Just as a new pair of running shoes can do wonders in how your legs tolerate the road, a run has a way of changing your outlook on life.
I finally got out for my run around 3 p.m. today and feel so much better. I feel like I’ve just woke up after a long nap.
Life is good again. I’ve got a new pair of shoes to break in on time for the marathon, and the fog has lifted from my mind.
On Tuesday morning, after I dropped off the kids at school, I went out for my run. Running 4 miles was barely enough to get warmed up after all of these weeks of hard training. My head was beginning to throb and I was not going to let that headache take hold. I ran past the line up of cars by the freeway. I felt sort of guilty for taking the entire day off just to scatter ashes in the late afternoon. But my head *did* hurt and had I not already set things up for the day off entirely, I probably would have called in sick. I wasn’t much good to work in this state anyhow. My run was at a nice pace and was over before I knew it. I quickly read and responded to emails from work and kept wondering why I was being so conscientious about work. The rules are that if you don’t set foot into the building you do not get paid for the day. Fine!
I showered quickly and rushed off to YaYa’s school for the International Day performance. It would be the only daytime event that I have been able to get away from work for. I haven’t chaperoned any field trips, helped out in the classroom, or anything of the sort. Yes, I am guilt ridden.
The performance was outside on a very warm day. I had on the skirt and black sweater that I had planned to wear to the scattering of the ashes later in the day. I even had on some low-heeled sandals. This attire was a mistake. As I said, it was a VERY warm day. YaYa was sitting across the blacktop from where I was sitting. I could see him looking around for me. He looked sad. Later he did his 3 song and dance performances and I struggled to get a good shot of him. There was another boy who, no matter where I moved to, was always blocking my view. Somehow I managed to get a couple of shots. By that point, I was feeling a bit dizzy. I hadn’t had time to eat and by this time it was nearly 11 a.m. Just before I left, YaYa caught sight of me. He smiled and I blew him a kiss. He caught it and put it to his face. Then I snuck off.
We had a hard time getting to the cemetery that my Mom had picked to leave my stepfather’s ashes. My husband and I got in a bit of an argument on the way there. I was mad at him for printing just the map of the area and not the detailed step-by-step directions. As I drove, he would say things like, “up ahead you can turn left OR right…it doesn’t really matter.” What? How could it ?NOT matter?? We were already late and we were driving through the bad part of town! He seemed to be enjoying it, telling BoBo how the people who lived in that area didn’t have the nice things like him. They didn’t have organized baseball or parents who could take them all over town whenever they wanted. I just wanted to know the next turn, but he kept going on and on with his sermon. When I expressed my frustration (yes, this was out loud) he yelled back at me. It probably wasn?t my best move, and I probably was being a b!tch. I KNEW that he was just trying to help, but he was doing it in his male way and that was not working for me. Why didn’t he just print the DIRECTIONS? So now, I was sad and angry and late…and hurt. When I got out of the car, none of my family seemed to notice because it was only natural that I was upset.
The scattering of my Papa’s ashes was not exactly what any of us had in mind. My Mom was crying and I wasn’t sure if it was because she was sad for his death or because the garden had more ash plots than flowers. Somehow, we managed to make the best of it. As funny of a sight as it must have been, we all brought little containers to take a bit of the ashes back with us so that we could do our own special thing with them. I commented on how we always fought over him when he was alive; it seemed natural to continue to have to share him after his death. We all loved him so much.
I ran 5 miles yesterday. It was an okay run. It is so strange to feel so empty. I don’t think that it is so much because of Papa’s death as it is the withdrawal from the higher mileage. This taper seems so extreme from my last training programs. There isn’t any apparent purpose to my run, or anything else for that matter. I go through the motions but where is the meaning? I just feel numb.