Tag: northern climates

The Gift of Darkness

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Never are voices so beautiful as on a winter’s evening, when dusk almost hides the body, and they seem to issue from nothingness with a note of intimacy seldom heard by day. ~ Virginia Woolf

Well, it happened again last night. We lost power and were once again plunged into blackness. As if it were not already dark enough.  This time of year is challenging for those of us who live in northern climates. The days are hopelessly short and mostly gray. The sun-when it does come out-barely lasts a few hours. On Sundays, I have the opportunity to run later in the morning-about 8am. I look forward to running in the daylight.  I was particularly excited yesterday morning to see the sun come out.  But it did not last long at all. I ran for 75 minutes and then it disappeared about halfway through my jaunt. Oh well, steel-gray it is. I like to call this time of year Solstice Time.  By the time we turn back the clocks in November, Mother Earth has already begun to shift its axis. As Thanksgiving arrives, one can almost feel darkness’ descent upon us. We begin our seasonal hibernation. We become ensconced in our homes- cut off from the world-seeking the solace of “comfort food” and the steady stream of  television noise.

It is easy to lose sight (no pun intended) of what this time can give to us. In reality, the true darkness only lasts but a few weeks (at least where I live).  After the Winter Solstice, the days begin to get longer again if only in minute increments. I refuse to spend this short time complaining about the lack of light. Really, that would be wishing time away, and none of us can afford to do that.

So this season I am embracing the sunless world as best I can. As a runner, I need to pay close attention to the weather in order to plan my workouts efficiently. It is incredibly easy to roll over at 4:30 am and avoid dealing with the cold, black ice, or snow that may very well accompany the light less predawn hours. But once I take that first step-no honestly once I pass the first mile, who am I kidding(!!)-I have no regrets. The world is positively still.  Sometimes the moon is up and so, too, the stars (that is when it is really cold!).  I try to soak it all in as slowly, but surely the day begins to turn from a deep, deep black to a charcoal gray. Previous to this season, it seemed that a switch would suddenly turn on and it would be bright. No so now. The day is very monochromatic-gray, gray skies and black skeleton like trees. There is something starkly beautiful about the landscape.

I have noticed also that people seem to dress much like Mother Nature looks. It is as if we are all in a state of mourning! And while I do have my share of black in my wardrobe (it is slimming), this year things are very different. Purples, pinks  and outrageously deep tie-dye colors abound! No black winter jackets either. Red fleece, light blue, raspberry and plum are where it’s at. Plus my multicolored polka dot gloves! I like to the think my fashion sense stands in sharp contrast to the  dullness around me.

I want my new found attitude to be a foil for the moods of those around me. And I want it to be contagious! Getting out into the unlit day changes your very being. Your thoughts slow down; you become more observant (watch out for wildlife!) and even more prayerful.  I don’t even think of the day ahead of me. I let myself be in the moment- thinking of others during this time and send out my good intentions to them. And while I am in my moving mediation,  I am turning inward too; contemplating my place in the world and hoping that I am making it better somehow.

Lesson learned from last night (when the lights eventually came back on): the darkness never lasts forever as much as we worry that it will.

Beyond Grateful

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn Family, Independent Woman3 Comments

fwf1

 

 

These are days
These are the days you might fill
With laughter until you break
These days you might feel
A shaft of light
Make its way across your face
And when you do
Then you’ll know how it was meant to be
See the signs and know their meaning
It’s true
Then you’ll know how it was meant to be
Hear the signs and know they’re speaking
To you, to you                                                         ~ 10,000 Maniacs

Well, we have officially entered the holiday season. All around me, I am hearing snippets of conversations of how Thanksgiving is approaching too quickly or arriving too early  this year. Within the same conversations lie the predictable follow-up of how the Christmas season is fast on the heals of the feast-for some as early as midnight when they begin their Christmas shopping. Most likely the reason that some of us are feeling a sense of dread is that the holidays have become just another thing to do on our already overloaded “to do” list.  These exchanges obviously miss the point of our annual celebrations. As I have gotten older, I have become more and more cognizant of the materialistic and falsely cheerful feel that these holidays are supposed to imbue. Let’s be real: some of us don’t like our relations! Let’s be even more real: some of us have split families and are in the annual psychological juggle of whom we  choose to spend time with.

When we allow ourselves to get into this weird time warp of unhealthy thinking and situations, we are stealing our own joy. I remember the extraordinarily difficult time that my boys and I had with the changes in holiday traditions once their father left the house. It was so ridiculous to have to split time or have them choose between mom and dad. Now they are older and able to make their own choices that fits their desires so that the days are filled with celebration, laughter and emotional warmth.  They can begin their own traditions so that they can create life long memories of the season.

I want this year and every year to be an Appreciation Celebration. I want to dig deep and reflect upon what has really mattered in my life and savor it.  I was thinking about this recently as I drove up the highway to a favorite port city of mine. I was on a gift purchase mission for my sons and boyfriend.  Interestingly enough,  I had never driven alone to my destination and I found myself taking a different exit. I was not panicked by my detour in the least; I knew the city well enough. Also, since I only had a dollar bill, I would need to find parking on the street as opposed to a garage. So, I was quite proud of myself when I arrived at a near perfect parking spot that charged just a buck for 1 hour of parking and was close to the store!  One of the best parts about shopping at small businesses are the personal connections you can make with the store’s owner. During my shopping, the owner and I had a meaningful conversation about relationships with our children and even a bit about our own lives. He struck me a person who had experienced some of life’s hard knocks and had come out a better person as as result. I was so delighted by our talk that I left the store ready for another solo shopping adventure in yet another port city! As I traveled south, the sun was setting. Sunsets on the coast are huge-the whole sky looks like it’s awash in a golden orange. I remember thinking that I started the week basking in the sunrise and now I was doing the same with the sunset at the end of the week-very fitting. So onward I drove until I arrived at yet another terrific specialty store. And of course, my experience there was equally as positive-having made a connection with the store manager around the miracle of finding love the second time around and the challenges of a long distance relationship.

When my shopping was complete,  I felt energized by the experience. Not only had I done something by myself for the first time (on a Friday night in the dark) but I had enjoyed an authentic connection with 2 strangers!  All of us crave some form of connection to others.  Of course, I cannot expect everyone to be like me. But I do believe the we can at least be kind to one another or give a person a smile. Often we are too caught up in our own personal agendas to take the time to perform simple acts of kindness. And, of course, this is exactly what gets lost in the holiday rush.

I feel like I have finally arrived in the life that I was meant to be living. I have an unbounded sense of freedom. I am surrounded by love daily. The other day, I needed to call my youngest son while we were both on our way to work. When he answered the phone, I could tell that he was glad to hear from me just by the way he said hello. For the past two Saturdays, he and his girlfriend have asked if I have dinner plans.  What nearly 20 year old wants to hang with his mom on a weekend night? (Great way to stay out of trouble, though!) My oldest son and his girlfriend are now regular attendees at Sunday dinner. When the five of us are together, we relax, talk and chow down. What especially strikes me is how my sons’ girlfriends love the boys for who they are. As a mother, I could not ask for anything more.

Life is not only short, it is fragile. Go out and live this season and every season with purpose, love and good intentions.

 

Please note that this post was originally published on 11/19/12 as my own free write and well before I had so many wonderful and inspiring followers of my blog. It fits well with today’s prompt. I am grateful to all of you for your unending support. And I am forever grateful to Kellie Elmore without whom this blog would not have grown. HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE!

#FWF Free Write Friday: Gratitude

by Kellie Elmore

My Running Marriage

On By buildingalifeofhopeIn Running4 Comments

I always loved running…
it was something you could do by yourself,
and under your own power.
You could go in any direction,
fast or slow as you wanted,
fighting the wind if you felt like it,
seeking out new sights
just on the strength of your feet
and the courage of your lungs.
-Jesse Owens

Well, I cannot say that I have always loved running.  After all, I have been involved with the sport on various levels for forty years. And like all committed relationships, we have had our ups and downs. Because I started running when I was just eleven years old, I really didn’t know what I was getting into-much like a very young bride!  My father was  a very enthusiastic runner of five years when he encouraged my brother and I to enter the sport. I  think that he saw the positive opportunities that running had offered him and wanted the same for us. Also, the early seventies was an especially heady time for young girls and women to participate in races. The support for us was very strong despite the infamous photograph of  Jock Semple’s attempt to pull Kathryn Switzer from the Boston Marathon!

I suppose you could call the beginning phase of my running marriage the “honeymoon period.” At the time, I ran with lots of boys as there were no girl teams during my preteen years. The playing field was equal because many of us were first time runners. There was only one other girl (that I recall) who joined the group and we became fast friends. We ran together every day and the two of us would go on to join future teams as we approached our high school years. In fact, the very first running club that we joined had its own women’s team. I remember being amazed at the ages of some of the women on the team- could women over 30 or even 40 really run?  Weren’t they too old? I believe that these women were the true pioneers of the sport, having entered it later in life as  wives and mothers. Women whose own generation had little or no access to organized sports as young girls.

My teenage years were by far the most intense running period, no doubt. This is just like the first few years of a marriage, really. The honeymoon is over and it becomes time to settle in and get serious. So, I ran every day, logging in 50-70 miles per week  and participating on two teams-one at my high school and one AAU women’s team. (By then,My friend and I had gone on to join a nationally ranked women’s cross country and track and field team.) Also, about half way through high school, our town had finally allowed a separate girls team to participate in league meets. Running on both teams was exceptional-each had a unique running culture. By the time the high school team was formed, I had already gained a reputation as a serious runner, both for running with the boys and also for the fact that I completed a marathon at 14 years old!  Much was expected of me in terms of performance and leadership skills. Also, I had to get used to a different coach as my dad was (and always will be) my first and best coach.

The AAU team was a different entity altogether. There was a core group of girls who were the elite runners. They were highly talented and able to compete and consistently win on the regional and national level. (Eventually the international level as well- one of them won the first women’s Olympic Marathon). It was a privilege to be a part of the team as it allowed for opportunities to travel all over the Northeast region with a van full of like-minded girls and their very dedicated coach.  These were the days before walkmans and ipods so we would often blast music on the van’s radio; we listened to Bruce Springsteen (Born to Run), Queen and other big rock groups from that era. It was a thrill to travel to New York City and compete in the country’s first Bonne Bell 10k in Central Park. Women and girls were IT- Helen Reddy’s “I Am Woman” was playing loud and proud before the gun went off.  As a result of running with the team, I became a better runner because I was  running with faster women. My hard work paid off and, at 16, I was able to go with the team  to the nationals in California. Eventually, my efforts caught the eye of a college coach as well. Because I was a scholarly student as well as a devoted runner, I was given the chance to apply and subsequently be accepted to an excellent university.

And that’s when things began to shift for me. Sure, I went off to college and joined the requisite team, going to practices, running in races, eating and socializing only with runners. But it started to feel old and stale and repetitive. I was hopelessly distracted by a boy ( a runner like me, but a senior with a reputation as a bad boy) and frankly, I wanted to party on a Friday night and not get up early for practice or a race! By the time I was a sophomore, I was done competing- burned out and physically a mess. All the mileage I had put in as developing teenager had resulted in a painful, degenerative disk in my back. Looking back, as much as it spiritually pained me to leave the sport, I knew that I needed a break.

I suppose you can liken this period to a major transformation in a marriage (illness or the addition of children, for example). How do relate to one another as a result of this major alteration? At first, it was simple: very little exercise as I explored other avenues of interests and friends. Then upon graduation, I cycled a bit and walked everywhere. Still, the nagging back issue persisted to the point where I literally could not move. I have a vivid memory of trying to board a bus so I could go vote and being unable to step up. I was just 23 years old and felt 90!  Luckily, a chiropractor lived in my neighborhood and with his help, I began a very long journey to healing.

Essentially, my twenties came and went without any attention to running at all. I kept in shape by walking, riding a stationary bike and doing occasional weight lifting.  I got married and by the time I was 32, I had given birth to two babies. My back held up during the two pregnancies and subsequent births of two very big boys ( especially #2!!) Plus, I was doing aerobics regularly and pushing a carriage everywhere I went. It was at this point that my then husband encouraged me to start running again.  Coincidentally, this was the same age that my father began his running career! So, I gave it a shot- at first doing the walk/run thing and then eventually working up to Saturday morning runs with other busy moms.

My thirties were certainly the “comeback” period of running for me. I felt a renewed sense of commitment but on different terms than before. I was a grown woman who was able to make her own decisions about where, when and how far she wanted to run. Running was a choice and not the chore that it had become nearly a decade earlier. Eventually, at 38, I competed in a half-marathon. During the training, I never felt lonely and, in truth, felt a great sense of freedom and renewal during those times. I also spent time running with my father again. It was a terrific- we were both adults and our runs were filled with long conversations. I fell in love with running again!

By the time I reached 40, I was learning to balance running with the other parts of my life. When I had the opportunity to return to work full time, carving out a running schedule was a priority. My dedication to the sport was unyielding. I arose before dawn and would run despite the cold and darkness. I learned to be alert for wildlife and was awed each morning watching the sun rise as I finished the last mile. I was not the competitor that I was once was-only entering races sporadically throughout the year. Instead, running took on a different face-becoming my solace, stress reliever and saving grace.

Running in many ways was like taking medication. When my husband wanted a divorce when I was 46, running kept me steady and sane (or as sane as one could be during that upheaval!). I was also in graduate school, working and raising teenage boys at the time. Running cleared my head, organized my thoughts and made me more productive. By the time my forties ended, I had successfully completed graduate school (4.0!), gone through the divorce process, fell in love again and trained for and competed in a half-marathon!

So here I am, happily in my early fifties having caught the half-marathon bug.  The training schedule is not grueling and the race distance is just right for me.  I try to enter two races per year if I can. One of the best parts of the preparation is knowing that I will be running with the man I love. Our connection with one another has helped me to continuously strengthen my commitment to the sport. It is a heart warming feeling knowing that another person is there to support and guide you through the good days and bad days. He helps me keep it real-pushing me when I need it and helping me back off -especially when I am injured.

One thing that I have learned in this long term marriage is the value of patience. Too many times when I was young, I didn’t allow myself to think about what I was doing during races or practices. My body was in the game but not my head.
I didn’t think about how I was feeling and then when I did, I wanted to run from it.  I was tired of the effort. How many of you go through similar feelings in relationships? It is easy to throw in the towel and go on to something else. I think what I was experiencing during that time was a need for a separation. As I said earlier, it hurt me emotionally to leave. But the break was necessary in order for me to begin my journey back. It was the first step in learning to be patient with myself and with the sport. I needed to come back on my own terms in order to create a deeper and lasting relationship. Also, it is  a relationship that allows for balance. Now I supplement running with hot yoga and three days of strength training.  They enhance my practice and at times substitute for it.

Any healthy relationship is one in which you use your heart and your head. Runners do not always use the latter (or else they let it get in the way but it is the same idea). We suffer from a burning desire to move; we want to see how far our legs and feet will take us. As long as we are not running from something it’s okay. Run to please yourself. Run because you find joy in the going. Run with others. Then you’ll know that your heart is in the right place!