Beyond-ness.

Tonight I ran five miles.  I got started a bit late because I got pulled over for having a taillight out.  And then I made Ty's dinner, changed, and hit the road. I had already decided it was a Chris Pureka night, so I put her on shuffle.

I stopped to take pictures several times, but other than that, I ran it fast.  For me.  And I thought about words and smells and feelings.  I tried to hold them in my mind.

Up North First Street I was pushing hard.  I was running fast and pushing myself to keep it going.  My eyes were narrowed and the world was bumping up and down while I was smooth.  The stoplights in front of me jerked in time with my feet hitting the ground.  I pushed for my breath to hurt, to burn in my chest.  And I thought of sort of a word that captured what I was feeling at that moment.  I tried to catch it and hold onto  it, and I thought that I had.

But when I slowed down and started letting my thoughts wander, I came back looking for it and it was gone.  I pushed through my  brain for it, but it had left.  I only knew one thing to try--run fast again and see if I could find it.  So I did.  I increased my speed again, gritted, thought of determination and fuckitness and then, there it was---beyond-ness.  That feeling of being beyond in my body, beyond what is there when I'm not pushing hard, when the sidewalk is a tunnel and the song lyrics are mixing in poetry that I can't write.

Poetry that I can only run, a rhythm that played itself with my words and the lines from the song.  I can't write it because it only exists on that plane, that heartbeat, in that vein of pumping that is something like sex but only in certain moments, and not the climactic ones.  The ones that are made of sculpture, of instinct, of existence and not thinking-ness.

The last half mile I wanted to run fast enough to breathe hard, be out of breath, feel the heat of my chest catching at the air.  I told myself, open your mouth and the air will flow.  Just open your mouth and let your body breathe.  It knows how to breathe.  It was dark.  I was dark.

When I finished I put my hands on my knees for a minute and fished for the feeling.  Euphoria?  Warmth in my limbs, aliveness and power and a gloriously used feeling.  I walked the rest of the way home in a cocoon of spent exertion and felt like I could keep walking blindly on.  But, of course, I didn't.

Mississippi Blues and more.

It's been a week since Mississippi Blues.  It seems like it's been longer!  Maybe that's because I had to go back to work last week.  It made the week seem very long.  Well, I have to work to support my running habit, so it's a good thing.

Mississippi Blues was super fun.  Probably anyone who reads this will have seen the pictures on facebook, but here they are with commentary.

My computer is being really weird right now and not letting me size things.  Here we are before.  No blues--just happy people getting ready to run a marathon.  I'm so happy to be meeting so many new people!  Running has brought so much strength into my life, and now it's bringing more and more people.  Some of them I see, and some of them get added on facebook and I get to see what's going on with them from different parts of the country.  Either way I love it.

My during shots are courtesy of I don't really
know who.  They were loaded to facebook and
I saved them.  Here's Annette and me and below is
Carrie and me.  I'm clearly never going to be a career blogger because my photo placement capabilities continue to be a challenge.  The race started off fine and pretty much stayed fine.  We stopped along the way for some photo ops and saw so many familiar faces along the course.  There are more pictures I should include but they are on my phone...and I'm a little lazy.

I went ahead of Carrie toward the half and spent the last 10 miles or so with Julie from Minneapolis.  She was running her 50th marathon and we bonded over hill walking, mostly.  There were a lot of hills.  I was glad to have the company to take my mind off of the running a little.  And it's always nice to share the time with someone new.

No race is complete without the post race food, and we really lucked out with our choice near Vicksburg.  The salsa was good and spicy and the vegetarian fajitas were amazing, particularly the broccoli and cauliflower.  The corona light was great, too, but of course what makes it best is the company, as always.  Whether it's my friends and family down in the river market or my running family on the road, being able to share times like these with friends is a huge blessing in my life.

This morning on my cold rainy 10 mile run I was thinking about a friend and all the things I want for her right now.  As I was thinking and praying, I realized that everything I was praying for for her, I needed in myself, too.  Peace and comfort to deal with hard times, strength to make the difficult decisions, clear sight and understanding to know the right thing to do, or at least to see the truth inside myself and act on it.  The self-preservation to reach for the hands that are there to bring comfort and laughter and happiness.  And I was talking to another friend about happiness, about how it comes as quickly and sometimes fleetingly as other emotions.  We all want to "be happy" as if happy is something other than every other feeling, some kind of constant state of being.  It's not.  It's a feeling just like any other, a good one, and when it comes, it must be wallowed in, swum in, taken in, swished around, allowed to tumble over my face--even if everything else in life is upside down or sideways.  It can't be pursued--I have to do the things that I need to do and trust that happiness will come in one form or another.

As my friend Kristin assured me would happen, I am not waiting until Little Rock to race again.  Just last night I felt a momentary pang at not having another race soon, and this morning I saw on facebook that spots had opened up in the Mississippi River Marathon.  So I signed up.

There are highs.

My state of mind defies explanation these days.  It is alarmingly simplistic to suggest that there are highs and lows, though there are.  The highs are sometimes in the same place as the lows: tears that are about pain that is born from loving.  The lows come maybe when you think there will be highs to distract you.  Either way, the fact remains that there are highs, and I sing about that.

Run for the Ranch was miserably cold and windy, but it was super fun and full of memory-making because of the people involved.  I'll mostly let the pictures do the talking.

We left at 6:45 in the morning and stopped at Hardees (somewhere in North Arkansas!) for breakfast.  We ate and then had some photo ops.

Carrie can't seem to get her eyes on the camera, though.  In the jukebox one I was pretty sure she was looking out the window for dudes.



Once we got to Springfield we had plenty of time to kill.  We got bibs and chips and shirts and stayed warm in the car until time to go back inside to get ready.  We had a maniac group shot on the steps, and then a couple of shots with Annette, Carrie, and me.

I loved on some huge dogs and leaned against one to get warm while we were waiting for the start.  He had a serious labrador lean going on, but he was much bigger than a lab.  I had dog hair all over my tights but it was totally worth it.




I thought I would warm up during the race but I was sort of wrong.  I didn't think enough of the wind and also didn't take into account that it would get dark during this race and get cooler.  I definitely should have worn my running jacket.  I would have been more comfortable.  Carrie and I entertained each other (and some other runners) with stories, singing, and a few rounds of dirty ABC game.  I find myself to be much more funny, apparently, than the people around me find me to be.  Whatever--Zero of 'em!

I didn't feel really strong at any point in the race, really.  It was probably a combination of a few things--maybe a couple too many beers the night before, not enough to eat before the race, soda before the race, cold wind, and maybe too quick of a pace starting out.  A few times I really did question my ability to finish.  We slowed down considerably for the second half and, through a combination of really bad singing and a ridiculous amount of whining and threatening to quit and announcing my hatred for marathons, we finished.

I wanted nothing more than to get warm, but the lobby area where we were sitting was not warm.  Carrie and I huddled under space blankets.  We both had warm clothes in the car just across the street, but the thought of going back outside and walking down steps was too much.  So we just sat there and suffered.





Finally, we headed out to get what I'd been singing about for hours: food and beer.  I had never been to Red Robin before--only heard the obnoxious commercials.  I thought it was a fast-food burger joint, but Arland and Annette assured me we could get beer there, so I was game.  I drank that big blue moon in the picture, two of those shots, and a pint of Mother's Three Blind Mice, a local Springfield brew.  I ate some salad.  We laughed.  Dinner and drinks post-race may have been the best part.

We piled back in the car to head home and the girls completely flaked on entertaining Arland for the drive.  I think I was asleep within minutes until I woke up at a gas station.  The clerk there acted like he wanted to card me for my scratch off tickets.  He said I looked 23 and I asked him if he wanted to get married.  He said I made his night.

My day and night were made by new friends.  The best part: we get to do it all again this weekend for the Mississippi Blues Marathon!

The truth is heavy.

I have to find some things.

Some words, some routines, some peace.  Some momentum and strength. Courage.  Some increased sense of self.

The truth hides under blankets and it is oh so heavy.  Some days I can't even pick up a plastic bag off the floor, much less haul the truth out of its depth.

I have perpetually just awakened from a long sleep and I am looking for myself among the objects I have gathered around me.  Am I in the crocheting, the Christmas tree, the running gear, the TV?  Am I on facebook or in the long-neglected guitar in my room?  The books that I hang onto but can barely read?  Am I in the candles or the paintings or the cookbooks in the kitchen?  Am I in my work as a teacher?

I am thinking but there is too much.

A few years ago, I woke up one morning to snow.  I hadn't snow danced.  I hadn't even expected it.  It was amazing, already several inches deep and still coming down.

It snowed all day.  Kym and Justin came down and Ty and I spent the day outside with them.  We made a snow woman and dressed her in a bikini.  We called her Snowanna.  We broke leaves off of the azalea to adorn her head.

At one point I stopped and looked out down the street and across the yard.  The snow was still falling and everything was so.beautiful.  And I told Kym, "Days like today make me feel like everything will always be ok."  It really did.  I remember that feeling, that sudden promise from the universe that somehow, if we could have a day like that, everything would be ok.

I don't know what made me think of that moment.  I guess needing to feel like everything is going to be ok. 

Earlier I was looking for the source of something I read in the past.  I couldn't find it, but what I did find was Joan Didion's "On Self Respect": "To have that sense of one's intrinsic worth which constitutes self-respect is potentially to have everything: the ability to discriminate, to love and to remain indifferent."

I need to go running in the dark--running towards the answers.  I know they aren't at the end, but along the way, and the truths are heavy and hard to hold on to.

UPDATE!
I finally found what I was looking for earlier.  It comes from a piece by Nancy Mairs called "On Being a Cripple."  In it she talks about her MS diagnosis, her life, and why she chooses the word "cripple" to identify herself.  For a while she was told she had a brain tumor before finally being diagnosed with MS.  She says, "Every day for the past nearly ten years, then, has been a kind of gift. I accept all gifts."  I had forgotten where that came from but I think it so often.  I accept all gifts.  The universe has sent me many gifts over the years and last few months--in the midst of a difficult time, and I am grateful for them all.  For comfort, for a text or an email, for a song suggestion or the time it takes to express appreciation for friendship and caring.  I accept all gifts.

St. Jude's Marathon Race Report

Favorite signs on course:
If this race were easy, it would be your mom.
You'll never beat Paul Ryan's time.
Any idiot can run.  It takes a special kind of idiot to run 26.2 miles.

Favorite part:
Running through the St. Jude hospital campus.
Oh my God.  My throat hurt from trying not to cry.  There were people on either side of the streets all the way through.  Some had pictures of children who were patients.  They waved signs, rang bells, cheered.  What hit me about it was that that place is a way of life for so many people and children.  A reality.  I'm so glad it's there and that any kid who needs it can be treated regardless of their family's means.  I definitely want to run the race again next year and raise money as a St. Jude's Hero.  People who were part of the race raised over $5 million.  Amazing.

Second favorite part: a group of little girls with Downe Syndrome, all wearing matching pink fleeces, cheering, smiling, having fun being part of the race.

Third favorite part: running down Beale Street at the beginning of the race.  Tons of people lined both sides.  The atmosphere was celebratory and festive.

Fourth favorite part: Gumby/Sumo wrestler.

Fifth favorite part: incredible view of the Mississippi River.

Least favorite part: the whole 2nd half of the race.  Seriously, all the good stuff is at the beginning.  The rest was comparatively dull.  I did get some good refreshment at the end.

The whole thing was made special by having my sister there with me.  We went to a pizza place for dinner just because it was close to where the expo was, but the pizza was amazing.  Roasted garlic, fresh basil, tomato, banana peppers, and goat cheese.

Post race, we tried to go to the Melting Pot but it wasn't open yet.  We had to go to Joe's Crab Shack instead.  We were pretty ok with that.  We got some specially personalized bibs.

My plan for this race was to take it easy and have fun.  But I didn't.  I ran it in 4:41, which is slowish for me, but not bad considering it was number 3 in a month.  But it wasn't easy.  It was pretty tough.  I thought, though, while I was running, that it is not about the medal or trying to impress people or needing people to think I'm something.  It's not.  It's about doing something hard.  Even when it hurts.  Even when it hurts, God sometimes it hurts, but I know, I know, somewhere very solid, that if I just keep putting one foot in front of the other, that I will get through.  I'll finish, I'll cross the line.

I'm bad about needing to know things.  It's true.  I would like to know some things for sure.  And I like knowing I can do this thing and that I can do it a lot.  Because at the beginning of every race, (even for the days leading up to it), I'm not sure I can do it.  And for the first 5 miles, the first 10 miles, I'm still not sure.  But at mile 18, 19, 20, 22, 24, when I'm hurting and my legs and feet are screaming, then I know.  It's a really good kind of knowing.  That's what keeps me wanting to do it again and again, I think.  The little bit of fear, the mountain I have to climb, and the knowing in the midst of the pain.  It's a tenuous--yet firm--kind of solidity.

Eventually you will reach the sun.

Said Savanna.

This morning I sat with the music loud in my car. It was too loud but I felt it. I felt it hurt a little like the emotions dimpling my torso. For a minute the vibrations in the seat and under my feet filled the pit in my belly. I stared in front of me at the ridged gray clouds highlighted in morning. I tucked my fingers under my thighs. I waited. I'm waiting.

I need some fierceness. To touch something solid. To climb the tallest pine tree, see the white heron, and keep it to myself.

Spring is making a cameo today. The light is tender but unsure and will melt away too early. No matter. I need to feel it on my arms and legs. Breathing.
I need to run until I reach the sun.

White River Marathon!

I'm never really sure if I will be able to do it.  Seriously.  It's insane.

It was cold at the start, around 32 degrees, and foggy. We got a photo with a few other maniacs before we started running.

The first 8 miles or so are terrible because there are so many miles left.  At 9 miles, Carrie said, "Only 17 miles to go!"  I said something about not liking the sound of that, but in my head I thought, What the Fuck?  Seventeen More Miles? And I've Done This Before, You Say?  Seventeen?

I always mean to cover the spots on my feet and toes that blister, but half the time I forget.

I really like talking to strangers on the course.  It's the only time I will strike up a conversation with a stranger and be ok with some random guy admitting to checking out my belly.

I like new facebook friends after races.  More crazy runners, especially maniacs.

Everyone kind of hobbles around afterward.  Except that Conway girl who flits and sprints around.  What is UP with her?

Post-race homemade chili is awesome.


At the finish, some guy yelled out, "You only have one more lap!"  I flipped him off.  He and his friends thought it was hilarious that I did.  I'm glad.

My favorite thing to do right after the finish is fall in the grass and take off my shoes.  I felt hot when we finished and pulled off my shirts so I could be in short sleeves, but then almost immediately put my sweatshirt on.

We met a guy who had driven all night to get to the White River Marathon and was headed to Tulsa right after for today's marathon there. He is doing 52 marathons in 26 weeks or something like that.  Two a week. Makes me seem less crazy.

Corona is good with chips and salsa after a race.

Running with someone makes a huge difference.  Someone to talk to, someone to say fuck with, someone to push and be pushed by.  Thanks, Carrie!

Road kill on a course is not fun.  Cows by the side of the road are nice, especially when they bunch up by the fence to watch the race.  They wouldn't talk to me though.

The next race is in 2 weeks.  I wonder if I can do it? ;-)