The *itch is back!

I'm back and if you've been sitting on your ass this whole time, you better slouch down a little lower to make certain I can't find you. You don't need me to get you out the door, do it your damn self. I am not your excuse; I'm not even my own. I have no empathy, born without it... hide people. Truly, hide.

Today, I did with full resistance the treadclimber for 30 minutes at my 100% mhr. Everyday I focused on today and how great it would feel to come back. I may have been knocked down and buried deep; I never gave up. I never looked for an excuse. And most importantly, once again, I showed up.

So get up. Suck it up. Suck it in and move forward. Your limits are just that, yours... yours to create and yours to destroy. Tomorrow I'll do more. Everyday I'll do more because this IS life.

Your excuse just officially got slammed. Set your alarm.

In sweat,

Beth

33

Tomorrow is the last treatment. Today is my birthday. Yesterday was my record breaking cardio since starting treatement.

This is my 33rd year. I have a new goal.

In spired,
Beth

Dog Days

I am up. I am on my feet. Two days after treatment and I actually feel... well, good! Hit an awesome run this morning, feeling like Rocky running up the stairs. And the crowd cheers...

It's almost done; this is nearly over. Just two more treatments, then back to health, work, and running everyday! I miss this so much. I miss feeling good. It is such a simple gift, that never gets appreciated. That winter cold is not worth whining about, neither is your headache. Good enough should be considered great. Perspective people. Simple perspective.

I've been miserable for the last six weeks. I've hated, I've  pitied, I've even died a little, but am so lucky to find more life at the end once again. That misery can eat your soul. I'm strong enough to have survived it, to dig out from that living grave. And I'm smart enough to appreciate it, and let it go.

 As for the next two Fridays, I will feel good enough. And for today, let's just call it great.

The dog days are over, the dog days are done...

In daylight,
Beth

Sharp roots

It's been hard to lift my fingers to a keyboard, to put words into a sentence, or even just have a simple coherent thought. I have, for just a moment, found a short glimpse of myself. As I am waiting for my next treatment, which thankfully is the first of the final four, I find a million coherent thoughts running through my weakened mind and my fingers are shaking trying to keep on task here. I have not been able to run, but on most days have beeb able to take a short walk. This morning I decided to go for a brief run in the cold just to own my own existence again, even if for just a minute. I ran about 2 miles on sheer will, and a final mile on the deep, sharp roots of anger. I wasn't fast, but I was there. I made it home only to crawl to the stairs for a good cry against the spindles... and my breathe became mine again.

In haling,

Beth

When I'm not looking

People are funny. As I run by, music blasting in my ears, I see each of you as a character in a movie. I don't know you from Adam. I know about you only what I see when I'm there looking. I am a stranger to you, so you don't mind. Your p.j.'s are fine, hair all a mess. No worries about your dated glasses, worn slippers, or morning rant at the dog. I love getting a little glimpse of what surrounds me. A little window into the world that exists outside my own. I start to realize, as I run past, that I am also a character to them. That girl that runs this street everyday. Hair all a mess, worn running shoes, the morning rant at her ipod....

As I reach the country roads, there's a lot less to see. The view is great, don't get me wrong, but there isn't the challenge of knowing who someone is when I'm not looking.

I loved running past the young man who entered his car, suitcase in hand, only after a long hug with his sleepy wife.  And the smiling old woman's as she picked up todays news stories from her drive...

Then there's the man too busy to wave goodbye, too rushed to see his wife and kids patiently waiting at the door, hoping for even the simplest acknowledgement. I keep running as the expensive cars drive by, with an isolated driver who must be the busiest person in the world. Always fixing their reflection, too involved to see the stop sign. As I approach the bigger homes, the less people I see. The houses always seem empty, no lights, no toys, no mess. I'm not sure anyone actually lives there. I'm not sure if anyone would call them home...

I think about all these people I pass through the streets. I think of how they are to each other: their families, their neighbors, to themselves. What makes some love themselves enough to brave the morning light with dated glasses, worn slippers, and hair all a mess? And others love each other so deeply as to hold that hug a little longer, to let that tear fall, even for the shortest goodbyes.  And if that life is an option, why do some seem so miserable?

It is no family unless the respect is enough to show that love to strangers. And when the one's you know aren't looking, does the ring stay on the finger? Is it too loose and slips into a pocket? Or is it around a tacky gold necklace where those who are looking can't see it from where they've sunk to? I watch too many slip away from their homes and onto the street as different people. I have a birds eye view in running. I am nearly invisible to you, but over time I get to know who you are by your reflection when no one's looking... In these moments, I can also see my own, and find peace in the glimpses I leave.


We are what we do. Our reflections show who we are to others, show us what they see when we aren't looking. I don't just say the words and hide. I don't have different faces for everyday. My ring stays on, as do the beads on my wrist, as does my smile. I pin my heart on my sleeve for everyone to see. My sweaty footprints are consistent, even if not always at the same stride.  I know one day I may not be on this street looking. I may not be here to be seen. I just hope the glimpses I leave can be inspiring... beautiful, messy moments of living.

And, sir, put that ring back on... the reflection from your neck is blinding from up here.

In view,
Beth

Heavy Footprints

As I ran down the street this morning, I thought hard about lifting one foot and placing it in front of the other. It is starting over everyday. I fight harder. I have to, even knowing that tomorrow will be the same battle. I do this with a certainty that, in the end, I will be restored, healthy, and able to step on the ten mile trail like this eight weeks never happened. But, of course, there is no guarantee. I can't be promised by anyone that the easy run will ever again exist. I can't tangibly feel the runners high that floats through that future. I can't feel the loving embrace of the wind or that ever present strength of my heartbeat as I push the limits of what my body knows. I suppose this is what defines faith. Anyone of us could substitute a Deity of choice into this. For all our differences, all our religious judgements, we are all taught to have faith.

I have faith in my feet. I have faith in week nine.

In heavy footprints,
Beth

All you can take.

Then you stand.

In running shoes,

Beth