Sunday, July 30, 2017

July is a Monster

The smell of honeysuckle was long gone and the blackberry branches were stripped of their fruit. My skin dripped with salty sweat and stung my eyes. The nights seemed to go on forever. The sky would darken, but not ever get jet black. My days felt unfilled. I was consumed with worry.

I didn't always hate summer, but it became the time to deal with change. Maybe it was making me stronger.

What once meant ice cream and staying up late now meant unrelenting heat and the stress of uncertainty. No matter the time of day, the mugginess encircled. There was no escaping the suffocation of warmth.

Runs continued to feel disappointing because my paces slowed. I felt all the work of winter and spring dissipate within just a few weeks. Never mind that I couldn't see the stack of miles. Never mind that this had been happening for the past 20 years.

A couple of weeks ago, I sat on the dirt next to the tire of my car in the shade. I let my heart rate slowly fall as a pool of sweat formed around me. The self-deprecation had slowed and had finally allowed myself to sleep, to eat, and to run without constant anxiety. It stayed with me like all of the other ones. Anguishing and heart-ripping in the midst of their darkness. But time heals some of the sting. And I slowly picked myself up and remember that nothing ever lasts.

The end of the month brings an about face. Paces are far from February and I am weeks from fully contributing to my new career. But I can see the top of the mountain and I am not afraid to keep working. The top isn't finite. It is just another part of this winding trail. I am sure to continue to stumble, to fall again, and to be challenged in ways I never expected.

I have run my biggest mileage month ever due in part to this setback.

I completed a good chunk of the Georgia Appalachian Trail on foot.

Friends from all pockets of my life reached out to me and showed their support. I felt vulnerable in my previous post because my pain was still very fresh, very real. I'm not healed, but I'm healing. My misfortune is so teeny in the grand scale of humankind that I sometimes feel silly for writing about it. But the kind words I received truly did lift my spirits and overwhelmed me that I am surrounded by so many good humans.


1 comment:

  1. Beautifully written by a beautiful and strong woman. I love you forever, Mom