Think Beautiful Thoughts

Our diversions are metaphors for our lives. For me, it’s running and gardening. So, when I was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML) three months ago, naturally, I leaned into one of those activities to cope. Gardening was out when I was admitted directly into the hospital for induction following the diagnosis. I saw nothing green for 30 days, including food. Running it was. My marathon training had taught me I could make my brain do anything. My blood may be failing me; my mind was not about to. I knew three strategies that worked for me in running, maybe they would work here too.

Find a Mantra

I needed to find a new one. My running one was you chose to do this; get on with it. That one didn’t seem workable in this case. I found one in my stack of get well cards and not the ones about this being a “journey” or a “plan.” It was on a card from a friend whose whose granddaughter was also going through chemo. She wrote these words, “Eat well. Rest well. Think beautiful thoughts.” What a wonderful mantra for running and recovery.

Run without a Watch

It’s easy to get caught up in the numbers these days. When they’re up, it’s like a burst of endorphins. I’m invincible. When they’re down, it’s like a muscle pull. I’m vulnerable. Some of my most enjoyable runs were when I ran simply to run. I didn’t judge myself by minutes, miles, or days in a row. The critic voice popped up in recovery too. The markers were ever moving and difficult to hit. I reminded myself not to judge success; however small, by a CBC number. Numbers didn’t define me; not in running, not in recovery.

Weather the Course

I’ve never run and experienced a marathon the same way twice; there’s the weather. Some were humid. Some were rainy. Some were perfect. Then, there’s what my body did. Some with blisters. Some with chafing. Some with bladder issues. In all those situations, I just kept telling myself to keep moving; either the conditions would change or I would finish. Believe me, no day is ever the same in this process either. One day, I feel like I can run several miles. The next day my tech says your numbers are in the “terlit.” Keep moving, I tell myself; there’s someone with Vaseline on a stick ahead; metaphorically speaking, of course.

Eva Marie and Me

I’m that neighbor. The one just now putting away my Christmas decorations. I usually start the taking down process around Epiphany. Unlike the Wise Men, I don’t find the Baby Jesus. I find that Christmas was over three weeks ago and a brand new year has started.

I’m also a hoarder. I was folding away all those gift bags to use again next year. I discovered one I had forgotten about from a friend. This friend always gives me unusual gifts.  I imagine her moving through a store until she finds something she can weave a good story around. I had already knocked out the Bailey’s Irish Cream that was in the bag at a tailgate a few weeks earlier.

Something else was left in the bag. An Eva Marie action figure. I can’t remember the story my friend had told about the WWE doll, but Eva Marie would go beside the Mr. Potato Head and Underdog bobble heads from Christmases past. I adjusted the figure's movable joints to sit on my shelf. She looked exactly like something out that children’s book, Elf on a Shelf; the story that describes how Santa's "scout elves" hide in people's homes to watch over events and report back to Santa who’s naughty and nice. 

Without knowing it, my friend had given me an accountability partner that would stay up year around. My little action figure reminds me to move every day. Do something whether it's running, strength training, or getting up and away from my work desk. Just move. I may never rock the abs, tatts, or bikini, but Eva Marie reminds me I can be an action figure every day.Underdog just makes me smile.

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It's New Year's But It Feels Like July 1

The upside of cracking open a new notebook each month is there really is no difference from one month to the next. I have the same experience on January 1 as I do July 1. It's like Anne Lamott tweeted earlier this morning, “Another word for New Year's Day is "Thursday." 

My notebooks are a variation on a practice I read about in Natalie Goldberg’s Writing down the Bones. I buy a different notebook each month and fill it up with my thoughts and observations. I also note my runs and tape my race bibs in there; so far, I’m planning for January to hold my Rogue 10K bib, February to hold my Austin Half Marathon bib, and a fall month to hold my tenth marathon bib. Today was supposed to have my Commitment Day 5K bib pinned in, but the outdoor portion was cancelled due to weather; always a good idea to keep Central Texas drivers off the road in a wintry mix.

Last night, I started reading through my notebooks from 2014. I usually pour a glass of red wine and settle in for a few hours. I made it through April. I didn’t want to read any further. Not because it was such a horrible year, although it did include my dad passing away from complications due to Alzheimer’s, but that I was tired of looking back. Most of what I worried and wrote about didn’t happen and if it did, it didn’t happen like I thought it would. A lot of my problems had solutions I never imagined. Wonderful solutions. I was ready to fill new blank notebooks and put 2014 to bed.

If I have a resolution, it’s a continuing one, to consistently keep the commitments I make to myself. I leafed through a 2014 calendar that I unpinned from my wall today. I crossed a line through the date squares and recorded the miles I ran or a strength or cross training sessions I completed in them. Some months and weeks were better than others were. I’m sure if I looked back at my notebooks those squares would correlate to entries that bragged about weight loss and productive workdays. Commitment in one area usually dominoes into other areas. So, I kept my promise to run today despite the weather and eat a bowl of black-eyed peas and greens. It's Thursday and I still have thirty days to go in my Grumpy Cat notebook.