Body therapy.

Ho-man, did the past and my body and all of the world spin around and around today from 2-3 p.m. in my therapist's office. I've got a lot of sorting through to do, but it's good. Very good.

I don't even know what else to say about it; but, watch out! I am coming into my power. I can feel it.

Scary, huh?

All or nothing avoided.

This notion of all or nothing seems to be a part of my nature. I run a kajillion miles or none; I eat a salad with lemon or an entire cake. Perhaps it isn't nature, but a belief of mine rooted in childhood pain that there isn't enough, there will not be enough, I am not enough. I'm not sure, but I suspect that being in the moment, listening to myself, staying centered will help lead me to a more balanced place.

Last week I attempted a run with my aching hip and went 10 miles. Then I didn't run the rest of the week because my hip hurt like mad. Today I ran a relaxed 4.5-5 miles in 42 minutes, and I feel good. My right hip and ankle made themselves known early on in the run but gradually started to loosen up and feel better as the run continued. Part of me wanted to stop and walk halfway through the run, another part of me thought the run was too short and should go on for another 5 miles. So, I met myself in the middle and did the short run, feeling it, appreciating it, recognizing that step after step, mile after mile is a significant achievement.

I've also let go of the marathon a little bit. I started the process of training to give myself focus, purpose, and an arena in which I could unite with my body. The training has done this, but not in the ways I thought it would. At first, the training led me far, far from my body, pushing mentally beyond what my body wanted and needed; I turned off the receptors until I couldn't tune out the pain. Now I'm working my way back to a place where I can pay attention. The pushing has eased up a bit--now my aim is less pushing and more sliding my way into a flow. I'm thinking of it more as surfing and less as boxing. There is a Way, a natural order of things, I believe; and we can tap into it or we can fight it. Me? I don't want to fight anymore.

Which doesn't mean there won't be tension and obstacles; it just means I'm trying to change the way I respond to them.

Which also means the endpoint cannot be the marathon. I look forward to the event, but running it cannot mean breaking me. I feel like this is a real breakthrough for me that carries over into all other parts of my life. Relationships, work, spirituality . . . all the things that are important to me are not worth damaging or destroying myself to attain or sustain them. This goes back to the flow--everything should and can be on the same plane, moving in the same direction, even if not at the same pace.

Timing, I find, is most frustrating . . . requiring the most patience.

Spinning.

I'd been away for months, but running. Now that my hip needs some rest, I've returned to the almighty spin class.

I thought it might be easy, or at least easier. It isn't. It kicked my butt, but in a good way. I think this will be the way to continue the intensity of marathon training with less impact to my joints.

Tomorrow I'll run outside when I arise. It's been awhile. But I think it's time.

Today I got up at 4:30 to finish my syllabus, prepare class, make copies, etc. for the first day of class. What I didn't realize is that classes started today at 4 p.m., meaning any class meeting before that time didn't meet today. Sheesh. All that nervous energy for nothing. At least I'm prepared for Wednesday.

My Literary Theory class did meet tonight and I am all giddy and dancing for joy on the inside. Hooray for Foucault and Nietzche and Woolf and hooks and Althusser and Lacan and Marx and all those theorists who get me all riled up about all sorts of things. My inner philosopher arises from her slumber. I am curious to see what happens when she runs into the creative spirit who has also recently reawakened. It could be a beautiful and tempestuous marriage. Is there any other sort?

It's been quite a day. I'm eager to sleep and wake up to find what tomorrow might bring. Hopefully a fruitful run!

Returning.

I meant to run this morning, but it didn't happen. My hip is largely better, but still twinging a little. Nothing like it was mere days ago. I attribute this healing to some astounding meditating I've been doing that really makes a hell of a lot of sense.

Here's what happened: I was doing some of the guided breathing meditations I've been talking about when a new one came up. Breathe in, then on the exhale smile, and send the smile to a particular part of the body. So I did this for my right hip. Over and over again. I sent healing goodness to my aching hip. Next morning when I woke up, I was damned near healed.

But doesn't this make perfect sense? When the hip started to ache, I got frustrated. Then fearful. Then angry. Then pissed off. The more time I took off from running, the more I resented my hip for asking me to slow down. I was sending that crappy, mean, furious energy straight into that hip. Why wouldn't it respond with deeper, shooting pain? Then when I sent love and healing, it responded in kind. Thank you very much.

It occurs to me that this little exercise has great implications for other demons of mine. Especially my nagging self-hatred of particular areas of my body, a.k.a. "the wobbly bits." I have been fully convinced for years that many cancers arise out of this self hatred, particularly with women and breast cancer and with sexual abuse survivors and cervical cancer, etc. I believe we create illness, and now I am fully convinced we can create wellness. How fabulous!

So, I've decided to start sending "smiles" to my wobbly bits.

I've been re-reading old writing books I read when I was a teenager, and it's inspiring to read the passages I highlighted back then. One book in particular, "Writing from the Body," is full of great stuff that I've finally been discovering for myself this summer. It all seems to be the same work for me, at different stages of the game. But the upshot is I feel like I'm liberating myself, allowing myself to free the wild creativity inside, the messy, colorful stuff that hides behind my blazers and reporter's notebooks. . . .

It's all about returning to self. Fascinating.

And one of these days I'll return to running. . . .

Gratitude.

Thank you.

Something truly spectacular has been happening lately, and I don't know if it's y'all or me or a combination thereof, but wow. I feel like I am completely surrounded by people who want me to succeed. Who believe I can succeed. Who know I will succeed.

In everything.

Not just the marathon, not just the teaching, not just the PhD, not just the writing.

Everything.

The swell of encouragement comes at me from every angle, in my daily encounters with old friends and new acquaintances. Your well wishes and belief in me helps me trust myself.

Thank you.

One more thing . . .

Sid found a Turkey Trot in San Francisco so we can run a 6-mile race on my birthday with a 6-foot-tall, feathered turkey starting at Ocean Beach.

Hooray!

My baffling hip. And other nuisances.

Last night my hip was really pissed off. This morning it let me know it was still unhappy.

Then I met with TTT, did our workout and an hour and 10 minutes on the ARC and it feels much, much better. It seems that moving it is a good thing, but then again, the running yesterday seemed to worsen things. What are you saying, hip?

This is where I realize that a conscious relationship with one's body can be much like a dysfunctional relationship with a human being. Hard to tell when the truth is being told, or when mind games are being played, when the pain is self-generated or what. Thing is, I really, really want to run this marathon. I could rest the hip, but for how long? And will that mean I can't run the race?

My idea now is to run fewer times per week, but keep up the mileage best I can; and do more cross training, since the low-impact cardio I've been doing in the form of DVD workouts and the ARC machine seem to be relatively fine.

I'll also keep praying for a miracle: that my hip be completely healed.

I also have started to wonder if the Glucosamine Chondroitin supplements I started two and a half weeks ago aren't somehow inflaming my joints. I think I'll stop taking it and see what happens.

Last night I met all kinds of people in the new program, and they all seem nice, interesting and outgoing, especially for a group of writers. You just never know. The teaching situation is sorted: I'll be teaching Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday mornings and taking classes Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday nights. I have a student ID but no parking tag, and I'm finally, truly looking forward to the very busy and exciting months ahead. I still have to draft a syllabus by tomorrow morning, not to mention file three stories for the paper. . . .

By the way, anybody heard of any fabulous restaurants that must be tried in the SF Bay area? Sid, Carlos and I will be headed there come November, and while Sid's done a marvelous job researching joints online, I always feel better with a personal recommendation or at least an independent review or two. . . .

Merci beaucoup!

Running happy again.

I ran a relaxed 10 miles this morning. The first five or so were uneventful; I think I smiled most of the way. Then my right hip and ankle started making a little noise, but not the kind that screams "STOP!" So, I kept on, and after some good stretching, I'm feeling fine.

Able to take a little nourishment, as my granny says.

After lunch I'm off to become a student again. I'll be standing in line for a student ID and a parking permit before heading to a welcome reception hosted by the English Department for new grad students.

Happily, I may have sorted out the teaching/classtime conflict myself. But before the likely resolution appeared I had decided I couldn't make it just my problem, and if no resolution appeared and I couldn't teach this semester, so be it. I'm telling you, meditation is waaaaaaay better than anti-anxiety meds. I'm guessing.

It's a little over 6 weeks to the marathon by my count, and oh I've learned so much already! I hope to get stronger every day. . . .

It's weird not to run.

I'm mildly concerned about any setbacks this time off might cause, but whatever.

My right hip still aches and makes me ever so conscious of every move, but the pain is slowly lessening. I'm still babying it and giving it what I think it needs--lots of stretching, and last night I did a cardio+strength training dvd I had knocking around. I was surprised at how challenging it was even after all this training I've been doing. Lots of sweating and 1:15 later, I felt glad to be doing something physical. Today my ass is sore from all the glute work, and that always makes me happy.

Hopefully keeping up the activities, even if they don't include running right now will keep me squarely on the path to the marathon. We'll see how it goes.

I might do the DVD again tonight and then plan a short run in the morning to test the waters.

This downtime certainly makes me think about how true cliches can be: eggs in one basket and tricks up yer sleeve and all that. It's good to know that I'm okay even if I can't run for a while, or don't dance for a time, or whatever. No matter what, I've still got me; and I guess as long as I keep sight of that, things will be fine.

With all this fun in the kitchen lately, I've also been thinking that if I didn't write, if I didn't teach, it might be fun to have a little cafe somewhere and feed a community of people fresh, locally grown food. That would be grand: have a little French-style cafe open all hours, serving humble, delightful food--no fancy dinners, please; no souffles; and low maintenance, too. Meaning: I'm the chef only when I want to be, but mostly I'll be in charge of the successful concept with top employees doing the tedious work, except when I'm game. This little cafe is my plan for sustainability in between book tours. Might be fun. But that's why I'd only want to cook when I want to, because if I HAD to do it like a job it might cease to be fun.

Writing, on the other hand, never really was fun; it simply has always been what I've done. It's work, man. But work ain't bad when it's what you've always chosen to do. I just came across a heap of poems I wrote about 15 years ago, and dang if they don't have similar friggin' themes to this here blog. It's nice to know I am who I always was, and I can hope that I'm getting closer with time and not just spinning my wheels. . . .

And maybe I'll figure out just what it is I'm up to one of these days. But then again, that could take the fun out of it, too. You never know.

As for the cookery, yesterday's zucchini bread morphed into something resembling polenta in a shell. Tasty. Odd. I haven't come up with a good use for it, yet. Too sophisticated to be a doorstop; too oily for a paperweight; but I bet if I poured some gravy or even baked beans on top of a few slices I could get a couple of Brits to eat it and say YUM!

So, I started over today, determined to find out how the recipe was designed to turn out, and . . . success. Less zucchini and finely grated parmesan rather than shredded romano were the answer. But now that my bread looks like the loaf in the magazine, I kind of prefer my funky, crusty, zucchini polenta better.

Such is life, no?

Ahh, Sunday!

How I love Sundays. Especially a clear, breezy, 80ish Michigan summer Sunday on the lake.

I'm still resting the hip. And stretching periodically throughout the day. That seems to help. I'm thinking I'll lace up and head out either tonight or tomorrow morning. See how it goes.

After breakfast, CBS Sunday Morning, NYT, phone calls, some post card writing, I went back to the kitchen; and, the theme is green today, thanks to my garden!

I made a green goddess salad dressing out of fresh basil, avocado, yogurt, lime juice, garlic and olive oil; curried zucchini soup; and a savory zucchini bread. The bread is pretty much disastrous--like soup on the inside. This probably has something to do with the recipe calling for one medium-sized grated zucchini, and the zucchini I plucked from the garden seemed medium sized, but only compared to the baseball-bat-sized ones growing next to it. I'm putting the bread back in the oven for a while, and if it still slides out of the pan into a pancake shape on the counter, I'll scoop out the insides and make little biscuits out of that mess. What actually has cooked smells fab, so I'd hate to throw out all that good stuff. I guess with all the cooking I've been doing, one less-than-perfect dish ain't bad.

Last night I downloaded a series of guided meditations by Thich Nhat Hanh from iTunes. Oh how I love iTunes! The meditations are less guided imagery and more random bell chimes, but I dig it. Mindfulness, here I come!

I have mild hopes of working on my new syllabus and a story for the paper before the day's end, but I've instituted a no-crap zone in my life on Sundays. From here on out, Sundays are mine, mine, mine. I won't schedule or plan to do anything that isn't perfectly rejuvenating for Sundays. With this summer of retreat I've decided I need more retreat more often throughout my life, and Sundays are it. One day a week of pure calm, pure bliss, pure me time.

I like it.

Riding it.

My hips are still cripplingly painful. But now I'm convinced it's because of my period much more than the running. I could take a fistful of painkillers and make it go away, but that doesn't seem like the right thing to do. So I'm just riding the pain, trying to listen to it.

The massage therapist yesterday said the right side of the body is feminine and the left side of the body is masculine. I'm undecided about what implications this has for the right side of my body going into fits of pain a couple days before my period starts. She said it might just be my body's way of saying, "Slow down." I have always been a clear communicator.

I slept like the dead last night, although I'm not sure if the dead have crazy dreams like I did. One was very unsettling; I can't remember most of the details except at the end of all kinds of disturbing encounters and events, I came home to a terribly, debilitatingly messy house. Isn't the house a metaphor for the self? And I thought I was cleaning up. . . .

I guess there's more work to be done.

On a happy note, I've done a lot of work in the kitchen lately, and it's been joyful. Inspired by new issues of CHOW and Everyday Food that arrived in the mail, I've cooked up all kinds of lovely things to have on hand: Sonoma chicken salad with pecans, poppyseeds, red grapes and celery; broccoli salad with sunflower seeds, red onion, raisins; fresh gazpacho; fresh corn; sweet and spicy red cabbage; and a big old pot of porridge that I eat from every morning with raspberries and almonds. I have rediscovered the joy of cooking and eating lovely, fresh food.

I'm preparing for the days and weeks to come when my time won't be spent at home, and I'll be eating in between classes. Rather than eating crappy cafeteria or fast food, I'll tote my own around, like TTT. She never leaves home without a cooler full of meals. So, it's good to have options already made and on hand.

But this brings me to a quote that struck me when I was a teenager: "How we spend our days is how we spend our lives." I think when people lose sight of this, things can go to hell pretty quickly. I'm trying to be conscious of the moments, and how I'll be spending my days once I return to work. I've decided it has to begin with every new day--I want to be conscious of the promise of each new day and live it fully rather than try to rush through it and the next and the next . . . until the weekend comes. That's no way to spend a lifetime. Certainly not the way I want to spend my life.

So, the amazing thunderstorm kept me in bed this morning--I slept a good 10 hours last night, and today I feel perfectly calm. I decided not to spin this morning, but to luxuriate with breakfast and lounging around in my robe. I think my dream last night has inspired me to take care of some things around the house. I'd like to get my laundry done and set up my office upstairs. I need a comfortable work space. Then I'll get to work on those books and poems Di gave me. I'm looking forward to creating this class that I'll be teaching students and myself.

A cherished student of mine recently emailed me in a panic about beginning a semester away at a program in Philadelphia--a program from which I am an alum. She said her family wasn't supporting the decision to go and she was afraid of what awaits her and fearful that she wouldn't find the money and concerned that her life has no direction (mind you, the child is not yet 20) and she didn't know if she should go. I wrote her back and said the fear of the unknown is powerful because it is unimaginable when some other choice is familiar and safe; but the unknown could just as easily be far more wonderful for the same reason: it is unimaginable. She wrote back and said yeah, this is exactly why I wrote you.

Now I need to take my own advice. Be the teacher and the student for myself.

Trust is the flipside of control, and control is one of my shadow issues. Hopefully by engaging more fully with Trust, I can dismantle the neurosis of my need to control: my body, my eating, my house, my work, the people around me. . . .

I've always believed intuitively that God is within; and that loving an other, loving one's self means recognizing that divine spark within.

The trick is staying with it; being true, being mindful. Today, it feels like I've got it.

Namaste.

My body has been talking.

And I'm finally listening.

My screaming shoulder, crying hip, barking ankle and missing period were each in their own ways saying, "Hello?! Lady, pay attention, please."

So I am.

I've decided to come to peaceful terms with myself, trust my body and my instincts, quit beating myself up, and do my best to be gentle with myself. No more forcing myself to run ungodly numbers of miles when I've got a bum right side of my body, no more setting my body on fire with too much protein, no more self-sabotage by eating an entire Pepperidge Farm coconut cake in two sittings, no more telling myself I should have done more, done better, done differently; no more!

I spent an hour on the ARC machine this morning before I met with TTT. We did chest, shoulders, legs and abs today, and it felt better than it did on Wednesday.

I showered, steamed, and headed over to my massage appointment. What ensued for the next hour and a half can only be described as sheer bliss. She totally gets me. She also said two things that made me sit up a little taller. When I told her that I do yoga, but probably not enough, she said,

"But what if it is enough?"

I am going to write this in big letters and post it where I can see it. Translation: what if I am enough? This hit me deep.

I remember writing a letter to an old friend when I lived in Ireland that asked, "When is it enough?" I was living my dream, living the high life, enjoying every moment, but I still felt there was something more, something else I needed to do, to achieve, to become. And I thought, when does it end?

Now I think the yearning probably ends with death, but the inner turmoil can end way before that: when I can begin to really see my self. Fully be that self.

The other thing the masseuse said was after the massage when I asked her how she read my body. She said that from talking to me she knows that I am a "doer," and "achiever," but that I am also "capable of receiving." According to her, many people resist the massage, especially the first time with her, but that I allowed myself to receive it.

What my therapist pointed out later this afternoon, is that this summer of retreat has been about my receiving my self. And that we must do that before we can truly receive an other.

I know, I know. This is all getting very existential, but what can I say? Once a philospher . . .

So, the bottom line is all the work I did/had done today helped me get closer. I can feel it.

I'm not running, because my body needs a break. I might swim. That would feel good. Tomorrow I might take a spin class, give the joints a break and see if I'm up for the long run Sunday. At my therapist's suggestion, I shall ask of every choice I make, "Is this anointing or destructive?" Because all things can be either, depending on the intention. I could eat something because I crave it and it nourishes me; or, I could eat something to spite myself, fueled by self hatred. I could run because it feels so good; or I could run because I'm forcing myself to meet the demands of a training schedule that is not acquainted with my body and its needs.

Listening. It's all about listening.

I just finished a dinner of freshly-made gazpacho, shrimp, sweet corn on the cob and a luscious glass of sauvignon blanc.

I am satisfied.

I feel good.

Whew!

After a swim in the lake, I think I'll put myself to bed.

Summer ain't over yet!

Back in business.

Perimenopause averted.

Ankle much improved thanks to the healing hands and yanks and cracks of Dr. Rosenbaum. Hip still bad, but should improve with the yogic stretches he showed me. When I responded to his greeting of a bowed head with palms pressed together with a "Namaste," he was visibly humbled and said that I bring out his divinity. Has a greater compliment ever been given?

I love my chiropractor.

He told me to get a massage. Lucky thing I have one scheduled tomorrow!

I met the president of our fine institution of higher learning, and she is delightful. Truly. No qualifiers necessary.

Might run tomorrow before meeting with TTT so I have time to hang out in the steam room before the massage. I just read that steaming before massage is a good idea.

Am I prepared for this day of bliss, or what?

All right. I'm tired. And I still have to drive home. Damn going in to the office. But this is where I'll be living soon. . . .

One panic attack subsided and another one begun.

Thanks to the darling, divine Diane, who generously took me on as a charity case, I have much less fear. She is the creative writing teacher extraordinaire who has taken me under her wing and shown me the way. After having coffee with her, I now have a stack of books, photocopies of fabulous poems, many exciting writing assignments and exercises, and a new sensation: I am actually looking forward to doing this. I believe I can do this. I know I can teach, and teaching's the thing, she said.

As for the running . . .

None Tuesday, none Wednesday. Tuesday off, Wednesday I went to the gym. Twice. TTT hit me hard after a week off, and now I know what a bad idea it is to take a week off from weight training. Then I spent an hour on the ARC machine with the intention of putting in an 8-miler in the evening. Evening came and my body ached so badly that I decided to listen to it. I went back to the gym, spent 15 minutes on the ARC, then took an hour yoga class that was perfectly blissful. I went straight home afterwards and put myself to bed.

This morning I woke up with pain in my right ankle, right hip, right shoulder, right wrist. For whatever reason, my knee is fine. I'll take it.

When I saw the chiropractor last week, I thought he fixed me up. Then I ran 8 kilometers through sand on Sunday. I think I need another adjustment. I'm going to see him at 3:15.

Despite the pain, I ran this morning. I knew I couldn't do a long run, so I willed myself to run 6 miles, joints aching all the way. I stretched quite a bit when I finished the run, but I'm still hobbling around. Damn.

I also haven't had a period in 6 weeks, which is tremendously curious. I have had a period like clockwork every month since October 1988. Through chemotherapy, radiation, going on the pill, going off the pill, backpacking through Ireland and Scotland then Canada, walking across Spain, bouts of binge drinking and other intoxicants that shall remain nameless, the stress of graduate school, breaking up . . . and on and on. It is more physically possible that I am perimenopausal than pregnant, and that is no lie.

So that got me thinking: perhaps I am perimenopausal. Months of chemotherapy and radiation, not to mention the years of cancer growth that preceeded said treatment probably aged my body considerably. Maybe this is it. Maybe my compulsion to achieve has been fueled by my biology: my body knows it only has X number of years. And I'm speeding closer to that X.

That's why I feel like an old woman. And that's why I want to party like it's 1999 in San Francisco this November. And that's why I've decided to take on three or so full-time jobs this fall. Because for me 29 is like 49 for someone else. I've got to get it while I can.

This is an old neurosis, an old battle I've fought with myself regularly PC (post-cancer).

Now I know the late period and all the aches and pains are likely from all the running and training and the ridiculous feast or famine diet I've been eating, but logic is rarely consolation for psychological distress.

Good thing I'll be seeing four members of my personal team in the next 24 hours: my chiropractor, my trainer, my therapist, and new to the team: my masseuse.

Perhaps they can help put the pieces of this broken woman back together again.

Out of the blue and into the black.

I don't know what Neil Young meant when he sang that, but it sounded good. What I mean by it is I now declare that I am out of retreat, out of my funk, and forcefully moving toward an upswing. How has this happened? I am not sure, but I will try to recap:

I officially had a panic attack on Thursday about all the shit I have to do in the coming months and the fact that I don't know how to do a large chunk of it and I'll just be throwing myself to the wolves. Again. This has always turned out for the best in the past, but at this stage of the game, history is no solace.

On top of that, running has been inordinately difficult. Again, I don't know why. I chalk it up to cycles. Sometimes you're up, sometimes you're down. This appears to apply to all things in life.

I forced myself to run (finally) on Saturday. 10 miles in the rain. It weren't easy. But I did it. Wildlife spotting: a couple of old fogies making out in a parking lot. I assume they were having an affair and meeting up at exactly the time the entire neighborhood was at a block party. I hate to see this sort of mess almost as much as seeing a dead deer on the side of the road.

Sunday I ran the 8K in Michigan City through the sand dunes, along the lakeshore beach and straight up a hill to the top of a tower. This, too weren't easy. At all. Last year this race was the first race I'd ever run and the longest distance I'd ever run. This year I thought I'd speed through like nothing, but this simply wasn't so. I finished in 56:18. And I'm feeling those sand dunes in my feet and legs.

After the race, my mom and I headed into Chicago for Sunday brunch and dee-lightful shopping at Lord & Taylor with savings passes in hand. Made a killing in accesories, lingerie and clothes. Retail therapy does wonders.

Today I decided to do a short run instead of taking the day off, thinking it might help loosen up my tight muscles. It was hard going, but I'm glad I did it. I hope the rest of my training doesn't feel the same way. I want that easy-breezy feeling back, that, "yeah, I just ran 13 (or 15 or 18) miles and it felt good." Oh well, even if I don't get that back, I'm going to keep on keepin' on.

Because I have my eye on the prize. And I create prizes to keep my eye on--this is the way I keep a forward momentum in my life. I can get through anything if I can see to the end, and I often bribe myself. In this case, I'm bribing myself with a birthday trip in style to San Francisco. Fairmont, spa treatments, bay cruises, fabulous restaurants, Napa Valley . . . the works, all in the spectacular company of Sid and Carlos. Because I'm turning 29 on Thanksgiving Day, and I need something marvelous to look forward to. This just happens to be the best thing I could think of.

Plus, it helps remind me that everything I'm doing, all that I'm working towards, will one day land me back in San Francisco, with the life and the kind of abundance I deserve. And have worked for. This is not to denigrate the abundant life I'm leading now, but there has to be something more. And I have to be open for it.

It's a delicate balance, this. Gratefulness for what I have and who I am coupled with the desire and expectation that greater things are in store (not to mention the awareness that shit and roadblocks are an integral part of the journey).

I know, I know. There are no shortcuts.

Running again.

I laced up and put in 5 miles in the summer rain today. It was hard, I'll admit, getting back into it after a few days off. But then it felt so good! It's like I feel more like myself when I'm running. I feel powerful and strong, like I'm moving at a pace and in a way I was meant to move. I feel this way on the dance floor, too. But running requires fewer circumstances to be right. It's handy that way.

I also saw my chiropractor today, mostly about my strained rotator cuff. I adore him. He's always so supportive of me and my varied but always wacky endeavors. And his holistic approach to everything really suits me. He said the rotator strain isn't at all bad--rest should do me fine. I have no restrictions in my range of motion, so that's good. A crack here and a crack, crack there and I'm good as new.

On a less cheerful note, I came to the office today to start preparations for the fall, and I'm already feeling a tad overwhelmed. My teaching schedules at the two different colleges where I'm teaching conflict, so hopefully we can sort that out with little fuss. I'm more concerned about teaching a subject I've never formally studied before.

I suspect marathon training might be a snap compared to what I've gotten myself into this time. . . .

Then again, the 18 miles I'm running tomorrow don't seem at all like a snap right now. But I'll push on through. Like I always do!

I have learned a lot since I went away.

And isn't that what it's about?

I ran 13 miles on Sunday. This meant I woke up at 4:30 to take care of necessities, then went back to sleep and woke up in time to run before it got too hot to move outside. It was perhaps the most pleasant long run I've ever had. I started strong, ran strong, ended strong; saw a family of deer, nearly stepped on a toad, and came close to kicking a chipmunk (by accident, of course).

I haven't run since. I'll pick up again tonight. Scheduling all the miles this week is a bit odd because I have a challenging, yet short race on Sunday: an 8K on the Lake Michigan shoreline and through crazy sand dunes and the hills of Michigan City, Indiana. I'm not sure when to get in my long run. Maybe Friday.

I have come to some interesting conclusions. I made a conscious decision to be an observer for the ex's visit, rather than my usual instigator. I decided to just see what would happen, rather than make things happen.

Here's what I observed:

He loves me. I wasn't convinced of this before. He loves me in the limited way he allows himself to love.

I love him. But I chose not to love him in the expansive, all-encompassing, all-consuming way of loving that I do. I chose to care for him, but not take care of him. This lesson is not to be underestimated.

I am capable of being myself, of choosing to be present in all situations, of being true to who I am, despite any shitstorm that blows into town. And sometimes the shitstorm ain't all bad. If it's the right kind of shit, it might just fertilize your garden.

Sunday marked 6 years since the day we met and 1 year since the day we broke up.

After breakfast together, he headed back to Boston and I headed north to Cadillac for my dear friend's beach wedding. Perfectly glorious. It was a small affair of mostly family and a handful of friends with a lovely reception at a grill overlooking a golf course. What came out of it for me was a rare insight into how other people see me. "Elegant" "sophisticated" "sexy" and "sultry" are the words people used to describe me that stand out in my mind. For as long as I remember I've aspired to those things, but I hadn't really realized I'd achieved them, at least in others' eyes. It was a nice awakening and reminder that I live in a social world--learning so often comes from interaction with others.

The only other dateless person at the wedding was a lesbian who shamelessly flirted with me for most of the evening. I wasn't interested in her advances, but I didn't mind the attention, either. Interesting how much less threatening uninvited sexual attention can be from a woman. Of course, she was a cute, young woman, and not one of those big, scary lesbians who can be so threatening. It makes a difference. Why is there always an undercurrent, a threat of violence in sexual encounters, potential or real? I'm sure there are theses written on the subject. . . .

Anywho, after the wedding, I made my way north, took a wrong turn at Traverse City and drove to the tip of a peninsula east of my original destination. I drove through 20 miles of vineyards and fruit orchards until the road ended and I realized I was off my intended path. Beautiful country. Like heaven on earth.

I drove the same road south, got back on track and ended at the tip of the Leelanau Peninsula, where my friend Marie lives. I met Marie on assignment--I was asked to write a profile of this woman who self-published a book of poems about her journey with her husband's Alzheimer's. This 85 year old and I hit it off instantly through our interviews, and she invited me up to the summer cottage her husband built in the 60s on Lake Michigan. It was very cool to more deeply enter the story I though I had begun and finished in April.

The cottage sits atop a sand dune overlooking the lake, with a long, wooden staircase down to the beach. On a clear day you can see Door County, Wisconsin 75 miles west. We swam and chatted as blue herons and monarch butterflies flew overhead. Then we ate a crisp summer meal of fresh bread, corn and salad fixins picked up at the ubiquitous roadside stands, drank chardonnay and watched the purple orange sun set over the blue green lake as ships carrying iron ore sailed across the horizon. Then the stars began to pop out one by one until we could reach out and touch them. I don't know that I've ever had a more delicious summer afternoon and evening.

I headed back south yesterday afternoon after a long walk along the beach, a simple breakfast, and more conversation with Marie. It was difficult to part company. But I made the most of the journey home, stopping for smoked fish in Leland and peaches in Grand Haven. I took the shore road home, first winding through glens and around lakes, then with the big lake on my right the rest of the way. This is glorious, mystical country. Sometimes you just have to be open for what is right in front of you.

Now I feel as if my summer retreat is drawing to a close. I need to quickly get to work on my many preparations for the start of fall and the courses I'll teach and take. Returning to school should be a well-rehearsed event, but it always feels like the first time all over again. I'm anxious yet eager for the challenge, feelings I've had since preschool.

After my short escape, I have renewed purpose and a different focused perspective on myself. I've come to the conclusion that I need to spend less time on becoming and more time on being. This means continuing to train as hard and smart for the marathon, but no more dieting. My aim is to delve deeper into mindfulness, listening to my body. There is deep wisdom here, and I can tap into it if I allow myself to connect. I will eat and drink to fuel my body, my self; and to enjoy the experience--including the people I'm with. This means: eating whole foods that aren't processed or preserved, that are local and organic when possible, eating them only when I'm hungry and only until I'm full; and spending time in people's company that feeds me.

It's all about that being present. And don't you know it was Walt Whitman who said, "We convince with our presence."

Sometimes it's ourselves who need convincing.

Dang if drinking before a long run isn't such a good idea.

Since wine seemed to be the best way to get through last evening, I wasn't in shape to run 18 miles this morning at 6 a.m. as planned. I kind of expected to not want to run a beastly distance today, though.

Happily, I finally hauled my ass out of bed at 9 and ran a pleasant 5 miles. No drinkies today and I'll do the long haul tomorrow. No excuses. And I'll have to get up early because I have to get myself to a friend's wedding up north. Finally. Someone I really care about is getting married and I actually want to go to the wedding. And I don't even care that I'm not bringing a date. In fact, I'm downright pleased that the ex is not my date.

Last night we had a pleasant enough time catching up. I cooked, we drank two bottles of wine, then I went to bed shortly before 10. Alone.

Today he's starting to irritate me, just by being himself. In fact, I found myself blurting out, "You've gotten frightfully dull since you got that MBA." He squinched up his nose and laughed. But seriously, when did everything become about someone's clever marketing plan? Bore-ing.

I guess that's why I choose to spend my time with different people now.

Which reminds me . . .

Thank you, Carlos for the encouraging text message! Right back at you: run, Carlos, run strong! run slow! just run it all the way to the marathon, baby!

Taking it easy

No run yesterday. Everything about me inched closer and closer to a boiling point, which is probably exactly when a run is in order, except when the boiling point is literal. I got so friggin' hot doing nothing special that I had to soak in a cold tub just to get comfortable. I thought I might get heat exhaustion just from doing the goddamn laundry, so I decided running was simply out of the question.

Today I met with TTT, and we worked hard, I put in an hour on the ARC, and she diagnosed me with a rotator cuff strain. Fuck. In her words, "Your muscle is just a little pissed off." She said rest, ice and ibuprofen are in order. Next week we're not even going to do upper body. Actually she's off next week, so it's just me not doing upper body.

Tomorrow I plan to run a good stretch. I haven't decided if I'll go superlong, since I missed so many workouts this week, or if I'll stick to the training schedule which calls for 12 miles. I think I'll do more.

But I think last week I overdid it. I did many more miles than my training scheduled and I paid for it. The stress and anxiety of the ex's visit, the 5 stories I had to write, my concern over all the crazy new endeavors approaching all led me down an old path: separation from self, distance from my own body. I wasn't listening to what I really needed, which was to slow down, take care, and be present with my fear and grief. Fuck if that isn't hard, though.

I'm in a better place now. Thankfully just in time for the ex to arrive two hours early. Of course he was dressed to the nines and smelled delicious, while I had just returned from the gym and answered the door in all my sweaty, ponytailed glory. But who cares? I choose me. I do not choose him. So it makes no difference to me what his perception is of me. Seriously. I kicked him to the curb a year ago this Sunday (there are no coincidences) for so many good reasons. There are also many good reasons why we were together five years. But this is a five year cycle that is complete.

I'm movin' on, y'all.

And I'm takin' care of me and running this marathon for me. For this life, this body, this heart and soul, this spirit. To hell with anybody else's shoulda woulda couldas.

The time is now.

Keepin' on

Tuesday my hamstrings wailed like banshees. "Yes, I know you're there," I said back.

Now I know they're entirely responsible for the forward motion known as running. It's really hard to do when they refuse to participate.

So I got out there at 5 p.m. and ran 5 miles. Like a tortoise. At best. I just inched along, grimacing with every footfall, thinking, "Shit. Is this one of those times where I need mental toughness to power through the pain; or, is this a time when I need to stop and rest if I ever want to run again?"

My training scchedule called for 8 miles, but the 5 were more than enough. Then I stretched for a good while, and the hams have settled down. A little.

Wednesday checked in with TTT, who was surprisingly supportive when I told her what a lousy week for eating I had. She encouraged me to just get back on it. She also reminded me that I am in good shape, healthy--so at this point it really comes down to eating. And yes, it takes Herculean efforts at this point to lose weight. She is crazy dieting to get in bikini shape for a workout video she's shooting in two weeks. And since she's trying to lean up from her size 4's to size 2's, obviously she doesn't need to lose the weight, she wants to--and it takes efforts like mad to jolt the body out of what it's rightly comfortable with.

Anywho, she brings food with her everywhere and eats 6 times a day at least. Each meal is a little bit of protein and a little bit of carb--egg whites and oatmeal, chicken and sweet potato, steak and broccoli. As she says, "Yeah. It's not fun." But her thing is you have to eat, and you have to eat clean to lose weight. It's about fueling the machine and avoiding additives, preservatives and sugar. I've decided I need to think that way--a little mind shift is in order. Especially with this marathon training. Dieting and running 40+ miles a week doesn't really make any sense. I need to eat in a way that will fuel this body to work hard, to gain strength and endurance. I need to quit being a sissy worrywort about what size I wear--focus more on what my body can do and less on what it looks like. This is a monumental shift for me. I'll keep working on it.

It was good to hear TTT say, "Look, it's not like you're hugely fat. You're fit, you're healthy, but you just might not look the way you want to look." So true. Dammit.

So we worked out and I did an hour on the ARC machine and decided that was enough for yesterday. I was scheduled to do 3 miles, and I did 3 miles on the machine. Then I headed to Ann Arbor to meet my friend Jessica for a lovely, hot afternoon of Mexican food, margaritas, ice cream and meandering around that darling town. So much for getting back on it diet-wise. . . .

Today it's raining and I'm due for a 6-mile pace workout. It's not happening this morning. I wake up all kinds of achey these days. I know running helps loosen things up, but shit--the last thing I want to do when I wake up achey is set out to pound the pavement. I plan on an evening run. Some days that works better for me. It's going to be crazy hot and muggy, though. I can tell.

I'll need the head clearing that comes from a hard run after a day of house cleaning, clothes cleaning and heart+mind cleaning in preparation for the ex's visit tomorrow. Or perhaps today. Sheesh.

Well-earned day off

Not to mention necessary.

My hamstrings are still screaming at me. Even after the pilates last night and trimming the ivy while bent over at the hips. I'm still running tomorrow, though: an 8 mile pace workout. Too bad it's supposed to be one of the hottest days yet.

Despite not running today, I woke up at 5 to write a feature that really should have been in Friday night. Then I wrote two other stories, filled the gas tank, replaced my broken answering machine and coffee grinder (yay for payday!), mowed the lawn, watered the garden, did some laundry and tidied a bit.

The really pathetic thing is I feel like I didn't accomplish anything today. I'm hard on myself in bizarre ways. I think it deserves further exploration, but I think it has something to do with my innate race against time--a side effect of having had cancer at 17.

Good thing I'm seeing my therapist Thursday. It's no coincidence Thursday is the day before my ex comes to town. Although knowing him as I do, he'll probably show up the day before or the day after. Why must I practice self-sabotage when I have people like him in my life? Or perhaps I surround myself with such sabateurs because it is familiar, and I sabotage myself to beat the sabateurs to the chase. I suspect that might be in the ballpark of my therapist's line of thinking. . . .

I still have loads of cleaning before tomorrow when a bunch of my colleagues arrive for a day of grant writing and swimming. I also have to squeeze in that run before it hits 90.

Better sign off and turn in soon.