Run

When I run, I am at peace. I am living one breath at a time. I am whole-heartedly aware of every fibre of my being.

It is my communion. It is my solitude. It is everything to me.

When I can’t run, I feel agitated. It makes the winter feel long and bleak. When I am not running, I feel an emptiness. I crave it when I have to step away for a long time.

Running has been my sanity in this crazy world. It has been my serenity. My peace. It is the gentle hand that lifts me up out of the pits of hell; it is the soft voice that tells me I am worthwhile.

Today, my heart is broken. Of all the bad news that flits across the screen each day, this is the first moment that I have ever felt instantly gutted. My soul is crying out for my brothers and sisters whose celebration has been devastated. Tears well up in my eyes uncontrollably every time that I think of our shattered landscape.

Running isn’t political. It isn’t elite; it isn’t polarizing. From the beginning, humans have been born to run. The fact that someone has stolen this innocence has me completely twisted in agony. I want to cry out, to wrap my arms around my running family and weep.

I want to scream and shout, to curse anyone who would steal our peace, our happiness. I want to rail against the darkness, beating my fists against this pain that keeps rising up in my chest.

I want to run until the hurt goes away.

Spent.

Remember this? And this?

It hasn’t gotten better, despite Lax-a-day and prune juice and probiotics and magnesium citrate and hydration and fibre and exercise and grounding exercises and imagery and stories and photos and Rescue Remedy and rest and biopsies and gluten-free diets.

It hasn’t gotten better.

Do you know why? I don’t. All I know is that my beautiful 4-year old is terrified to go to the bathroom. She thinks it’s punishment and pain, and she is scared. She withholds until she cannot run, jump, play, or dance. She lies and she hides. Her beautiful blue eyes grow wide with fear, as her body roots itself to the ground to block the urge to GO.

And today, I called our paediatrician’s office, and I cried. I cried and cried and cried to the clinic nurse. And she called the Stollery clinic, and she pulled major strings, and she booked us in with the GI specialist for this Wednesday, despite a usual 2-3 month wait. And she booked C-boo for bloodwork this afternoon.

And despite the years of no answers, that clinic is still trying to help us.

And I am so grateful for them.

But today? I am spent.

***

This post is a part of the Summer Blog Challenge! Join the rest of us 🙂

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12k to go

I ran 30 kilometers today. It was quite honestly one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

It was hot out, to begin with. I also “lost” my dad around 24km- he was on his bike, stopped to stretch, and we missed each other. It was also right when I ran out of water…

I’ve never needed water on a run until today…and I ran out right when my training buddy was gone!!

The next 5km were the biggest psychological game I’ve ever played with myself. I *get* the wall now. If my dad hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have kept going. I was mentally done. I wasn’t in pain, for the first time ever, but I was done. I still had energy in my muscles, and my endurance was fine: I was keeping my “slow pace” at around 7 min/km.

But my brain? Done. Fried. I was counting down by 100m on my GPS. My dad tried to talk me into pushing past 29.3km (18 miles) and just doing 30km. Ha!

Then some trail-nazi decided to stand in front of my dad’s bike and freak out at him for cycling on his trail. Right. When. I. Was. Supposed. To. Stop. Running.

I was so pissed off that I RAN THE NEXT 700m JUST TO SHOW HIM. What a jerk.

But yay! I ran 30km with only fatigue!!

And then, on the kilometer-long walk back to my dad’s truck, the real test came. A dull ache spread down my fatigued legs, from my hips to my ankles. It hurt so much that I was in tears. It took so much strength to just keep moving and not completely lose it right there on the spot. The only thing I can compare it to is that awful ache of a sleeping limb waking up – not the pins and needles, but that take-your-breath-away ache that makes you still so very still until the blood and feeling returns.

It was the worst thing I’ve ever felt. But my dad? I’m so glad he was there. He didn’t crack a smartass comment about it. He just kept cycling and kept me moving. He kept me going.

So, 30km is done. It was scary. It was a huge mileage jump, and I’m exhausted. I slept on my mom’s couch for an hour before I could come home. The good news is that I only have 3 more long runs before the Okanagan marathon, and the only increase by 2 miles at a time…not 5 miles like today!

I need to sleep, eat, hydrate, and lick my mental wounds. I’m still in the game though, even though the game is suddenly a lot scarier!

Only 12 more kilometers to go!

Trust

A friend you can trust– a rare commodity.

I have to agree, and I hate to do it. I’ve come a long way in healing from last summer’s debacle. I’ve opened up, found friends in unexpected places, and really begun to enjoy socializing. Don’t get me wrong: there are still moments when situations terrify me, but I am feeling much more socially adept nowadays. I’ve found my stride.

And yet…

Trust? Trust anyone? Nope.

Obviously, there are levels of trust. I trust people in the basic sense of the word. I know they won’t run me over in a parking lot, and hopefully wouldn’t scream obscenities at me in a play cafe. I know that people in my life have good hearts, or they wouldn’t be in my life.

But will I ever trust anyone again?

No.

For the longest time, I was sure I would heal. But the truth is that I am utterly terrified of being close to anyone, and it’s started to seep into every area of my life. I don’t get my hopes up for things. I let disappointments slide past. I make watered-down plans instead of letting excitement build. I’ve become passive and impenetrable this past year.

Closed off. Smiling, enjoyable, and downright hilarious…but locked.

I suppose it’s to be expected. I had my privacy betrayed and my secrets played out publicly by the last person I trusted. Hell, I even had fake secrets laid out for the world to judge under a guise of compassion and outreach: things that weren’t even remotely true, like suffering from extreme mental illness and memory loss.

Those were my rewards for trusting someone and allowing them to get close to me: utter betrayal and lies. And no, despite the warnings, I never thought it would happen to me. So if you think for a moment I would allow myself get even close to letting that happen, you’re wrong.

There are days when I want to drown myself in solitude, to move so far away from civilization that I would need to forage for my own food. There are days that I wish I could live in the company of myself alone, forever, because I am the only person that I want to trust.

Ever.