run this amazing day

Over the summer, I went down to Albuquerque to visit with one of my closest friends.  While I was there, she got a new tattoo, to remind her of being in the moment. She told me that her husband would tell her this when she was rushing around, trying to figure out what to do with the next day or the next.  I was ready to get a tattoo of my own, but was spooked by the "five days to possibly four weeks" of time that I would have to spend out of the pool while it healed (see you in a few weeks, tattoo lady).  But this thought has stayed with me, inked in my brain instead of on my body (although until I just looked up that picture, I remembered it as, "now we are here" so maybe it was just scribbled in pencil up there).  It's a thought I've had rolling around in my head the past few weeks as my life has undergone some more change and growth - which can sometimes be uncomfortable.  But this thought is similarly uncomfortable - not only as a reminder to stay gr...

I've been working on a post called "where the hell have I been and what I've been up to," but then I raced a 5K last weekend so I get to write a race report and the rest of it can just....well...wait, a while longer. The poet and I flew back to the east coast as part of a surprise 60th birthday party extravaganza for my dad.  Days before I left, Twitter alerted me that Anabel was going to be in town and Yasi was around.  After a flurry of emails and texts, we decided to race a 5K together.  "Together" being a fairly loose term, but we'd all start at the same time and end up at the brunch table at the same time, which is all that really matters. I do not like racing 5Ks.  I used to claim that the 10K was my least favorite distance - it's hurts as bad as a 5K but for twice as long! -  but that's never really been true, the 5K takes the crown in my book.  I'd much rather race for hours on top of hours, it spreads out the pain in such a way ...

What does triumph look like at mile 19 of a marathon? I had been so happy out of the gate, running the first few miles by heart rate. Running without any music. In fresh shoes and new shorts that I knew would not chafe. Finally, at this race I had wanted to run since seeing Spirit Of The Marathon, standing on the start line while they blared Sweet Home, Chicago. But, by mile 19 the bad voices had started and all they wanted was for me to stop for just a few seconds, to walk the water stops, to cease whatever I was doing. And normally, my strategies would be to turn the music up (but I had no music) or tell them to STFU (shut up!). But I had been reading Eat and Run and several Pema Chodron books. What Chodron and Scott Jurek have in common is their belief in staying here, in this moment, as you are, embracing it. The other logic being that the struggle, the fight, the argument with yourself takes heart rate and energy which you should be channeling into the run. And so, this ti...

When I was a wee sprat, my parents made me (or let me) join the swim team. I wanted to be a diver but was afraid of the ledge.  I wanted to swim but was afraid of putting my face in the water.  I remember spending a sunny afternoon at the pool with my mom in the water, me on the side, only 5 or 6 years old, her trying to convince me to dive in and me standing, wobbling with my arms pointed over my head, and then grabbing my nose at the last second and landing butt-first in the water.  My favorite part of swim team was the pizza party.  I think I did backstroke (no face in the water bitches!) at a few meets.  I had a navy blue bag with a lobster on it that I loved.  Everyone exhaled in relief when I was allowed to quit after most of a season. I didn't swim again until I got a weird still-undiagnosed but super hurty foot pain several years ago, before the chronicle of my life on the internet even began.  My running buddy had been a high school swim...