Fast forward to high school and it turned out, running was a sport! I joined the team of runners and again, it wasn't because I wanted to run. It was because I could stay after school and run away without having to leave my family. My past and current traumas were catching up to me in those high school years of mine. That is going to be my excuse for running most of my, "cross country" runs to the half way point, taking a lighter and a wet and bent smoke out of my sports bra, hot-boxing it, and continuing on back to the high school to end my run. Who does that?
I don't remember running in college. Could it have been that it wasn't safe where we lived....maybe, but I think, it had more to do with the fact that I didn't feel the need to run away then. My mom was safe and finally with the love of her life, my sister was a quick hour away in Easton, and I had the best friends living in that dilapidated house with me!
Dan got me back into running when we became a couple. He taught me how to regulate my breathing, he showed me how to keep going when I'd met my peak heart rate and thought I would die. With his coaching, I not only got that runners' high but I started to see a positive change in my physic as well. It would make me push even harder when he ran behind me and would say things like, "I see your KFC shaking!". I am laughing right now just thinking about it. We ran the trails with Gunner and sprinted up hills so steep, that it felt like mountain climbing at times. There was never a run in those years that I was, "escaping", ever. I was running toward love. I was running into a better Tiffin. I was running toward the life I didn't have much confidence I deserved.
By now, if you've followed this road, you know that Dan and I were in the process of training for our very first half marathon when he died on the treadmill. Running for me, changed again.
I still can't believe that I ran that half marathon in Nashville only 4 months after he died. I ran that race with no music. I ran that race crying the whole time. My sole purpose of running that race was to prove to myself that I was still alive. I was, and I am.
Lots of races, many half marathons later, highlights of my life, and more unimaginable tragedies, I am still running.
December has a way of reminding me that even the things we hold to be the most precious, can be taken in an instant. Of course I think about Dan, and December is also the month we had to say goodbye to Levi's twin. December is a month filled with family gatherings in which I can't see my mother's face. However, December is also the month that fill my children's faces with so much joy and magic, that my heart feels like it might explode at any moment.
This year, with the great idea of my very inspirational Jill, I have tracked my runs. And, this December, I will hit 500 miles. 500 miles of running away from temper tantrums, 500 miles of thinking about how I can be a better wife, 500 miles of praying for patience, 500 miles of praying that I don't *F-up my kids in an irreversible way, 500 miles of realizing I can't reach every kid, 500 miles of a pat on the back for the kids I did reach, 500 miles of being thankful for second chances and new beginnings, 500 miles of, "talking out loud", 500 miles of "I shouldn't have had that doughnut", and
500 miles of running toward, NOT away.
Yes, mortality is real and scary. Yes, December brings that forefront in my mind. But damned if I can't push that aside with each mile and be so happy for the moments that I (and all whom I love) are breathing in and out...
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