Highs and Lows

Saturday was a high point for me, because I’m completely loony – but in a way that I know many of you will understand. Woke up at 3 AM, picked up my friend Rachel at 3:30, and we were running trails by 4. I’m telling you, there has been little more surreal in my current list of life experiences than running through the woods, shin-deep in wet grass, by flashlight and chest light, seeing glowing green eyes through the darkness as we went. It was a rough run, especially after the water pump we were told would be working turned out not to be, so we both ran out of fluids partway around a large loop, but with a reasonable amount of walking, we did a total of 24 miles together.

  
It was a bit muddy out there.

But the “run” the next morning, Sunday, wasn’t so pleasant. My IT band along my right knee had begun barking a bit at the end of the trail run, and on Sunday, it was miserable from almost the beginning. I tried using a stabilizer band, but it helped not one bit. I stopped and stretched frequently, walked a bunch, but it wound up being a horrible death march home in the end. It’s amazing, too, how one bad run, even a really bad one – in a cycle where you haven’t had a bad run like it in many, many weeks – can make you feel like an abject failure. I spent the rest of the day only a breath away from sudden surges of anxiety and panic, convinced that I was completely broken and in no way able to do this 50K in only a little more than a month. I stretched, I took some antinflammatories, and I stretched some more, but mostly…I freaked.

Monday was Memorial Day, and I wasn’t scheduled to run. Instead, I woke up early to beautiful, cooler weather, and I decided to hop on my bike and enjoy. I rode to several cemeteries, taking in the flags and decorations; at points, I saw people decorating the graves, at least a few of whom appeared to be personally mourning a loved one. The concept of “Happy Memorial Day,” as some folks use it, makes me uncomfortable; Memorial Day is full of mixed feelings for me, as I think of all those souls lost, freely given or not. My father is a veteran, as was my grandfather. The day isn’t about barbecues or the opening of swimming pools; it’s about service and the commemoration of those who’ve served in ways I can’t begin to fully comprehend. Seeing the rows upon rows of flags over burial mounds drives that home, and riding through the cemeteries allowed me to step outside of myself and gain perspective.

And then we went to a parade, where we got a bit drenched with rain. Would have felt wrong to leave, though.

So I was feeling a bit more balanced when I woke this morning, prepared to run, prepared to see where I stood with my IT band. And I was ready to do that, feeling optimistic, right until just before I headed out the door. I checked my email. I saw this. Along with many, many other parents, I’ve been praying for Henry since his overdose and attack – praying for a miracle, praying for strength and peace for his family. Reading of his passing felt like the bottom dropping out of my stomach. I ran out the door. My IT band was fine (oddly, the left one started whimpering a bit on the way home), but my mind wasn’t on it. My legs can run, but another mama’s baby never will again. Perspective.

Hug your babies today. Take time to appreciate what their bodies, and yours, can do. Don’t take anything for granted. This morning, I have life, and I have liberty, and I have healthy children, and…just so, so much, and I am in tears – tears for Katie and for Henry and for other mother of other lost babies, in graves with flags or in coffins so small it shouldn’t be possible.