You See Whole

Broken bones
Limp lifeless weak
On the ground
Piled up
Heaping broken everything
Reach down
Stand me up again
Heal me
Make me strong

Pre-Race Thoughts

It is Friday afternoon. I am down to mere hours before my first half marathon. Inside, I am a nervous mess. There is a flood of emotion surrounding the event and the date.

Each of the last 13 weeks have been laced with activities and thoughts in preparation for this Sunday. Initially I had doubts about my ability to physically complete the training. In the early weeks I would review the training mileage required in the final weeks of the plan and recoil with fear. Yet here I am, 13 weeks later. I’ve missed only 3 training days in the span of the last three months, none of them long runs. My left knee has been touch and go, but I’ve managed to keep training. I thought I hated running in the rain, it turns out I don’t prefer it, but it can be enjoyable and rewarding. I thought I hated the early morning hours, that also turns out to be false. Each morning run has reinforced the beauty of getting out of bed early.

Knee pain aside, the mental battle has been the biggest hurdle. From day one, even in the thick of my doubts, I would tell myself over and over that I am strong. Even when I didn’t feel strong. Each training run that I completed would leave me thinking of two things. Finishing. And Dad. These two things have sustained my drive.

Honestly, I enjoyed the training way more than I ever dreamed I would. Come Sunday, I have no idea what to expect. I just want to finish and to finish well. I am hopeful, yet anxious. Wish me the best!

Dad – this one is for you!

Two Things

Someone once called them Moments of Joy, or MOJs. I’ve had a couple this week.

Daphne
It’s been raining a lot in Portland. I shouldn’t have any other March expectation, but I do. The rain used to be a show stopper for me in terms of getting out and running in it. But, this spring I am on the ‘no excuses’ training plan for my first half marathon. So regardless of snow or rain or sun, I am out there beating down the pavement on designated training days. What I have discovered is that I actually like running in the rain, it is not preferred, but it is enjoyable. I’ve noticed on my rain drenched runs that the wet weather evokes the fragrance of the Daphne and it more easily permeates the air. In this, I feel life.

Among my plant favorites, Daphne is at the top of the list. Perhaps it is because of her early February blooms effusing that incredible scent which gladdens my winter worn soul. For years I’ve dreamed of having Daphne in my yard. After buying my house it was one of the first plants that I purchased to landscape the yard. Like Lilacs, the flower and fragrance are short lived, but while around, there is a hopeful transcendence in their offering.

Chase Loves
Taylor is my 2.75 year old niece. She, in and of herself, is a joy. Watching her grow and play, imagine and create, makes me marvel at who she is. Children are such a gift. And she sparks something inside of me that I can’t quite put words around. On Sunday we spent some time together, the first in a span of a month. In that short interval she has changed dramatically. It’s not far reaching to say that her vocabulary seems to have doubled. Her movements are more controlled and sophisticated. In short, she is growing up. And each stage brings about a new delight.

When it came time for her to leave, I asked for ‘loves’ – translated, hugs. She gave me one look with wild eyes, took off running and yelling ‘chase loves’ – in other words, she wanted me to chase her around the house in place of hugs. Much giggling and running ensued. This type of love is only given to certain people. For instance, when Mom asked for a hug Taylor ran up to her, arms open, no chase demanded. I don’t mind being one of the few that ‘chase loves’ is reserved for. I’ll take that kind of love any day. Reflecting on Taylor’s ingenuity of ‘chase loves’ makes me smile.

Five Miles

Five miles
Country roads
Snow falling
Deserted
Running
Awake

Silent beauty
Winding river
Honking geese
Beautiful flight
Graceful white
Still running

Favorite evergreens
Moss collecting
Wicked repose
Spring birds
No lyric
Morning calls

Road home
Cherry blossoms
Snow
March
No matter
All alive

Scout

Today marks the end of an era. Scout, our beloved beagle is gone. This is how he comes into my memory tonight.

I remember him as a puppy. Stringing toilet paper around the house. Waiting by the dryer to sneak a fallen sock. Digging out underwear and taking them from a place of concealment to one of embarrassment. I still can picture him snuggling up on Seth’s legs whenever Seth would lay in the floor.

Scout was alive when my dad was. I remember Dad sitting in the over-sized arm chair with Scout by his side. His arm draped over him, petting Scout’s soft sweet ears. I recall watching the three year old playful puppy become so subdued when the actuality of dad’s illness evoked our tears. He could sense our grief and he responded.

He was a good dog. Scout loved the sunshine and enjoyed sitting stoically in the front yard. Each and every passerby would be of interest to him. There was no barking. In fact, he would only bark if he knew you, in his excitement to greet! He was never a watch dog, that’s for sure.

Scout was good company. He was also a pain. Food was his main weakness, he loved to eat. The dog knew the time of day as if reading a clock. When it started nearing noon or 5pm he would disappear into the washroom, where his food dish was kept. If no one payed attention to his exit, he would begin to flip the bowl with his paw. Over and over again until one of two things would happen. One, and most preferably, someone would feed him. Two, he would give up and lay persistently pouting with his head in or near the dish until someone would have mercy.

Then there was that one epic Christmas Eve with the blackberry pie. Mom had saved back some summertime blackberries for a special occasion, and had baked a nice pie in the afternoon of the eve. Holidays are hard after you’ve lost a loved one. And on this particular evening it was just mom and me. We decided to go down to the river bridge after candle light service, and we were dragging our feet about going back to the house. Taking our time, we finally made it back home. After walking in the door, we sensed that something was off. Scout didn’t eagerly come to greet us. Quickly surveying the pie we observed that there was no mess on the counter, but the the pie was half gone, from the top down. Calling for Scout, he sheepishly came near, head and tail hung low. His white tell-tale fur, stained purple, gave away his guilt. Immediately he was banished to the winter yard for a good long time of reflection and was also deprived of affection and the coveted nightly treat. Oh how the story of Scout somehow making his way onto the kitchen counter that Christmas Eve to eat a blackberry pie became infamy. By my two grandpas he was elevated to hero status. Both of them loved him deeply and enjoyed reliving the event.

So tonight, I reflect on the joy and the wonderful memories that one dog can bring to a family. Scouty, Mr. Scout, and Scooter – you are missed.

Self Forgetfulness

Drag it out.

For fear of exposure,
reluctance.

Call the light.

In pride,
twisted thinking.

Begin anew.

Such arrogance,
locks on self.

Get serious. Sober up.

Entitlement destroys.
Jealousy smothers.
Self pity suffocates.

Awaken.
Listen.
Pray.

New day.
Learn self forgetfulness.
Focus elsewhere.

Live again.
Love well.

Pretty Looks

Wheels are humming at 70 miles an hour, the three lane interstate stretches out long and flat. The trajectory looks like it will never change. I’ve been driving for hours. The vibrations of the road are lulling me into a quiet fatigue. But I am awake, thoroughly. Deep in thought. Lost in the moment. So much so that whole sections of road have passed without me noticing. And I cannot hear the song playing on the radio. In a snapping to, I come back to the road. Somehow my eyes and aloof attention have kept me steady. Maybe I even passed a few cars. Momentarily I am disturbed at having this loss of controlled alertness. It is not the first time this has happened and is probably not the last. Have you experienced this? Do you know what I am describing?

Perhaps there are more shocking forms of not paying attention, in which there is more at stake than losing sections of road. On such occasions life is often in the balance of our callous routines that suddenly become an unconscious way of life. These type of reflections are not far away from my everyday, but I was jolted by him and his words. Made to think a little longer and a little deeper.

One after the other his duct taped shoes hit the wet pavement. He is carrying three trash bags, they look to be protecting his belongings from the rain. I am about 10 paces behind and am gaining on him. Going the same direction. Yet not. My pace is faster, and as I get close I hear him utter these words “you walk around with pretty little looks on your face, wow, what a disguise.” My step slows. He is ahead of me. He can’t see me. The words are intended for the by-passers of the morning rush. I am one of them. My heart is arrested by the truth he speaks. Others look at him in pity, he is certainly some sort of crazy, muttering non-sense. I know better. He probably sees clearer than I do at times. Today he calls out a warning. And I hear.

It is siren song to Americans and their greed. To looking strong while all things are crashing down inside. All things that matter. It is a caution to the false and empty persuasion of the American Dream. To being caught up in appearance and lacking in truth. It is simple yet so severe. Severe because many of us don’t even recognize that we are journeying in such a manner.

What must it be like to walk slowly on the streets, exposed and vulnerable. And to then be passed by people racing through life, appearing comfortable and likely ignoring what is going on inside.

Today I am thinking about my ‘pretty looks’ and how I front different disguises. I want to be brave enough to live honestly and to not get caught up in the pursuit of empty dreams or the allure of the surface.