You'll never catch me!

I started training last night. 

Earlier this week I was talking to my best friend from high school, Planet Claire, and we decided that we're going to run a 1/2 marathon in January.

Let me set something straight here. I have never been a runner. I have jogged many times with IH, but I don't seek out opportunities to do so like he does. I've never felt a "runner's high" and I don't envy the hundreds of people I see running through my neighborhood for being so dedicated to the sport. Most of the time I find it exhausting and if the atmosphere isn't just right, boring. Yet, I committed to doing this with her because 1, I need the exercise. And 2, I have a "lifetime goals" list and “running a marathon” is on it somewhere. 

I'm sore already.

I left my house last night, leaving a whiny boy to finish studying for his math test, another boy watching TV, and a husband left explaining to whiny boy why he couldn't come with me. 

"Mama needs some alone time, too." Daddy said.

I didn't tell him that's what I needed. I didn't even think I was looking for that, myself. But as I rounded the second corner, guilt far from my mind (thank God), I was glad to be alone. It was peaceful, even with Otis blasting in my ear. The peace didn’t stem from the fact that the kids weren't with me, it was because I was completely and 100% alone.

I passed a walker on the way and decided that maybe I wasn't going to be alone, after all. Whatever, I kept running, but I couldn't help but wonder what her story was. Did she have kids at home, too, waiting for her to tuck them in like my boys still do? Did she have a husband at home who couldn't wait to have her back because he thinks she's the glue in the family, like my Bobby does?

I thought about the walker and all her possible life stories for a while. I felt a mysterious connection with her and the people inhabiting the houses around me even though they were oblivious to the pondering runner passing their homes. Instead, they were reading bedtime stories to their babies, washing dishes, talking about their hectic day to their partners, or celebrating a victory not easily won. They were living, they were breathing.

Just like me. 

I guess that's where the connection was. Knowing that we're all living our lives the best way we know how to. It's so damn tough sometimes, yet most of us figure out a way to survive the seemingly most treacherous of mental anguish we manage to get ourselves into. Whether it's our fault or not, we come out of it better people if we're smart enough to have actually learned something from the situation. Some don't, and that's okay, too.  If it's too late for any good to come of our circumstances, we get it and we move on. If we're lucky enough to have people in our lives to help us along the way then that’s just bonus and gravy, as IH loves to say. Be thankful if you have one person to talk to, to dream with, or cry with. We live in such close proximity to one another, yet so many of us treat each other like we are worlds apart. If you don't personally know someone, it feels strange when they ask you how your day is going. Why the cynicism?  If I take an extra minute to strike up a small conversation with the grocery clerk, I'm looked upon with evil eyes by the lady behind me in line like I just took 100 coupons out of my purse, forgot to label my bulk quinoa with the right bin #, have a screaming baby in the cart, and am paying with 2 separate checks that haven't been previously filled out! 

Sheesh.

Sorry for the disjointed mumbo-jumbo. 

Back to my running story.

It was nice.

I wanted to share it with my boys.

But it was late. Ethan was whiny from being overtired, so I didn’t dare.

So, I’m taking Sebbie with me tonight.

I want to give him the opportunity to 

just tie his shoes and 

take                                 off.

To fly and think and be and hear and smell and taste and touch.

To look at the moon and remember its cycles. To see the sky turn from blue to pink to orange and settle in a comfortable shade of indigo. To remember his power and his will.

To 

"run like the 

wind" 

just like Bullseye...

...along with Mama and feel the overwhelming rush of being human over and over and over again.