The Terror or Running

I am a runner; even as I sit here recovering from the foot surgery that I had last week, there is something that I still know in my heart and that's that I will always be a runner. As a matter of fact, I am marking off the days until I can lace up a pair of new sneakers and break them in with my new improved right foot.
Imagining myself gliding down my old familiar trails is so amazing that I can hardly allow myself to spend too much time indulging. I feel like a kid waiting for Christmas; which in case you didn't know, will be in about 6 weeks for my excited feet. Pitter patter, pitter patter pat! I can hear their rhythmic sound in sync with my breathing already, Santa's on the way!
The love I have for running hit me hard when I woke up to the coverage of the Boston Marathon on my local news channel today. Great, I thought to myself, "I'm in a cast on the day of the Boston", not a good way to feel motivated on a Monday. My heart ached as I saw my fellow North Carolinians making their way to mile 23 with that familiar worn out but happy runner's high smile on all of their faces. I was envious for sure. I'd never been fast enough to qualify for Boston in my consistent years and here I was at 39 laying on the sofa in a cast, ouch!
I made a pat with myself at that very moment to train for Boston when my foot got back to 100 percent; lots of people run Boston at forty. Yep, it's a promise and I shook my own hand and rolled my eyes at my bandaged foot and the runners running across my screen........but then......I cried and prayed for those very same souls that I'd just wished to be. I couldn't believe my eyes when I heard the loud bomb and the sound of the voice in the distance yelling, "Oh My God", "Oh My God"!

A bomb at the finish line of the Boston Marathon was all I heard the news anchor state. Two dead, many injured. I felt guilty, I felt sad, I felt so blessed to have my foot wrapped up in a cast with no possibility of being there; and that made me feel guilty again. I saw the disappointed, confused and freightened faces of my fellow runners and the loved ones that supported them on the sidelines and I just cried...

I cried for the ones that lost their lives for no reason at all, and for the ones that came to accomplish a goal that probably took them years to accomplish. My heart broke for the love ones that they carried away in wheel chairs to unfamiliar hospitals only because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time; a place on the side of the finish line to see the ones that they loved smile as they crossed over. This was unreal, beyond sad and unfortunate. God be with them, all of them, the families, the law enforcement, soldiers, fire dept and all of those that are the assisters in this great, troubled nation and Dear God please be with the runners and keep their feet pitter~pattering until the pain of this day is less.

Not so amazing

Amazing 40...

As I cringed at the needles entering the veins in the top of my hand and the plastic bin of the ones that would soon be in my knee and my ankle; I have to admit~ 39 wasn't feeling so amazing. As a matter of fact, the short months leading up to "Amazing 40", weren't feeling very amazing at all. I've even felt the need from time to time to question my whole campaign about the possibility of being "Amazing" at forty.
The few things that I've discovered so far in my 39th year are  that I can no longer read how many aspirin to take or the difference between shampoo and conditioner in the shower without a trusty pair of reading glasses. I've also faced a hard truth that no matter how many dam times people tell you that age doesn't affect your metabolism; it's all just a conspiracy to make you think your going crazy~you WILL work harder if you want to maintain your weight at forty!! Don't let them make you believe it's just you- things really do change!!
Finally, as if that wasn't proof enough of the challenges that 40 has for us; here I am laying on a table waiting for surgery because my almost 40 year old right foot refused to heal on its own. I wonder if it would have been able to mend itself if it were only 20 years old?

I don't recall much after pondering those thoughts on that table Monday. I really can only remember being strapped down to the operating table despite my need to go to the bathroom and rid myself of some of the millions of ounces of fluids they must have put in my IV. Gosh, I had to pee!! Why does this always happen to me???? Why did I have to pee now, when they were only seconds away from operating on my injured foot?? Ouch! And what was that pinch that I just felt in my hand? "It's just the meds going in I heard the nurse that refused to take me to the bathroom say to me". Sleepy....then I just felt sleepy........................................................................................................................................

As my eyes slowly opened; I didn't feel close to 40 at all. As a matter of fact; I don't believe I'd had sleep like that since I was fifteen. Yep, that's how I felt. I felt like I was fifteen and it was Saturday and there was no school and no responsibilities. I felt like I was just sleeping all day without a care in the world.
If there is a reward for going through the horrors of surgery, then this must be it. The glory of (if only for one day) feeling like you slept for twelve straight hours. This was glorious!

Unfortunately, as I sit here sharing this with all of you in a tight cast; I have not experienced those moments of beautiful sleep since making it home to my regular bed; but the days of recovery are passing, and with time; I'm sure will come recovery. Time is that way; it is the healer of all things; rather it be our stitched right foot or our hearts that have been broken so many times. The one thing that will always make them better is time.

I realized that this morning as I got up and kissed the forehead of my now twelve year old little girl. I knew that my 39 years of wisdom were the reason that I could recover and still have the patience to take care of her needs. At some point between glorious sleep at 15 and irresponsible parties and mischief in our 20's; we see ourselves standing one day almost forty. And no matter the situation we find ourselves in; we see our accomplishments and the happiness that we've created in all those years surrounding us. We assure those that love us that we are okay and that a few weeks of recovery will have us on our feet again as good as new~ and we believe it with all of our hearts; because the one thing that we realize that is still amazing about being almost forty; is that we have had almost 40 years for the Lord to show us time and time again that it will almost, always work out if we put our trust in him.
I wouldn't trade this "amazing" wisdom for anything in the world....it turns out having this many years under your belt is still pretty amazing....Life is beautiful my friends, count your blessings; even the small ones. Time is a gift, may we never take it for granted <3 p="">