Roots...

I can't say that I miss my marriage. There's nothing to miss. The progression went from husband and wife, to roommates, to near strangers. You can't miss a person you felt you barely knew. But I had a startling moment the other day and it stopped me in my tracks. I've been so hell bent on surviving. Not just surviving, but thriving in my new world of independance. Of living alone, shopping alone, sleeping alone and raising kids alone. And there are some benefits to doing all of that alone. (like buying a creepy, funky ceramic owl to set on my coffee table. What man would have went for that!?!) But, something I never stopped to think about- I guess I miss the idea of marriage.



In a marriage, at least a healthy one, the two people are connected like the roots of two healthy trees. You support each other, and little facets of your life intertwine and intersect in lots of places. Someone is there, they notice when you come home. They can tell how you're feeling. Sometimes they just sit with you- and you don't need to talk. You know the same stories, and have the same jokes. Because over time, those things have just melded together. Instead of his stories and her stories you just have "our" stories. There are little gestures, just those hidden little intimacies between two people. Kind words, a soft touch. You have inside jokes. You know their favorite meal, they know your saddest story. They know your strengths. And you know their vulnerabilities. You can llaugh at your imperfections together. They know you're going to make mistakes and you know despite that, they're going to keep loving you anyway. You talk things out, make decsions together- whether it's where to go out to eat, or where to buy your next house. Two voices work together to solve life's problems, overcome the hurdles. And when you have a happy moment, you have the feeling where you can't wait to tell them because it truly affects them. It's their life as much as it is yours. I guess, the assumption is there that together, you're a "WE." We might have separate interests. But we're a WE.

Marriage can get bland and stale and repititive. I don't know a married person who doesn't feel unappreciated sometimes. It takes great personal sacrifice to aim to make another person happy.

I'm happy in my life. I'm happy with my path, who I'm with & where I live. But I guess there would be things to miss about a relationship like that. At least, hypothetically...

Show me the LOVE!

I went for a walk with my kiddos tonight and as we strolled through town I wanted to walk by the tennis courts I spent so many hours on in college. It was a beautiful night so we just stopped and looked at them for awhile. The very smell of them hasn't changed over the years. I could close my eyes and my world faded away and I could be standing there, 10 years ago, ready to face another opponent.

There are some things your body just feels so natural doing. The kind of things where your muscle memory can pick it up, just like that- where you dream about it even. They say artists are like that, and musicians too. Tennis was like that for me. I'm not saying I was the best player that ever stepped foot on the court. But it was my game. It was the game that had my heart, my LOVE if you will! I'm not a natural runner. I like golf but I'm bad. I played softball but don't miss it. I loved basketball but couldn't ever break through to the top tier. But tennis... it's my game.

When I stood at those courts tonight I remembered how much a part of me the game used to be. Thousands of hours spent on those courts, aching from the repetition, getting blisters on my feet from the constant jarring stops, feeling the burn of my skin from the time spent under the relentless sun. And I realized just how much I miss it.

I'm a little older and a little slower. Those aches and pains come quicker and my back screams after a match. I'm paying for those hours spent in the sun, considering a laser exfoliation to get some of those pesky sun spots banished even! But still, I know I've gotta find time to get on the court. There's something about walking off that court, drenched in sweat, and feeling so at home with a racket in your hand.

Dam that was hard!

I've never been a runner. I mean, in high school track I'd sometimes run the 100 or 200 meter sprints- one time the coach told me I had to pinch in and run an 800 and I almost threw up from the dread of it all!

In college when we were training early in the tennis season we had to run 3-5 miles a day to get in shape. That was just a necessary evil and I did it because I had to.

But this past weekend I actually ran voluntarily. See, for the past 6 years I've gone downtown to watch my brother run the Dam to Dam, one of the largest 20K races in the country. It's 12.4 miles that snakes through Des Moines, ending up downtown- to streets filled with large crowds, food vendors, live bands, etc. Something about people looking miserable, sweating their butts off, excessively cramping and sometimes throwing up looked appealing to me. I know, Captain Bad Decisions at your service!

But you know, in the year of changes and renewing myself I decided it was time to try something big and new so about 4 months ago I signed up. I've been training ever since. And by "training," I mean sitting on the couch on weekends complaining to whoever would listen, "I don't feel like running today! Wanna go get some chips and dip and watch another episode of American Pickers? Sweet!"

2 weekends ago after not lacing up my tennis shoes for almost 2 weeks I decided I had to get serious and do a final (and first) long run. Only problem was, I was out of town with the boyfriend for the weekend- at his parents house in southeast Iowa. Not so much a problem except for when I left their house early Saturday morning with a spring in my step to venture out and explore 9 miles worth of rural southern Iowa, and returned looking fairly green thanks to throwing up at mile 6- and having to run 3 miles back to their house in the blazing sun! How's that for good impresiions. "Well hello Mrs. Boyfriends Mom- what's that? Why yes, that might in fact be bits of regurgitated cheerios on my shirt!"

Fast forward 7 days to Race Day! And again I use the term "race" to denote only that I had tennis shows on and I was at an event wearing a number on my chest. That's the only resemblance I had to anything of the "racing" variety. Of course, race day was cold and rainy in the morning. The first 8 miles we ran in the rain. Well, "we" meaning me and the other people still huffing around central Iowa. The "real" runners- like the stick thin waif-like people were already done running. But by mile 9 the clouds broke and me and my soaked clothes and sopping wet shoes got to finish in the sun!

This is what the race leaders looked like:


This is what the people at the end of the field looked like- safe to say I finished right between these two groups! :)



The highlights from the day were first and foremost seeing the people closest to me rooting for me at the finish line! When I came up that last quarter mile, dragging one leg behind me and aching in places I didn't know existed, I smiled instantly seeing them clapping and yelling my name!! I know from their perspective it had to be fairly anticlimatic watching thousands of runners come through and me just being one of the herd. But for me, focusing on nothing but that finish line for over 2 hours and seeing their faces when I made it- it was priceless.

2nd highlight- I didn't puke! That's rockstar right there.

3rd- beating my goal! I planned on finishing the run in about two and hallf hours. I finished in 2 hours 16 minutes and 56 seconds which equated to about 10:45 minute miles- a personal best for me at that distance!

I don't know if I'll ever do it again. Here we are 3 days later and I am FINALLY able to sneeze without wincing in extreme pain. It's like having a baby. It very rewarding! But as long as I still have stitches, still sleep deprived, or really, can still even RECALL the horrors of labor and delivery don't even CONSIDER asking me if I'd ever want to repeat it! It's like that... without the stitches.