Her Majesty

I was looking through my blog archives last evening and noticed a post a wrote nearly two and a half years ago when Her Majesty (aka Ranee) was extremely ill and we weren't sure she was going to make it. My husband and I spent weeks giving her daily injections of fluids and various medications until she recovered. Looking back, I can't quite believe she's still with us and living such a happy and active life. Sure, I have to cook her food from scratch and give her meds every day, but it's a small price to pay for all she's given us over the years.

She's taught me a few things too.

For instance, that you should never assume you know how life's going to unfold. Eight months ago, she was so stiff she couldn't jump on to the couch without help. Now, after six months of TLC and daily doses of omega 3s, she jumps up with almost as much grace as she always did - though, admittedly, she's still fairly cautious about jumping back down.

She also taught me that really loving someone means loving them at their worst. Ranee loves me most when I've just arrived home from a long run on a hot summer's day - so sweaty and smelly I can't stand myself - and seldom leaves my side on those rare occasions when I find myself sick in bed with a cold or flu.

Most importantly, she's taught me the importance of savouring the moment (as she did this past weekend when she lay enjoying the warmth of spring sunshine on our back deck). Not all of life's surprises are good ones, so it's essential to be as grateful as you can be for what you have. After all, you never know when the things you care about most will be taken from you.

"L'il pud" is at least 16 years old now, so I'm not sure how much longer she'll be with us - though, judging by how she well she seems to be doing, I hope it will be a good while yet. Waking to find her warm little self snuggled against my back is one of the great joys of my life.

Running Lessons: Spring has sprung! What happened to my legs?

Ah, spring, glorious spring. The season when every Canadian runner's heart leaps at the thought of running outside without risk of frostbite or a fall on icy roads.

Today was a balmy blue sky day so I was excited as I headed out the door for my long run. I figured the fact that I'd been taking it easy since my big race two weeks ago, coupled with my euphoria about the weather, would make the run a really great one. Alas, that wasn't to be.

Apparently, my legs don't appreciate being asked to run 22kms on a bowl of cereal (breakfast), and haddock chowder and bread (last night's supper). Cranky with me from the start, they got downright nasty during the last 3kms - to the point that I had slow to a walk for a bit. Lesson learned. I'll be carbo-loading more seriously before next week's long run.

On the upside, the weather was truly stunning. I ran my usual route along the river, warmed by brilliant sunshine and accompanied by bird song the whole way. I couldn't spot the singers perched high in the trees around me but their music was lovely.

I spent most of the run deep in thought about my newest writing project - which I'm currently referring to as "The Nanny Project" (coming soon). It was good to have something to distract me from how my legs were feeling, but I wonder if it also kept me from paying close enough attention to my pace. Data from my Garmin shows I was running faster than I normally do for much of the run - which may help to explain why they felt so tired by the end.

In any case, I won't let today's less-than-stellar performance discourage me. My next race (a marathon, if all goes well) isn't until the end of June so I have plenty of time to get my legs sorted out before then.


Sent wirelessly from my BlackBerry device on the Bell network.
Envoyé sans fil par mon terminal mobile BlackBerry sur le réseau de Bell.

On a dark and stormy night

As I write this, wind batters the windows of my apartment so fiercely I can't be sure I won't wake up in Kansas. There's a wild spring storm raging and I have a bird's eye view of it from my perch overlooking the harbour.

I love being able to watch storms like this one blow in, then feel the building dance and shake to the rhythm of rain against window panes.

If I hadn't already been running this evening, I'd be tempted to lace up my shoes, launch myself into the darkness and let howling winds carry me round the lake one more time before bed.

Running Lessons - Taking time to "just be"

Heading out for my "long" (8km) run today, I knew I would have to go slow and be gentle with myself.  After all, I kicked some serious butt last weekend at Around the Bay (video and photos here), and my aging body needs time to recover. Still, I had to remind myself repeatedly to run slowly and not expect too much - which was hard on such a beautiful sunny day on the south shore of Nova Scotia.

Fortunately, I had a couple of excellent reminders of the importance of taking time to savour the moment this weekend. I spent last evening with my niece. We went out for supper, did a bit of necessary shopping, played games, assembled puzzles and read books until her folks came to pick her up. There's nothing that brings you into the moment like spending time with a three and a half year old. Her complete engagement with the present was palpable. It was a joy to watch her mind whirring behind her big blue eyes as I taught her the fundamentals of dominoes, and to witness her glee when she won our first two games.

Then, this morning, Her Majesty (my elder cat, Ranee) climbed into my lap as I sat in a sunny window sipping caffe latte and reading a book. Petting her as she lolled there purring, I was struck by the sense that I was experiencing a perfect moment with my old friend and that, since she is getting on and I may not have her with me for much longer, my only goal for a little while should be to "just be" with her, enjoying her gentle presence.

Drawing on both experiences, and (admittedly) still feeling a little tired from last weekend, I gave myself permission to stop at the half way point of my run today (the bridge pictured below) to sit by the river for a few minutes drinking in the warmth of the spring sun, the sound of water rushing over rocks, and the brilliant blue sky overhead.

After many months of pushing myself to get stronger for my race and be more productive at work and at home, it felt good to just be - in my body and my life - to feel free of the pressure to train harder, do more, be better.  I think it might be a very good thing to spend a little more time in that space in the coming weeks and months.

Life is like monkey bars

"Life is like monkey bars. You have to let go to move forward." 

A friend posted this quotation on Facebook yesterday. It resonated with me, though I have to admit "letting go" is something I often find hard to do.

In middle age (and, yes, I am middle-aged now), I certainly find it easier to let go of some things - anger, disappointment, unrealistic expectations of myself and others, and the need to feel productive all the time, for instance.  But I still cling to other things - in particular, regret over decisions that can't be undone. It's as if subconsciously I believe I'll eventually find a way to make the impossible possible if only I think about it long and hard enough.

Rationally, I accept that it's best to let go of as many regrets as possible and focus on the future instead. However, I've also come to believe that some regrets perform useful functions. They humble me and remind me to learn from my mistakes for starters. And they inspire me to be more patient and understanding of other peoples' errors in judgement. Most importantly, they give me a greater appreciation for the many right choices I've made in my life.

Rather than trying to let go of all regrets, I think I'll try to carry with me just those few that are most significant to me - hopefully, with enough ease that they don't keep me from making my way across life's monkey bars. Realistically, I'm not sure it's in my nature to leave all regret behind in any case.