Running Lessons: Stories matter

I ran a marathon last weekend.  It wasn't pretty. Things went to pieces early in the race when my right knee seized up and I spent most of the next three and a half hours in considerable pain. It was disappointing because I'd spent nearly six months preparing for the race in hopes I'd finally manage to run a marathon in less than four and a half hours but, in the end, didn't improve on my personal best (PB) time at all. To make matters worse, because I was feeling so confident I was going to achieve a new PB, I'd been telling family and friends about it for weeks. So, needless to say, I was feeling more than a little disappointed, discouraged and embarrassed as I limped back to my apartment that evening.

Later, as I struggled to write a post about the experience for my other blog, It ain't about the Tiffany necklace, I was reminded of the importance of the stories we tell.  I wanted to be honest about what had happened but was also determined to try not to be too negative since many of my new TNT teammates are training to run their first marathons and the last thing I wanted to do was discourage them.  I also knew that the way in which I told the story would ultimately determine whether I remembered my fifth marathon as a mostly positive or negative experience.  In the end, I tried to tell a story about overcoming adversity, how lucky I was to be able to run at all, and how grateful I was to have friends and family who'd made it possible. (You can read the post here and decide for yourself whether I succeeded.)

In life, we constantly make choices (consciously or unconsciously) about the stories we tell - about ourselves and others, to ourselves and others. We can be positive or negative, hopeful or discouraged, generous or selfish, optimistic or pessimistic. We can cling to illusions about our own situations and other people's or we can open our eyes to reality and speak the truth as we see it.

Comfort food

I've had a frantic week during which I've occasionally felt frazzled so when I returned to my apartment last evening I needed some comfort food - bread and molasses washed down with a glass of cold milk to be more precise. I'm not sure why I find bread and molasses so comforting. I suppose it's because I associate them with my warm and happy childhood. A variety of other foods have the same effect on me - my mom's homemade biscuits, baked beans, cinnamon toast, boiled dinner with dumplings and homemade chicken soup, for example.

It's interesting to think about what else provides comfort. Usually, it's familiar things or activities - my husband's arms around me, tea with a friend, a favourite movie, curling up by the fire with a book, or going for a walk on my favourite beach. Rissers' Beach (where the picture above was taken) is one of the places I go whenever I have things to figure out. Invariably, just being there soothes my soul, encourages me to breathe, and helps me get a little perspective on whatever's troubling me.

The measure of character

The measure of a man's real character is what he would do if he knew he never would be found out. - Thomas Babington Macaulay

I've been thinking a lot about character lately. It seems good character is something that's no longer especially valued in western societies. Generally, we accept that people act dishonestly and without integrity in some circumstances. We also have a tendency to accept a range of excuses for their bad behaviour (the person was angry, hurt, damaged or depressed, for example) and to accept bad behaviour in situations where we think "no harm will be done".

But is good character really so "situational"?  Doesn't what we do when no one is looking say everything about who we really are?  Whether or not we're ever caught or anyone is hurt, the things we do out of sight of other people determine whether we're really men and women of integrity who treat others with respect and caring - or not.

Spring miracles

After more than a month of grey, rainy weather, the sun finally appeared this past weekend and stayed long enough for me to begin to believe summer might actually arrive. The cherry trees have been in blossom for a week or more but it's been hard to appreciate them through the gloom so it was a gift to stop mid-run this evening to savour their exuberant beauty in sunlight.

Nature's constant churn seems truly miraculous to me. I'm not sure I could survive the damp dreariness of April if I weren't sure spring would eventually bring fresh greens and bright blossoms. I especially love the lilacs that remind me of the old lilac bush that grew just outside the front door of my childhood home and the two large bouquets that suffused the air with their sweet scent on my wedding day.

In the same way nature renews itself in spring, our hearts and minds renew themselves.  In what seems like the blink of an eye, things we didn't understand become clearer, the hard things we tried to avoid become bearable, and the joy and hope we weren't sure we would ever feel again creep back into our hearts. Suddenly, we know summer will come - that soon we'll sit on a beach listening to crashing waves or high atop a hill gazing at a star-filled sky and we'll feel safe and loved and happy once more.

Thank goodness for all of spring's miracles - but especially those that transform our hearts and minds in such profound ways.

Anniversary Reflections

I realized something strange lately. I almost never blog about my husband or my marriage. I'm not sure why. Goodness knows, after almost twenty-five years together, there's lots I could say on both subjects. And, since today is our 21st wedding anniversay, I think maybe it's a good time to remedy the oversight.

My husband
He's a good man. Handsome, strong, dependable, honest, kind, hard working, generous, patient, and constantly loving. He's also handy when it comes to most things (aside from cars - which is okay since my dad is great with cars), and happy to pitch in around the house. In fact, truth be told, he's a much better housekeeper than I am. He's a great cook (no, not just BBQs) and a terrific pastry chef. He loves his own family deeply, adores mine and has had the same best friend since he was a pre-teen. He never forgets birthdays and makes a point of calling or emailing each of his friends and family members on their special days. He's always volunteering for some organization or other. In his spare time, he likes to renovate, putter, read, and play guitar. And he's a terrific listener - which is a special gift in a family like mine in which everyone else likes to talk. Best of all, he genuinely seems to enjoy being with me, and does whatever he can to love and support me. And - even after all these years - he still puts his book aside to watch me get undressed for bed.  How sweet is that?

Our marriage
Twenty-one years (and nearly twenty-five since our first date.)  In this day and age, that's pretty impressive. We've worked and lived overseas and travelled to dozens of different places together. We've owned four houses, and the same number of cars. We've also had four cats (though never more than two at a time). We've lived in separate cities for extended periods. We've painted or renovated every apartment and house we've ever lived in. We prefer to buy art rather than furniture. We nearly always vote the same way. We never argue seriously about money since neither of us is particularly materialistic, and we sit down together at the end of every year to plan our charitable donations. We enjoy food shopping and cooking (when we're not otherwise too busy), hosting dinner parties with friends and family, attending folk and jazz festivals and eating out at least once a week.  We even run together now and then.

It hasn't all been an easy, of course. There have been bumps along the way, and more than once we've run hard into brick walls we didn't expect to face and weren't sure we could scale. But somehow we've survived to find ourselves here - on the first day of the rest of our lives - older, greyer, and a little more battle-scarred - but also wiser, more patient, and more determined than ever to find ways to move forward in life together.

So, here's to my husband and to our marriage. And here's hoping we have many more happy, healthy, adventure-filled years together. 

Happy Anniversary, love.