Chapter Twenty Six; Live Strong

I run.

I started about four years ago. This former diva of domesticity and cookies decided to hit a treadmill and ended up inadvertently discovering just how life altering running can be.

And I’m not just talking about my ass. (Which experienced a significant alteration of its own to the tune of a size 4, thank you very much.)

I’ve since run my way through a divorce, dating debacles, and even a job loss. I attribute not just my survival of life’s suckier moments to running but also the capability it gives me to transform them.

And Nick’s departure was no exception.

I eventually did heal.

But not by retreating.

By running.

Oh, of course I cried. All of my September is a cloudy salty memory. But I punctuated my grieving by tightly lacing up my tennis shoes, cranking up my iPod, and sailing down the street on nothing but rhythmic breath and the measured cadence of my Aesics on the asphalt.

Mile after mile.

I ran out the pain.

I missed him. I cursed him. I loved him. I hated him. I second guessed myself. I wondered about this qwest I was on for love. It seems so futile sometimes.

Four weeks before I had arranged for my mom to watch my children on a particular upcoming weekend in anticipation of Nick’s birthday.

He was gone but the plans for my children to visit their Granny remained. So I took advantage of my freedom and signed up to run a 5K that was part of a larger-half marathon event. A symbolic gesture of my ability. To keep moving forward.

Even when all I wanted to do was sit down.

And sob.

I run 5K’s all the time. They’re kind of my thing. But today this race was different. Nick might be physically strong but when it comes to character and compassion?

This time.

I’m the strong one.

Because instead of staying home and lamenting the fact that I am not on his arm at the birthday party he'd spent weeks planning I am up at the butt crack of dawn.

Running a fucking race.

The starting gun fires. My running playlist echoes in my eardrums and my body moves in its rhythmical pace. The terrain is unfamiliar and far more hilly than what I am used to.

But I run on.

Because this isn’t the first time life’s put me on a course that I would not have charted for myself. It bends and lifts and plunges, forever unpredictable. Just like life. The trying times and the joyful possibilities. They are entwined and connected and dependent upon one another. And all of it must be navigated if the finish line is ever to be crossed.

Because the race doesn’t stop just because there is a hill.

And the road doesn’t end just because it curves.

In fact, neither does this sometimes tragic but forever beautiful.

Life.

Bring on the hills and let me see what's around that corner.

Because this chick runs strong.

And lives.

Stronger.

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It’d be poetic justice to report I not only finished first but set a world record wouldn't it? Maybe a little Olympic qualification? "Happy birthday, Nick. Who needs you? I’m a freaking rock star!" Yeah, not so much. But I did okay. Under a 9 minute mile and 4th place in my age division out of fifty some women. But running, for me, isn’t about the numbers. It’s about momentum. And energy goes one direction, babe.

Forward.