10/20/13: On Hope
This is hard, I’m not going to lie and say that it’s easy to be hopeful and happy all the time. I put on a happy face and present a strong or maybe a sarcastic persona for most of my “public time”...it’s at the end of the day when I’m winding down and crawling into bed that the facade begins to crack and that beacon of strength feels like a pen light 20 miles away. Tonight I cried. I cried because the rash is still on my legs and upon further inspection, the back of my knees are not looking so hot-rashier and possible bruising at the joint crease? And, my knees aren’t feeling so great, sore and uncomfortable...which just makes me worry and takes me to having to acknowledge that I must be pushing it still...moving too quick on the treadmill walks or maybe taking the speed to high? This just makes me so sad, because all I want to really do is run and I can’t. Because I can’t ‘apparently’ even go walking without hurting myself(?!)...and this sensation just hurts my soul.
I love to run, to just put my shoes on, hop on a treadmill or a path and move, finding an escape from whatever is worrying or stressing me out. Allowing me to reconnect with my body, as I feel that little bounce and forward motion while my legs engage and my core stabilizes me to keep my center. And the air...that’s part of the experience- fresh cut grass, cool dewy mornings, and especially the early morning crispness of fall...I love those smells but even more so on a run, because it’s alone time with my own thoughts or my music or to converse with a running buddy.
I cry tonight because I miss it, I miss the freedom to just lace up and head out the door. To not be confined to a house and always wearing a face mask outside. I don’t want to fail at this recovery. I don’t want to harm or delay my return to my husband, to starting our life together. I have to keep faith, hope, and prayer in my heart and believe in the strength of not only myself but also God to help me heal, because I can’t do this alone. As hard as I try to do it, push it, make it alone, I need support to make it through.
Back in college, when I was having a hard time my sophomore year, my Dad gave me this beautiful gold anchor necklace for Christmas. The anchor is the symbol for both my college sorority, as well as representing hope, so it was very apropos. The hope that I would overcome that trial and this as well, they’re just chapters in my life book. Hope is what keeps us going and helps us move forward, growing and working to be better for it. I hope I can be better from this experience, that I can intuit what my body needs and be a better listener to my gut instincts without letting my head get in the way. I hope that before too long I’ll be able to get back to my running, exploring my new community with great appreciation for every stride I take.
This is hard, I’m not going to lie and say that it’s easy to be hopeful and happy all the time. I put on a happy face and present a strong or maybe a sarcastic persona for most of my “public time”...it’s at the end of the day when I’m winding down and crawling into bed that the facade begins to crack and that beacon of strength feels like a pen light 20 miles away. Tonight I cried. I cried because the rash is still on my legs and upon further inspection, the back of my knees are not looking so hot-rashier and possible bruising at the joint crease? And, my knees aren’t feeling so great, sore and uncomfortable...which just makes me worry and takes me to having to acknowledge that I must be pushing it still...moving too quick on the treadmill walks or maybe taking the speed to high? This just makes me so sad, because all I want to really do is run and I can’t. Because I can’t ‘apparently’ even go walking without hurting myself(?!)...and this sensation just hurts my soul.
I love to run, to just put my shoes on, hop on a treadmill or a path and move, finding an escape from whatever is worrying or stressing me out. Allowing me to reconnect with my body, as I feel that little bounce and forward motion while my legs engage and my core stabilizes me to keep my center. And the air...that’s part of the experience- fresh cut grass, cool dewy mornings, and especially the early morning crispness of fall...I love those smells but even more so on a run, because it’s alone time with my own thoughts or my music or to converse with a running buddy.
I cry tonight because I miss it, I miss the freedom to just lace up and head out the door. To not be confined to a house and always wearing a face mask outside. I don’t want to fail at this recovery. I don’t want to harm or delay my return to my husband, to starting our life together. I have to keep faith, hope, and prayer in my heart and believe in the strength of not only myself but also God to help me heal, because I can’t do this alone. As hard as I try to do it, push it, make it alone, I need support to make it through.
Back in college, when I was having a hard time my sophomore year, my Dad gave me this beautiful gold anchor necklace for Christmas. The anchor is the symbol for both my college sorority, as well as representing hope, so it was very apropos. The hope that I would overcome that trial and this as well, they’re just chapters in my life book. Hope is what keeps us going and helps us move forward, growing and working to be better for it. I hope I can be better from this experience, that I can intuit what my body needs and be a better listener to my gut instincts without letting my head get in the way. I hope that before too long I’ll be able to get back to my running, exploring my new community with great appreciation for every stride I take.
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