eyebags though--oh, ok and super frazzled hairstyle and yes, giant hips) yet my inner landscape had irretrievably changed because of them. I don't even feel the same--like I can paralyze in an instant anyone who tries to do them harm---with just one karate chop.

They are

my deepest joys and deepest sorrows. My songs of victory~ my hallelujahs! and my mournful songs of defeat. They've kept it oh-so real for me. They are my salvation, my redemption.

Km 1 for you Rafa, Luis and Matina. Because I was with you when you first saw light but most probably will not be with you at some point. And because so much of what I do, so much of what I feel passionate about, so much of what I start is, in some big way, related to you. Like my fight for social justice and equality, for a better world for you.

No Km 42s for you--not from me, at least. You will need to earn your victories yourselves.You will need to craft a life all your own, to be true to yourselves and to heed the yearnings of your souls.

I have deep faith you guys will get there. You make me so proud to be called your mama.

I love you, Luis. I love you, Matina. I love you, Rafa.

Mama proud of you, my little puppies. ♥

Part 7. "Who Am I Running For in the NY Marathon?" 

For WOMEN. ALL WOMEN,because I am fully cognizant of the power of women.

The goddesses in my life who I love and admire deeply, these self-defined, feisty, compassionate, funny goddesses who laugh in the face of ignorance and hatred.

Most of all, for disadvantaged and marginalized women. I run for what is rightfully theirs--their power to choose! The power for self-determination!

The shameless and cruel way society tre

ats women who are poor and uneducated burns me. The way society's institutions--the church, goverment,financial institutions, family, women themselves--collude to keep women in their place burns a hole through my soul. I could shake a fist at all these forever.

I am sticking the 'RH Bill Now' sticker on me when I run the NY Marathon because I believe in the transformative powers of a woman's reproductive rights--how it can mean the difference between her being poor, ignorant, marginalized~forever begging for scraps for her and her children, forever impoverished in body, mind and soul-- and being the goddess she was meant to be.

And I deeply believe that a nation's salvation lies in the yet hardly-tapped abilities of women.

Memo to the corrupt clowns in Senate:

PASS THE RH BILL NOW!

Part 8."Who Am I Running For in the NY Marathon?"

This man. 

This classy, elegant man. 

This kind man. 

This intelligent man. 

Friend of my soul. 

Kaholding hands in life. 

Worthy companion of me. 

And because he is a terribly private man, 'nuff said. :)

Part 9. "Who Am I Running For in the New York Marathon?" 

For my host city, New York. Home to millions of feisty inhabitants to whom individuality and coming together are both sacred covenants. Where diversity is the norm. Where differences are not just tolerated but celebrated. 

You will rise from this, NY. Nothing to it. You shall overcome with the indomitable spirit you are known for. 

2 words: immigrant stock. 

I ♥ NY.

(photo by Humans of New York)

And finally, part 10. "Who Am I Running For in the NY Marathon?" 

For this woman. 

She who lived a mere 29 years. 

She who never pounded the 'concrete jungle where dreams are made of.'

She who never walked the streets of Manhattan. 

Never felt the power in her limbs propel her towards her dreams. Never felt the wind in her face. Never felt her body be anything but a painful burden and a betrayal.

She and I will sail through the streets of New York City, November 4.

And we will breast that tape together in Central Park, mama.

You and I. :)

Back of the Pack

On average, it takes me around 8 minutes to run a kilometer. Depending on how many kilometers I am about to run, per kilometer can take me from 7 to 10 minutes. Maybe 6 minutes if a dog were after me or if I were after Daniel Craig. But the long and short of it, this chick? A definite back-of-the-packer. All my running life. 

Back at college, I was the butt of jokes of the macho org I was part of, the UPMountaineers--breeders of trailblazers in the field of mountaineering and other extreme sports. I looked like something the cat dragged home after each and every diagnostic run we had and I was, most often, last to cross the finish line, accompanied by tired and irked race organizers because I kept them waiting--yet again--when all the others had gone to Krus Na Ligas to drink themselves to oblivion. This scenario--last in line, with only irked race officials to meet me in the finish line---duplicated itself many times over in the course of my 4-decade running love affair. 

Do I care? As honestly and as truthfully and as honorably and as authentically as I can tell you, the short answer is no. I am ALWAYS a happy, unapologetic camper when I cross a finish line.

The long answer is 'I used to.'

It bugged the hell out of me in college that hard as I tried, I could not run any faster than all the other losers the UP Mountaineers had dumped me with--by mistake of course because hell, I didn't feel like a loser. And I finally reached breaking point in my running life in my 40s. I said 'This is it! Now or never.' So I hired me a coach. I know that sounds fancy and pretentious. But midlife's a bitch, believe me. In fact I had 3 coaches before I settled with a UPM friend/running coach. Jay upped my game by notches in that he pushed me to run distances I hadn't ever ran in my entire life. And I started joining races where before and for decades all I did was run 3-4 times a week for the sheer joy of it. But as for improving my time, making me faster, even Jay had to concede I had reached my limit. 

Has this stopped me from running? Hell, no. 

In fact, in about 3 weeks, I will be running the NY Marathon. And I have run valleys and mountains and streams and concrete jungles and all surfaces known to humankind. And my one wish is to run many more valleys and mountains and streams and concrete jungles and to pound on many more surfaces known to humankind. 

A diagnosed autistic with ADHD to add to the interesting brew, running has kept my mind quiet and focused. If I didn't have it, who knows where all that frenzied mind activity could've taken me. The phrase that comes to mind is 'road to perdition'. Yes, I am a high functioning person with autism and yes, my autism is, in no way, severe. Autism is a spectrum disease which means you can be a little bit autistic or you can be very autistic. I am a little bit autistic. 

But I can tell you of days when the only light I could see at the end of the tunnel was pin prick sized. I look back and I can see a million days where I just felt so out of it, so different from everyone around me. And until I learned to quit the 'fit in' game, I was miserable. Running gave me the clarity I needed.  I got happy in my own skin early in life because I had running. I strapped on my running shoes and I had me, could see me --clearly, without confusion. 

Running focuses me, keeps me on an even keel. And because of my condition, I can keep at it for hours where it will just drive others bat shit crazy. And so really, if you get right down to it, autism has been good for my running too. I could run for hours--4 maybe?--and it would not drive me up the wall. It would, in fact, silence me and I would come out of that run refreshed and renewed --where it would make others come out like they'd been through the wringer. My body will feel like it had been trampled on by a horde of elephants but my mind, it would be the eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. 

I've learned that, in order for you to get the most out of something, you need not be an elite anything. You only need to give it your all. You do not need to be a genius, a prodigy to get prodigious amounts of a good thing if this thing is what you love doing, whatever it is. 

So what if you can't string a sentence the way T.S. Eliot did. Write anyway. There are stories in you and poems in you and fictional characters in you and truths and vast worlds and galaxies in you struggling to get out and you will know no peace until you've set them on paper. So write already. 

So what if you can't create scenes on a canvass the way Frida Kahlo did? Take out your paint brushes and paint the different and multi-colored hues in you that's begging to be let out. Be fearless with that canvass. Paint. With bold strokes. Go!

So what if you can't dance like Alvin Ailey or Martha Graham? What of it? You can't have a life without kicking up a storm on the dance floor, right? You can't not have danced like some crazed woman and call what you have a life, right? Dance already!

So what if you're tone deaf and the only person on this side of the equator who can stand your singing is you? Please don't tell me you won't take that mic in the karaoke bar and belt out that song in your heart that's dying to get sung! Sing it already! The universe needs your particular range to keep the melody playing in this vast space we call life. Sing your song, man. Sing it like you mean it. 

Life waits for no one. And in the meantime, tempus fugits. Memento mori, man! Memento mori! Always. 

Don't die with that song or dance or painting or fictional character still trapped inside you. Close your eyes for all eternity knowing you got from life all that you could get out of it and close your eyes for all eternity knowing you gave to life all that you could possibly give to it. 

Dispel yourself of the fiction that you have something to lose. You came into existence naked. You leave with nothing as well. 

But in between, there is a wealth, an embarrassment of riches to be had--people to love with all your heart and soul, songs to sing and dance to, fights to pick and win and lose, so much laughter with friends and family,some mysteries to be a part of, so much sunsets and sunrises and moonrises and fireflies and so much love to make, so much your arms can embrace, so much  injustice and inequality and hatred to shake a fist at and try to mend, so many feasts to be a part of, so much quiet joy, so much deep sadness, so many quiet naps on a hammock to take, so many wonderful, glorious books to read, so much hair to kulot, boots to look hot in, so much chocolate to eat, places to travel to and make an acquaintance with. So much of life calling to you.

You have nothing to lose. Nothing. You own nothing save yourself. And even that is fleeting. Live already.

So I have this fantasy in my head where I finally am face to face with God and the first thing She does  when She sees me is dance a victory jig and embrace me completely and shake her head in incredulous amazement and grinning crazily say, "WOW. WOW!!'. And when we get to that part where we talk about my running, She will know truthfully that She had given me such a small portion of it, talent-wise but I was going to hand her in the profit I had made because of it and She will know I had made myself extremely rich because of it. There will be no medals nor any world records broken, yes. But She and I will be talking about the other kind of wealthy--the steady, gentle rhythm and running under a canopy of hot air balloons and being surprised to the point of tears by a serene sunrise. And She will, once again, say, incredulously to this consistent back-of-the-packer, "WOW!".

What I Mean When I Say I Am A Runner (not by Haruki Murakami)

I was a grade schooler when I was initiated into the dark (literally--it was before the break of dawn) world of running. My father, himself a runner, made it mandatory for me and my siblings to shuffle with the other Milo running clinic participants round the Quezon Memorial Circle.

The first time I ran, I remember the rising panic I felt at the unusual sensation in my tummy, the tightening of my chest, the urge to purge (if you know what i mean), the itchy sensation on my thighs as blood made it's way to heretofore unformed blood vessel passages and the overwhelming desire to just sit down and stop it already. 

So early on, I made the acquaintance of these body signals and it ceased to scare or dishearten me. Close to 4 decades later, they are like old friends signalling the start of a wonderful tete a tete with myself--'Hey you, come! Have a seat, here's some coffee. How ARE YOU? Tell me, tell me, tell me.'. Because if you run, you have no choice but to be good company to yourself.

Running is when I meditate. It's when I pray and plan and scheme and dream. Running is my happy place, the  place where all gloves are off, where stripped of everything, I tell the truth I am unable to tell myself when not running. Running is an old friend--a haven, a comfort, a joy, a genuine delight. There are days when I need to talk myself into it but by and large, I lace up with gratitude~ eager to see what this run will bring.

This is how it is with old friends, I guess. And I've had running for close to 4 decades now.

It was spotty and limited to my popsy's weekend blasts when I was in grade school and high school. But in college, I  joined the UP Mountaineers, where running was de rigeur and tightly woven into the fabric of mountaineer culture. And so, if I wanted to climb mountains, I had to run. And I so wanted to climb mountains! So this girl had to run.  And run she did~in rain, under the hot sun, in groups, alone, easy chit-chat runs, tempo runs, group runs. One summer in college,I ran with a girlfriend 3 to 4x a week for the whole summer--and neither of us changed our socks. And this is how colegialas get their thrills,folks, for your information.

After an all-nighter, I would tumble out of bed still reeking of alcohol and run around the Academic Oval. (Ahhh youth! I ). I ran the day after I shared a kiss with my all-time crush and I ran the morning after he broke my heart. I ran when we got back together and I ran when the fool dumped me yet again. I ran the day I learned the better way to deal with a broken heart is to get another cute guy to share a kiss with and I ran the day I learned an even better way than the better way is to run with a staunchly loyal girlfriend. And I ran the day I discovered the staunchest staunchly loyal friend one can have for life is one's self. And so to this day, I run with her, my best girlfriend, so loyal to me. 

I learned that the best way to see a place is to run through its streets, its forests, its alleys, its landmarks. Wherever in the world I found myself, I eagerly, almost-jumping out of my skin, laced up and ran. Adventure! Off the beaten track! It beat any tour guide and I am convinced I got to see more and know more about a country's people and culture through my jaunts. Instead of blurry snapshots, one is treated to lingering sights and smells and sounds and more elbow-rubbing with the natives. Priceless!

I've had a kangaroo suprise the living daylights out of me while on a run in the Gold Coast (I'm pretty sure I surprised the living daylights out of this kangaroo as well!) . And one morning, a sky full of hot air balloons was my backdrop as I ran the streets of Canberra. In my mind's eye, I breasted the tape in the New York marathon (of which I have yet to get picked) when I ran through Central Park. And I had the joy of running relay with a bunch of awesome girls from the UPM when we ran from UP Diliman to UP Baguio--with me getting the Bulacan leg (MacArthur Hwy, otherwise known as the armpit of the Philippines) and a part of the Kennon leg. I ran the early morning streets of HK, the nth time I'd been there and to this day I am convinced, this was when i got to see the most of HK's culture and people. I stopped midrun and joined a group of Hongkongers do tai-chi then sat with them when they offered me tea. 

I ran the morning a beloved friend I had run with back in college, died. Running was the last thing I wanted to do that day. I only wanted to curl up and weep. But in life, Hecky was so stoked that I had taken on a full marathon in midlife and running was how I knew how to honor this wonderful man. I ran to let people know about that nasty scourge, cancer--and I ran to honor the people I loved that this nasty scourge had visited

~ my mother and Lyndy, my beloved kapitbahay. Running gave me this place to shake a fist at this monstrosity, and chip at it and at the same time let my loved one know I was holding her hand throughout her dark night.

I ran the morning of my wedding and I ran the morning after the deed was done. (The wedding, the wedding!) I ran the day I learned I was pregnant and for all 3 of my pregnancies, I ran until the 7th month of gestation and power-walked almost to the hour I popped my babies. I ran 3 weeks after giving birth and because we never had yayas, I ran as soon as my husband walked in the door. In fact, I almost always slam dunked the babies in his waiting arms. He would then run after my run was done. Yes, I married a runner. Big surprise. There was no other way.  

I ran through my children's roseolas, and fevers and teething and first days of school. I would drop them off to school and off I went to my regular runs. It didn't matter if the sun was scorching hot or typhoon signal no.2 was declared. It only meant my children would have a wet mom fetching them a bit earlier that day. I ran when they got honors, I ran when they had fist fights. I ran when I felt like I was really and truly the best mom in the whole world. And I ran when I broke their little hearts and felt like the nastiest piece of crap and didn't deserve the lovely children I was given. And I ran with so much happiness my heart felt like bursting when one by one, my children took to running with hardly a push from us. It just felt like I had given them something precious, an ally, a loyal friend--something and someone that would guide and protect them for as long as they had it in their lives. 

I ran and said the rosary when I was still a bona fide, card carrying Catholic. And I ran talking to God in the peculiarly robotic, creepy way fundamentalists do in my mercifully brief stint as an-almost-speaking-in-tongues-fundamentalist. I ran the day scales fell of my eyes and organized religion was stricken off my life. And I ran when all around me I could see only the atheist black void. And I ran when all I could see was agnostic grey. And I ran, when I saw that what I wanted, more than anything was to be boldly caring about the world around me~ and that this was my religion, my creed. And I ran full circle, back into Loving arms.  

I ran when my marriage was all sunshine and daisies, when my heart could only overflow with love and the disbelief at the outrageous good fortune of my endless happy days of connubial bliss. And I ran when life happened and it was all I could do not to walk away. But I would run and always ran back home. And he would run and always ran back home too. I ran when he was my worst enemy and I run now, certain he is my best friend.

I continue to run when I know that everyone in my life was eager for happy endings and resolutions for me. And I run knowing happy endings would have to wait. Like running, happy endings have to be earned with mileage, hard work and a kiss from lady luck herself.

Running keeps it real for me. There is nothing more real than this step you're taking, this moment you breathe in and out. Nothing is more real than now. And running has given me this--the ability to be present in the moment. Yes, I plan. I have goals. But running has taught me that I only have now. Where others will say 'Choose your battles', my mind goes, 'Run another day.' Running is such a striking metaphor for life that I feel I have lived my life, arms full, because I've had running for as long as I have and I've used running as a vehicle to metaphor and write the narrative of my life. 

The funny thing is, I've never been a fast runner. I am a consistent back-of-the-packer. All my running life. And I've never done an ultra-marathon. Just a full one. So it's mostly been, overwhelmingly been, 50 minute runs, 5 to 6 days a week, off season. It's mostly been me running simple runs, day in, day out. Before enlightenment, lace up, run. After enlightenment, lace up and run. :) Yet, in midlife, I take a look back and I see a landscape of fullness. 

Ah, my friend, running, how well you've served me. ~~

*This was published in frontRunner magazine early 2012*