Keeping Pace

Keeping Pace

A Mile for Sanity

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When one mile is more about clearing the mind than logging the distance

The past couple of weeks have been a blur—work’s been wild, the dog had his neuter surgery, and my workouts vanished faster than my clean laundry. I finally squeezed in a one-mile sanity run between meetings, and wow, did it help.

I’ve got a 10K race this weekend (I’ll finish even if I’m speed-walking the last mile—but let’s be real, my short legs don’t make that very speedy).

The marathon dream for March 1? Still TBD.

Stress doesn’t just mess with your schedule—it seeps into everything. Elevated blood pressure, forgotten fantasy lineup, yelling at the dog (not proud of that one), and leaning on carbs.

My back started aching from all the sitting, which is how walks turned back into runs—followed by binge-watching Gilmore Girls. Am I the only one just discovering its brilliance in 2025?

Meanwhile, Ryan’s been consistent with his slow marathon build, and I really want to join him on race day.

The memoir is still in progress. I’ve made some updates based on feedback from a few early readers. And I have been rereading what feels like the hundredth draft. Work’s getting done (some of it on weekends), and I’ve only cried twice—and surprisingly, not about the book. I am still teaching yoga, and somehow carving out time for my own practice when I can.

If you’d like updates on the memoir’s progress, check back here from time to time.

Weekends are for…

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Weekends are good for many things. They are for playing, getting outside — especially if you have been cooped up inside all work week, doing chores and definitely for catching up on sleep.

Since we’ve been gone the past few weekends, I’ve been putting off my chores for many weeks. The house, in particular, was really showing the absence of attention. It was to the point that I kind of didn’t like being there anymore. I certainly didn’t want to have anyone visit.

This past weekend, however, BoBo and YaYa wanted to have their work team over to watch the Canelo vs. GGG fight. I agreed but it meant that we all needed to pull together to clean up. And now that it is all tidied up, we can just relax and enjoy it.

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Just the Beginning

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YaYa’s high school days ended with a freak accident in his weightlifting class. In the process of reaching a new max in the bench press, the attempted lift of 270 pounds came crashing down on him. To be exact, it came crashing down on his FACE. He had a spotter, however several small nuances the of the lift going wrong were not noted. From what I could gather from viewing the lift video, YaYa enlisted too much leg strength which ended up pushing the legs of the bench off the floor, thereby shifting the weight above his chest, and leading to the eventual loss of control of the weight. That’s just my theory and I am NOT a weightlifter.

Fortunately, YaYa emerged relatively okay from the event.  In the emergency room, I commented on how Someone up above must have been looking out for him. YaYa said, “Yeah. I think it was DAD.”

So today, as I sit in the front row of my youngest son’s graduation, I think about how lucky we are to have this day. When the choir sings the song “I Lived” by OneRepublic, I cannot help but let the tears flow down my cheeks. I fell in love with this song, four years earlier at the Monarch Madness Rally held by the Catholic School where YaYa began his high school education.

Tonight, as I sit at the commencement ceremony from the public school he ended up transferring to in his sophomore year, I am so grateful. Not only was YaYa able to find his way amid an entirely new school system, he proved that he can adapt to whatever environment he enters and make it his own. Not only that, he is now a part of not one but two amazing communities.

And that is just the beginning…

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take your mark

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I especially love watching the start of YaYa’s races. The intense focus in the moments leading up to the start. When runners set down their blocks and prepare for the gun to fire, they are setting themselves up mentally, physically and spiritually/emotionally.  It’s fantastic!

Do you ever wonder what life would be like if you approached each activity with this same sort of focus?

 

I am a warrior!

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What color is your sword?

Christy, our yoga instructor, posed this question as we lined up in Warrior 2 pose. I glanced down my forearm in the direction of my hand and inspected my sword. It’s glow was a slightly pink shade of lavender – feminine, yet powerful. I smiled as I gently wrapped my fingers around my invisible weapon.

Nearly a full two weeks had passed since I last visited the studio. My home practice, having fallen away similarly, had declined to the point of being nothing more than another source of frustration. Much to my dismay, months of build up strength and flexibility have withered away to weakness and rigidity. Simply getting to the studio for today’s class was a feat in and of itself.

I think back to one of my last classes where Jenn, looked me straight in the eye as she assisted me to grow my shoulder stand to a level beyond what I had ever envisioned possible, advised me that my next step was to “find ease in my practice.” It saddens me to think about how far-off from that goal my practice has drifted. Ease has been the last thing I have found. But I am hopeful.

For here I am today, picking up my sword once again and heading out to face my fears and insecurities. I gather up my strength so as to hold my sword in a manner convincing enough to covey an inner-confidence I once knew – even if only to convince myself. I am not going into battle however, I do have a big journey ahead of me.

Although it would not be possible without me finding a way to get myself to the studio, I am so thankful for my beautiful yoga instructor’s encouragement in helping guide me back onto my yogic path. No matter what color my sword is, I hold it up just the same. I am a warrior one more!

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