Over the hump

I was catching my breath between intervals when a ghost from my past drove up on his bicycle. The last time we’d encountered each other on the trail I hadn’t recognized him – even after he told me his name. I remain embarrassed, after all of these years past, that I did not know the boy that I spent most of my high school years dating.

I was stretching after completing the first of three 2-mile intervals. I did a self-check to assess if it was safe to venture further from my van, as I’ve been feeling under the weather since yesterday. I confirmed that I was not feeling dizzy, and the tightness in my throat had eased up. I felt a bit vulnerable having forgotten to grab my cell phone but, seriously, who would I call if I got into trouble. It’s not like my husband could leave heaven to rescue me.

The fact was, I was feeling okay at the moment. I was, in fact, elated at my having nailed the interval pace perfectly. I was tired, but encouraged as well. It wasn’t that long ago when I felt that I’d never be able to hit the paces that Coach was asking of me.

In a matter of minutes, my old friend and I caught up on our lives (children, employment status, and my grieving). When he told me that I appeared to being doing okay, I mentioned that my running kept me sane. His commenting that my running had always fulfilled that need was a big “hello” for me ~ he’d managed to recognize me even though I had failed to know him.

Before long, we were both back on the trail. He rode on ahead, and I did my best to keep my required pace even after cooling down.

It was up to me to gauge my progress as Garminia has a habit of missing the mark on her mile measurements, thus pace, on the trail that I was at. I did my best to push hard enough to hit the target pace but not so hard that I would die off before the 2 miles was traveled.

I was pleased with the outcome. Not only did I hit the pace on the second 2-mile interval, but I surpassed it on the final one. Then I drove home, showered, logged my workout, and returned to bed. I was not feeling so good anymore.

After a three-hour nap, I was finally over the hump. I crawled out of bed to attend my first grief support group. I had an idea of what to expect; we’d go through the introductions (our name, who we’d loss, the how and when of the death, and whatever else we want to say). I did not, however, anticipate that the parents of grieving children group would be mixed with our grieving children.

The intention of easing the kids into, or back into, the group environment was a bit overwhelming for the parent, however. A very LOUD game of emotional twister, where each color represents a feeling, increased feelings of how overwhelming single parenthood can be. I resisted the urge to walk out.

When we were on the brink of self-explosion, a timid “facilitator” rescued us from the chaos. I wasn’t sure about her at first but, as things progressed, I relaxed a little. She had us go through our introductions. It was over way before any of us where ready though. There was so much more to be said, and so much more discussion to be had. Hopefully, we’ll be able to get farther along in the process next time.