The morning started off imperfect. I didn't sleep enough. The route I chose took me down a stereotypically country road where angry dogs and their gun-toting owners slept in the pre-dawn hours. But knowing they existed made me hyper aware of every leaf I crunched. A horse bolted across a field towards me at mile 2 and I could feel my heart nearly erupting from my chest. By the time I reached the gravel, I finally felt calm enough to change the battery in my blinking headlamp.
A rusty old truck drove by at mile 6, moving just a few miles per hour faster than me on the deeply rutted road. I kept my eyes and headlamp aimed at the ground, keeping the pace as steady as I could manage. The truck passed without incident and I watched it rumble ahead, the lights disappearing around the curve.
I saw the truck again at the intersection of the AT. Maybe the driver was doing some hiking. Maybe he was picking up hikers. I didn't stick around to find out and hopped onto the dark single-track, a place that I strangely felt far more safe on. Shortly thereafter, a young couple that appeared to be straight out of an REI catalog held their leashed dog to the side of the trail and allowed me to pass.
The sky began to lighten, but the windy passes of Nimblewill were no match for the impending sunshine. I pulled out my jacket and put my gloves on, smiling that at least I had my favorite weather.
I fully expected my morning to turn around after I crested Springer. Surely the light and single-track would give me the much-needed boost. But I veered off into the campsites by accident and had to backtrack. And I couldn't shake the notion that I just felt tired. My feet hurt. My left shin felt sore and my right hip never got loose.
I ate and drank well, but my stomach felt meh for quite some time. I topped off my water filtering in a flowing creek and ate a few pieces of bacon. I waited and waited to feel that little bit of flow and was rewarded with a brief stretch along the BMT heading into Three Forks. It was short-lived and while I never got super low, I found myself unable to shake the funk. The Long Creek waterfall was mostly deserted and I sat on a rock eating an Uncrustable, willing myself to enjoy it for what it was. That I could move myself 30 miles through the woods just because I wanted to.
At UTMB, I ran/hiked every step without music. I carried my headphones through the entire race, thinking I'd want them at some point to just power hike to some EDM. But I kind of forgot about them and then was having such a good experience, I never really needed to be pulled from the abyss. Sometimes I like music even when I'm having a good race though so it's not like I have a correlation to bad race = music.
But in this case, I fired up a playlist thinking it could help turn my brain around. Perhaps I knew it was futile as I chose the country one, full of sadness and whiskey. As I ran down that forest service road bathed in autumn light, I sat with the funk. I thought about stopping briefly to physically bury something. It would be metaphorical, of course, but I thought maybe shoving a rock into a hole might somehow allow me to move on.
I tumbled down the road, letting gravity do the work that my legs didn't seem to want to do. My phone sat uncomfortably in my vest pocket. The jacket was no longer needed. I thought about the food I had left and was underwhelmed.
What should have been a fun descent down Winding Stair to my car was just another 7+ miles of gorgeous views and my poor attitude. It's a strange thing to know you're so deep in the well, but being unable to help yourself. And trust me, I was pulling out all my tricks.
I recognize I probably was not fresh enough to go into this feeling well. And if I were smart, I would have stopped and turned around earlier or hell, never even started. But I was feeling stubborn and expected that I'd eventually feel good.
I'm not generally a fan of doing something that feels terrible just to garner experience. This is a hobby. It should be enjoyable most of the time. But I've also been running long enough to know that they can't all be puppies and rainbow runs. That some days are just complete shit even if conditions are perfect. But it's these days that make the good ones even better. And that rings true in all the other pockets of life.
I'm not generally a fan of doing something that feels terrible just to garner experience. This is a hobby. It should be enjoyable most of the time. But I've also been running long enough to know that they can't all be puppies and rainbow runs. That some days are just complete shit even if conditions are perfect. But it's these days that make the good ones even better. And that rings true in all the other pockets of life.
_______
Beautifully crisp November
Beautifully crisp November
Red and yellow leaves against electric blue skies
My hands shoved in my pockets
My face soaking the warmth from the sun
I wasn't sure if I'd get another November
Maybe I'd experienced all my greatest moments
Maybe I'd survived all of the worst ones
Maybe the wavelength began to flatten
But it spiked like never before
And tunneled into depths it had never seen
I felt like a ragdoll thrust into the air
And the ground fell out as gravity took over
_______
Here in the westernmost part of the time zone, we get daylight until close to 6pm this time of year. There's a sliver of time after work that people pour out of their houses, walking their dogs or themselves when the weather is pleasant. It's supposed to rain all day tomorrow so it's likely no one will be out then.
It didn't seem like such a long time ago when we had our house painted last. Time snuck up on me as it seems to have lately. In some ways, I felt exactly the same. Same house, same husband, same hobbies, same kind of dogs.
But there were tipping changes too. A career change. A pandemic. Loss. Loss of life. Loss of independence. Loss of what was. Gain. Gain of ability. Gain of knowledge. Gain of me.
We're lucky we did what we could, when we could. Some of it would be impossible now. I wonder about all the things you took granted, what you wish you had back the most. I'm glad you talked to your mom every day. I know it was hard when she started to need you more than you needed her.
I'm guilty of only reaching out when it's necessary. I'm scared sometimes that I'll lose you. And that I haven't been thankful enough for you giving me the security I need for a safe and comfortable existence.
Maybe I'd survived all of the worst ones
Maybe the wavelength began to flatten
But it spiked like never before
And tunneled into depths it had never seen
I felt like a ragdoll thrust into the air
And the ground fell out as gravity took over
_______
Here in the westernmost part of the time zone, we get daylight until close to 6pm this time of year. There's a sliver of time after work that people pour out of their houses, walking their dogs or themselves when the weather is pleasant. It's supposed to rain all day tomorrow so it's likely no one will be out then.
It didn't seem like such a long time ago when we had our house painted last. Time snuck up on me as it seems to have lately. In some ways, I felt exactly the same. Same house, same husband, same hobbies, same kind of dogs.
But there were tipping changes too. A career change. A pandemic. Loss. Loss of life. Loss of independence. Loss of what was. Gain. Gain of ability. Gain of knowledge. Gain of me.
We're lucky we did what we could, when we could. Some of it would be impossible now. I wonder about all the things you took granted, what you wish you had back the most. I'm glad you talked to your mom every day. I know it was hard when she started to need you more than you needed her.
I'm guilty of only reaching out when it's necessary. I'm scared sometimes that I'll lose you. And that I haven't been thankful enough for you giving me the security I need for a safe and comfortable existence.
_______
I was in such a hurry to grow up, to get out, to be in the next chapter. Maybe it would have looked a lot different if I'd gone the traditional route. By the time I arrived at Emory, I already had 2 years of trying to make decisions on my own. In many ways, I fell into the freshman trap of pushing my own limits because I had none. There was no curfew and no one seemed to care if you slept 0 nights in your dorm room or showed up to class. You just failed.
I always showed up to class. But just because my physical body was there didn't mean that I was actually learning anything. I got by well enough. There were a few classes that gave me trouble and I was embarrassed that I couldn't connect the dots in my head.
Or maybe it wasn't that I was trying hard enough. It felt like I was at the time, but looking back, my extracurricular life was a blurry disaster. Especially in my senior year. Living off campus meant driving in every day. I picked early classes on purpose so I'd have the rest of my day free. I'd still arrive early and sleep in my car for 10, 15 minutes until it was time to walk to class.
I'd fall asleep in the stacks or on a park bench in the quad. I'd read and read and read and realize that I hadn't actually soaked up any of the words. I'd just been lying my eyes over them, but my brain was somewhere else.
A burger from Burger King and an apple will remind me of this time. A regular lunch that feels highly remnant of my eating disorder days. I'd yo-yoed quite a lot after my recovery and struggled to find a comfortable rhythm with food and movement. This lunch felt like a pull from both sides and if I'm being honest with myself, is where I'd find myself frequently for the rest of my life. Cake and salad. Burger and fruit. Naughty and nice.
Anyway, I was so fixated on being grown that I pushed a lot of the college experience away by that point. I had one foot in the college world and one foot in a sad reality of young adulthood. My days were spent with the movers and shakers of the world, brilliant young minds preparing themselves to become surgeons, judges, and CEOs. My nights were spent either making a few bucks at a low-wage job or holed up in a shitty apartment with my boyfriend and our roommate, watching terrible movies and making bad decisions.
Looking back, it’s not hard to see why I was a failure to launch. Part of me wishes to blame all the things other than my own self, but there was plenty of sabotage of opportunity. I was given all the tools to reach my goals, but something in me just couldn’t hold tight to that ambition. It’s hard to know what my trajectory would have been and who’s to say I would be any more or less happier, fulfilled, etc. at this juncture in my life. Our society looks to wealth and power as success, but that success doesn’t always equal happiness.
________
I want to eat a pile of burrata oozing from atop a pile of freshly picked tomatoes. I want to feel scalding hot water pummel my skin until it turns red and pruny. I want to listen to that song one more time, the volume so loud you cannot hear me screaming the chorus.
I was in such a hurry to grow up, to get out, to be in the next chapter. Maybe it would have looked a lot different if I'd gone the traditional route. By the time I arrived at Emory, I already had 2 years of trying to make decisions on my own. In many ways, I fell into the freshman trap of pushing my own limits because I had none. There was no curfew and no one seemed to care if you slept 0 nights in your dorm room or showed up to class. You just failed.
I always showed up to class. But just because my physical body was there didn't mean that I was actually learning anything. I got by well enough. There were a few classes that gave me trouble and I was embarrassed that I couldn't connect the dots in my head.
Or maybe it wasn't that I was trying hard enough. It felt like I was at the time, but looking back, my extracurricular life was a blurry disaster. Especially in my senior year. Living off campus meant driving in every day. I picked early classes on purpose so I'd have the rest of my day free. I'd still arrive early and sleep in my car for 10, 15 minutes until it was time to walk to class.
I'd fall asleep in the stacks or on a park bench in the quad. I'd read and read and read and realize that I hadn't actually soaked up any of the words. I'd just been lying my eyes over them, but my brain was somewhere else.
A burger from Burger King and an apple will remind me of this time. A regular lunch that feels highly remnant of my eating disorder days. I'd yo-yoed quite a lot after my recovery and struggled to find a comfortable rhythm with food and movement. This lunch felt like a pull from both sides and if I'm being honest with myself, is where I'd find myself frequently for the rest of my life. Cake and salad. Burger and fruit. Naughty and nice.
Anyway, I was so fixated on being grown that I pushed a lot of the college experience away by that point. I had one foot in the college world and one foot in a sad reality of young adulthood. My days were spent with the movers and shakers of the world, brilliant young minds preparing themselves to become surgeons, judges, and CEOs. My nights were spent either making a few bucks at a low-wage job or holed up in a shitty apartment with my boyfriend and our roommate, watching terrible movies and making bad decisions.
Looking back, it’s not hard to see why I was a failure to launch. Part of me wishes to blame all the things other than my own self, but there was plenty of sabotage of opportunity. I was given all the tools to reach my goals, but something in me just couldn’t hold tight to that ambition. It’s hard to know what my trajectory would have been and who’s to say I would be any more or less happier, fulfilled, etc. at this juncture in my life. Our society looks to wealth and power as success, but that success doesn’t always equal happiness.
________
I want to eat a pile of burrata oozing from atop a pile of freshly picked tomatoes. I want to feel scalding hot water pummel my skin until it turns red and pruny. I want to listen to that song one more time, the volume so loud you cannot hear me screaming the chorus.
________
I'm staring at the ceiling with my head against the glass. My friends are all chatting, jovial in the moment we've come together. The children are behaving, the other patrons talking happily amongst themselves, and the kitchen amid the dining room buzzing with activity. No one notices at first, which I'm happy about as there is no immediate danger. I just need a little extra time for the bleeding to stop. I pinch my nose with a handful of rough napkins hoping to not draw too much attention to myself.
Turmoil is thread through each relationship. Fighting different demons, but demons nonetheless. I think about the innocence of the hour and how we all shove those things aside because in this pocket of time, we do actually forget.
Partly because that's what we do in a civilized society. Putting our best faces forward to not mar our network. Even the longest and deepest friendships require periods of harmony, where no one is weighing on each other. But we shove them aside because we all strive to actually enjoy it for what it is. A calm amidst the chaos. A reaffirmation that there are indeed pockets of joy without any sacrifice or agenda. That where you are and what you're doing often matters very little when you're happy with who you're with.
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