Angel visits

The other day I went to see a friend - someone who has been an inspiration, a mentor, a healer, and a motivator in my life and my journey through grief. I was telling her that I've been having trouble with staying motivated and haven't been running regularly, so she suggested that I run the Starlight run again this year. After all, it was the run that got me started in the first place. Two years ago, I ran it on my best friend's birthday. As the day went on, I was thinking about our conversation and I remembered this passage I'd written a few weeks before my first 5k. I'm looking forward to a few fun ABBA inspired runs as I get ready for the next one... and it never hurts to have an angel cheering you on.

May 26, 2010

Last night, I went out for a 3 mile jog, preparing for the 5k Starlight run that I’m running in my best friend Rochelle’s memory on June 5 (also her birthday). As I was leaving my house, I chose the ABBA gold album to be my running partner. ABBA always reminds me of my best friends Rochelle and Shauna, and the hours we spent driving around our hometown singing at the top of our lungs more than half a lifetime ago.

About two miles into my jog, I was really starting to feel tired. I was thinking about Rochelle, half wondering what she thought of my crazy plan to run a 5k on her birthday. I mean, it’s not something she would have ever done. I’m doing it for myself, my health, dumping my sweat, grief and emotional baggage on the road and leaving it there. The Starlight parade will follow, and Rochelle enjoyed a good parade, so I imagine her silliness, playfulness, and happiness will be with the crowd that night.

Anyway, as I plodded along, feeling weary, this song came on. For the first time in many years, I listened to the words. Heading up that shady wooded path, I started to smile. My breath felt easier, my feet felt lighter, and by the time the second verse started right at the 2 mile mark, I was smiling and laughing as the line “pushing through the darkness still another mile” tickled my ear drums. I couldn’t help but feel that this was Rochelle’s way of letting me know she approves of my crazy plan, she believes I can do it, and that she’s looking forward to the parade on her birthday.

I do believe in angels. My best friend is one.

"I Have A Dream" (Abba)

I have a dream, a song to sing
To help me cope with anything
If you see the wonder of a fairy tale
You can take the future even if you fail
I believe in angels
Something good in everything I see
I believe in angels
When I know the time is right for me
I'll cross the stream - I have a dream

I have a dream, a fantasy
To help me through reality
And my destination makes it worth the while
Pushing through the darkness still another mile
I believe in angels
Something good in everything I see
I believe in angels
When I know the time is right for me
I'll cross the stream - I have a dream
I'll cross the stream - I have a dream

I have a dream, a song to sing
To help me cope with anything
If you see the wonder of a fairy tale
You can take the future even if you fail
I believe in angels
Something good in everything I see
I believe in angels
When I know the time is right for me
I'll cross the stream - I have a dream
I'll cross the stream - I have a dream

not a runner

I wrote this last year - but I re-read it the other day, got goose bumps and teared up again, and I knew then that I needed to share it here. The words you say to others are so important. They can shut you down or lift you up.



“But, you’re not a runner.”

That’s what someone said to me two weeks AFTER I ran my first 5k. I know that what he meant was, “Wow! You accomplished something you’ve never done before,” but that’s not the words he used.

Later that day, that phrase came into my head again, “You’re not a runner.” I started thinking about it, and I realized that the statement was true of the old me; the one whose best friend of 23 years hadn’t yet died of cancer; the one whose life and career were in a rut, in imminent danger of becoming stale and burned out. That version of me stopped existing on Oct. 4, 2008.

The new me started growing a few months later, after the shell shock of saying goodbye to Rochelle started to wear off and life started to make sense again. The new me knows that my life will be what I decide to make it, and that I will be whatever I choose, not what anyone else tells me I am or am not. I live with the constant memory of how fragile life is, and am dedicated to having a life that is well-lived. The new me is no longer afraid of failure or success, or of dreaming new dreams and changing course.

Since the day I was reminded that I’m “not a runner,” I have run a half marathon, and I’m currently training to do two more this spring. I’ve experienced the runner’s high, and the injured runner’s low. I’ve had the joy of running on a sunny summer morning, and the pain of 13.1 miles in the pouring rain. I’ve listened to my friends and family tell me how impressed and inspired they are by what I’ve done in such a short time. I’ve watched my own mom turning into a runner, and I’m excited to cheer her on and run with her for her first half marathon.

I wonder how many times I’ve let success slip by me because someone said something that discouraged me. I can think of a few. Because someone else didn’t expect success from me, I let myself live down to their expectations. Instead of living up to my own expectations, I let a dream go unfulfilled. How often have the words and actions of others, disguised as the voices of reason, stifled my dreams? Do I do this to people too? Have I encouraged someone to choose the safe path instead of encouraging them to dream big and try anyway? Perhaps, but I know that the new me doesn’t want to be a voice of reason. I want to be an encouraging spirit in my friends and families’ lives. I hope I am.

Go. Dream. Learn something new. Live your life. Be happy. Grow as needed. Change when necessary. Love without regret. Be there. Try harder. Don’t wait.