Spaces

.                                     (Sept 2017 on a run outside of Ethan Allen Homestead, magic baby maples)

I came to this city in 2001 as an almost 18 year old enrolled in the local university. I had gotten myself a D1 scholarship for Track and Cross Country. I ran so many miles in high school, but always with my team. A run without other humans, on sidewalks I didn't know was few and far between. I had used running as an escape, as a way to learn how to be social, a way to prove I could dig deeper and find more gears, prove that I could find the best in myself. Tap the untapped potential. I naively expected this trajectory to continue. 

It didn't exactly, college running was vastly different. Its taken me many years to realize what probably went lopsided, why I didn't perform like I wanted. But I did have fun, I did keep running and I did stay in this city. My curious nature means I was never quite content to run the same exact routes once I was released from the pack. I explored little trails and side streets that most of my female teammates would have found too remote or dangerous. The confidence I could blast a 6 min mile and outrun any weird vibes made me brave. I found myself in streams, in backyards, climbing down fields of harvested corn more times than I can count. All those miles, more days than not every week of every year, in every weather, for twenty years. Very few conditions could stop me from a run. In fact I knew just what spot would be perfect when it was pouring, snowing, muddy, unbearably hot. I learned there was no bad weather, just bad apparel, I could judge with one breath outside what layers to wear and what I needed to bring if the wind changed. A treadmill was my last resort and rarely used except in the worst black ice deep freeze of the winter. My brain picked up an uncanny ability to map out miles so I would end at just the distance I expected to. I almost never got lost, it wasn't deep woods Vermont, it was our most populated city. If I did find myself in an unknown patch of forest I knew it was never more than a mile to the other side. I knew all the natural places, how if you went through that one development past the pool in winooski, through the side of the gravel quarry that says KEEP OUT and down the path filled with misquotes in the summer you would pop out with one of the most breathtaking hidden views of Lake Champlain. I loved bringing friends to these places but I also thought of these places as friends. I knew how they behaved in every season. How they would look barren in fall stick season. How the dirt trails would respond to your steps differently in the frozen earth than in the spongy grass. How they would get overgrown in late summer so you ended up escaping with nettle marks down your legs that would burn when the sweat ran through them. How that one trail by the river every so many years would be covered in thousands of tiny frogs that you had to work hard to not murder with every step, sending shivers down your spine with an inevitable crunch. Some favorite spots would be developed but I would notice the signs going up, the construction starting, nothing was a surprise. The city breathed and evolved and I was aware of it all. 

The past 6 years I haven't been able to run, and there is a grief simmering just below the surface for these moments. Running routes have ghosts, memories of past runs, past people, past experiences. Nothing has compared to how you can explore 8 miles of a place in about an hour by foot. At a speed that keeps your body warm in the sub freezing temperatures and keeps the black flies from catching you in the summer. I can not tell you names of streets but within a 15 mile radius I could tell you the best places to run. It is a magic I will miss forever. 

Giving a Shit

 

I have been thinking a lot about how lucky we are to give a shit. What it means to be someone who cares deeply about something. To invest time and energy into something even if its not popular or common. I wrote my college entrance essay on having passion for things, in my case the sport of running. Even then I believed there was a dynamic difference between liking something, loving something and that deeper passion that causes a drive towards it that can't be stopped. It was a bit cheesy, or as kids say now 'cringe' especially for me, but true.

I like people that like things that deeply. I may not personally care about your most precious hobby but if you are invested in it just like I am invested in mine than you are instantly on my nice list. Because we will get each other and I know it. It takes away a lot of the misunderstanding and confusion around the level of intensity we may pursue these hobbies. It clears the path for development, ease and mastery. 

Sometimes I enjoy things only up to the point of deep understanding. That until I fully grasp the concept, task or skill I will put in all the work necessary. Then once understood I feel free and comfortable to move onto the next. I know a lot of neurodiverse folks who beat themselves up about this. I definitely see it in a different light. While I love consistency and routine, I don't think everything needs to be done forever.

But the passion is transferable. 

If we are blessed to stumble upon the thing that lights us up forever, early on, we are some of the lucky few. Its what sports parents, dance parents and music parents are chasing for their children. The chance that maybe they can help their kid find that thing. Maybe they at some point in their life realized the value in this and just want that for their kid. Maybe they want to give them opportunities they didn't have. I think less than people realize they want them to be professional or even excellent at it. Those things often can come with the level of intensity I'm talking about, but not necessarily. And its not generally the main goal, more like a nice added bonus along the way. 

I came into my relationship with my husband already a dedicated athlete. It was a great litmus test for if a partner can hang with me right off the bat. I can't remember a boyfriend I had who didn't 'get it', maybe its just my personality, I would have shut that down on day one. I never denied my love for the sport, it almost always came first and I built the rest of my life around it. That is what it takes to be at that level. I was never a natural talent and I had to put in a lot of hard work to get the outcome I desired and often fell short. Now I know maybe some parts of my genetic makeup just couldn't keep up even if other parts were at their best. I have a metabolic disorder that effects energy usage in every cell of my being. The more I learn about it, the more I realize I was fucking lucky to be able to do it at the level I did for so long. But it was black and white, simple math most of the time. Put in the work = get the outcome. I have struggled to understand people who don't support their partners passionate endeavors. While I have seen people be 'too dedicated' to these pursuits maybe at the expense of other relationships. Or even to the point of physical breakdown and harm. I have also seen partners squash interest or even control the ability to explore what I would consider generally healthy, net positive, activities. That old mantra "happy wife, happy life" seems to apply. I consider someone wielding delusional control over their partners life in such a way they can't casually pursue deep interests to be abusive. A hard no, red flag situation. 

All this to say I miss running, always and forever. When my friends and family ask if I am still doing it I now say "If I would I could, in a heartbeat" or lately have been telling Torrey what body parts I would gratefully trade in to have the ability to do it again. A finger? Instant yes. A whole hand? If its my non dominate? Absolutely. An ear? YEP.  This probably sounds nuts to some, but that is the best way to describe how much I miss it that I can think of. Giving a shit about something enough to try it and then on top of that being lucky enough to do it well and enjoy it?! Phew, what a privilege. Do I think this means you have to be happy about it all the time. Walk around with a smile on your face? Absolutely not, caring enough about something to be frustrated by it, angry, curious, confused. Caring enough to have emotion around it, is part of the pleasure. I can get kind of emotional these days watching adults be able to still do what they love physically. I have a lot of feelings about it, I still have to be careful talking about it all if I don't want to just start weeping. But please ask anyways, its my favorite thing. The grief will always be there but that will never take away how thankful I am I got to feel it at all. 

For those of you who have been on this road with me for a decade or two, or maybe just since the long covid/deep illness days. I have strung more good weeks together this fall then I have in the past 5 years. I seem to have figured out a supplement cocktail that keeps 90% of my symptoms at bay. A tiny hopeful voice deep down in my soul says that maybe with time it can help me heal fully? Running is a litmus test (my new favorite saying) for full healing. If someday I can run without my cells freaking out then I know my body has healed enough to be back. But it also may never be possible to get that well again. Doctors don't seem to know, and I am my own case study of one. Honestly I feel so good day to day these days I don't even test the water anymore. I used to try to run anytime I felt slightly well and it would be soul crushing and often lead to worse symptoms. But I have managed to have full days with only short naps, be cognitively and physically more present. Instead of feeling the age of my parents or even grandparents I once again feel 42, and on good days younger. I am stronger and more mobile than I have been in decades with 2-3 times a week functional strength training. I feel good enough to dance for a while (another pleasure) and try to get back into downhill skiing this winter. I don't take any of this for granted but it doesn't mean I will ever stop wanting more. 

Striving

I'm currently coming off a 3-4 week illness flare. It was brought on by trying to switch my meds to the prescription version. While in it I slowly became more and more disabled. It feels like I walked into a fog of fatigue topped with slow cognitive function. I speak less, I think less, I do less until I spend almost 24 hours lying down. Then I said 'Fuck this' and quit that med and go back to what works. Thank the universe that there is a 'going back' now. Touching that deep state of illness again my whole body and mind shutters to a stop. As soon as I get back on the good meds it feels like my human-ness, my personality, my ME starts up again. I get to be myself again.

When I log back on I can feel it in my bones. In riding these waves I have never been more determined to enjoy it while it lasts. I have never been very good at being in the present moment. I will ruminate on the past and plan for the future. My brain likes to stick to moments or challenges and figure them out. The present moment isn't about figuring things out, its about reacting and impulse. As I navigate this illness I am learning I better damn well take the good moments as they are here. I better soak them up and fill them up with the things that set me on fire and make me feel alive. Struggle is my teacher and then in the ease maybe I get to enjoy it?

I have spent my whole life trying to be better at things. I historically do this with research, talking to experts, listening and reading. But there is a missing piece there, the action. With running, the action came relatively easy. In this new body it does not. It comes at a cost, it comes with an asterisk and stipulations. I can do that, maybe... if I am having a good day, week, month, or year. I used to be able to count on my body and mind, that if I wanted to do the action it would just be there waiting for me. So planing a race 6 months out was no big deal. I knew I just had to knuckle down and do the work. Planing a trip on a weekend also was a relative breeze. I knew I would be able to fit all the pieces together to make that happen. Now everything isn't as stable or sure. 

But maybe thats okay. Its just bringing out a new side of me. One that is more about taking advantage of the energy and moment I am in. One that does way less planing all future moments. My brain really wants to repeat successful actions. One good run and I am planing the next 6 weeks of workouts. That worked and felt good so lets just do more and more of that. Now I have to take the moments as they come and try to tell that part of my brain to calm down. All that planing comes with a hefty bill of disappointment. 

Last night my whole self lit up playing a neighborhood wiffle ball game. Physical activity is paramount to my mental state. The act of moving my body in a fun and exciting way will literally bring me buckets of joy. Enough to balance out the rest of my life. I planned this game after a year of random backyard pick up moments with our neighbors. At the time many of those I didn't have the energy to participate in. But there was a natural moment before the 3rd of July Fireworks to take advantage of. I knew there would be rest time for myself before and after incase it sent me into another fatigue spiral. I was back on the good meds. The rain almost canceled it all an hour before but we powered on and had one of the best nights I have had in years. It felt so good to feel alive again. I got to participate like I would have two decades ago. I got to heal a tiny bit of my childhood self that often felt intimidated in gym class sports. I know I cant hold all the rules to these ball games in my head. I know I suck at that. But I can hit and I can run and I can breathe and I can laugh and I can enjoy it with my full present self. Its so much sweeter after all this striving.