It’s kind of funny that I’m a big fan of bullet points considering it usually takes me eighteen words to say what Webster’s can define in four. Maybe my obsessive compulsive disorder (figurative) likes the perfectly round placement. Or maybe the little bullet points provide insta-structure for my rambling. Today, they can sum up my life in three little dots:
● On Monday, after months of post-op recovery due to a debilitating injury, I, in my best J-Lo voice, said Enough and signed up for a fall marathon with the not-so-secret-anymore goal of a BQ.
● On Wednesday, my husband/partner of 14 years, straight out of the Carolina blue sky, said he was leaving, moving out, separating … tomorrow.
● On Sunday, I completed my first well-paced long run and then un-hydrated some more as the flood gates opened. Again.
Right now my life is more jumbled than a game of Twister, and I’m still picking up and putting together the carnage. Yet, somethings haven’t changed: I can still talk man-caliber football trash; still love treadmill intervals; still can dance to a good Pitbull remix; and still think happiness is the main ingredient in a York peppermint patty.
Even so, lately I often feel like I jumped in the DeLorean and went back to May of 19-WTF.
I’m not sure how running into and through and out the other side of a storm will really be. I’m not sure how to respond to the advice and the looks and the questions. I’m not sure what to write and what to keep inside marinating. But I’m going to try. I’m going to screw up and laugh and cry and maybe eventually figure it out.
And get by with a little help from my (Salty) friends!
Speaking of friends. I am grateful for the unwavering, unbiased, unbelievable support of my non-virtual friends. The ones who come right over, who cook you dinner, who ask the tough questions, who make you laugh so hard you cant breathe. The ones who not only tell you, but SHOW you that you’re not alone.
And by the way, this sharing stuff? All new to me. I have always been really guarded and protective. Being vulnerable sucks! But you know what? I’m figuring out that good people don’t judge, they understand. Good people don’t squirm, they help. Good people don’t walk away, they embrace.
While always guarded, I used to write. A lot. But never much about my self-self. I wrote blogs about bikes. Stories about a quarterback’s security blanket receiver. Emails to friends detailing the saga of feeling one of my ponytail hairs stuck to my sweaty shoulder, and wrenching said shoulder in the process of necessary removal. Now here I am ready to write about running, but about myself too and relying on others and that vagueness called “finding yourself.” I might struggle with that and opt to write about sweating & squishy shoes, swearing, smiling and setting the pace. All with a bit of humor & sarcasm, and sports, and E!, and loads of sugar laden goodness thrown in. And I promise, while it might be hard sometimes, I’ll write about myself too. Eek!
Join me. Support me. Laugh with or even at me. I hope we have some fun stormin’ the castle!