One Step at a Time

 

I'm training for the Newport 10-Miler and it isn't pretty.

Not to sound ungrateful for the 58-degree crisp, sunny morning that welcomed my 8.25-mile run this morning, but really- it's not pretty.

If you meet me on the road you'll first notice that the two sports bras I'm wearing are trying their best.  10 lbs lighter than my base weight (last seen in 2020), or 12 lbs heavier (now)... you still might want to look away for both of our dignities.

Don't worry, I'll wave and smile.  Last week I even hi-fived a woman my age whom I saw twice on one run.  Today I told a older gentlemen "good job!" when he reached his car and got to stop.  I made a 78-year-old friend named Joan a few weeks ago who wanted to chat about my phone backpack while running alongside me(!!).

Hopefully no one noticed that I'd blown my nose in my shirt twice.  On these long runs at least I've washed my face first, swished with mouthwash, and applied a little mascara - partially for me, partially for the EMTs.

When I set out this morning I kept thinking, "It's 8 miles... 8 miles!"  It's daunting.  I haven't run this far since my sister joined me for a half marathon in 2008.
(What a memory!  She was so mean to me the last mile, trash-talking me up a San Diego hill -- but we made it in 2:00:00, my goal.  That pace is long gone for me but she is still as fiercely supportive.)

A quarter mile in, twisting with anxiety over what lay ahead for the next hour and a half, it hit me:  

Don't think about it.

Just put one foot in front of the other.

It's been a heck of a season.  We've taken on some serious projects, financial risk, loads of responsibility and there is a lot out of our control.  I've stepped back and taken a breath many times on this journey and thought,

 

"One day at a time.  

Today, just move your clothes.  Worry about the kitchen next week."

"Today, just pick up the leaves.  Worry about weeding the garden beds a different day."

"Today, let your tenant adjust to the news and make plans.  You're not ready to renovate anyway."

"Today, rest.  You're going to burn yourself out and burn out your team."

Isn't that the rub, though?  Long-range vision drives our efforts purposefully through life, but the appreciation of small wins can't be understated.

Yet another fine line we're to walk as whole humans.

8.25 miles is a long way.  My brain can't handle that.  

But I can handle passing the enchanted little creek in the first 100 yards, 

wondering if the folks up the road are ever going to get the Pod out of their driveway,

the glassiness of the Sakonnet River in the morning sun,

silently waving at my son's friend's house as I jog by at mile 1...

Enjoying exactly four stories on "Armchair Anonymous" and affirming my decision to pay for ad-free listening,

Rolling my eyes at the oblivious gathering of baby strollers that completely kicked me off the sidewalk,

Passing Schultzy's and remembering the "milk flight" and stuffed quahogs we shared with our visiting friends,

Running over the little bridge with the stunning view of the Mount Hope bridge,

Realizing I'm at 3 miles and due for a stretch!,

Loving Rhode Island when the sailboats are on the water,

Reading street signs named after the Pokanoket whose land this was before it was colonized,

Seeing Andrew pull up in the Audi with my water and a Kleenex and so much encouragement...

I can handle knowing that I'm over halfway through today's goal,

Knowing that this body of mine does what I ask it to do after almost 44 years of demand,

Feeling that IT band start to flare up and being so grateful that I went to physical therapy,

Rounding 6 miles and another appearance from my cheerleader,

Diving back in to my Amy Poehler audiobook and learning that she was 43 when she wrote it,

The satisfying way my feet hit the ground in these shoes, 

Knowing that this hill is the last one,

And stopping.  Oh, the sweet relief of stopping! - at 8.25 miles.

One. Step. At. A. Time.

And trying not to miss anything along the way.