Celestial Navigation

I am not a runner. Not now, anyways.

I have been, in my days. In my short time here, I have been a stage manager and a nanny, a technician, a marathoner, and a student. I have been a girlfriend and a hand to hold, and a dodgeball sniper, a fighter, a thief and a wanderer, a poet, a social worker and I am still Tessa's "favorite Amy". I am fortunate, for I am and will remain a daughter, a sister, a friend, a granddaughter, and an aunt-to-be (I'm especially excited about that last one, by the way. Starfish!! Keep on growing!!).

But I am not a runner. I ran my last 1/2 marathon of the year in June. It was the last of four and after that I stopped. No taper, no maybes, it was a cold-turkey completely done and unexpected to boot. The Vancouver half was the third weekend in June and since then I haven't had a weekend where I was in town or not house-sitting. To give myself a little leeway, I'm still working full-time and then some (um, thank goodness for that), and there have been various weddings, trips, and fun to be had. It's been a good summer. Except for that my legs stopped missing the sidewalk and my lungs stopped missing the burn and my face stopped missing the drops of sweat, and my heart turned away from this part of my life that has brought me to who I am now. As Muddy would say, "my mojo just won't work on you". The spell of long distance had been broken. I spent a lot of time beating myself up. I sought out wonderful runner chicks who walked and ran with me, and in the Rockstar's case, put up a whole WALL of awesome motivation on her blog. It helped. It did. I made plans to do a 15 with the Fanatic, then an 18 with the Inspiration 1, finally a 20 with Snortbuddy. I am indebted to their support and hope to return the favor soon!

Still. I kept wondering when I would come home. As the Warrior has reminded me time and again, it is your heart that keeps you going when the feet want to give up, and my heart just wasn't in it. But then I remembered going up the St. John's Bridge with the Warrior during my first marathon, to be joined by the Cheetah, the Comeback, and the Newbie on the other side, and decided that it was worth it to try. Just one more time. I have fought harder battles than this and won with smiles. There were people I could go to, if I wanted--endless hordes of supporters and friends--but it was time to make it happen on my own. So for the first time ever, this week I bought a new pair of running shoes on my own (this might not seem like a big deal, but let's face it, every month gets ridiculously tight, so having saved up this money was a HUGE, GINORMOUS deal. Until now I have relied on the love of my family to keep me in shoes and they haven't failed me once. They are the best a girl could ever hope for. Amazing.). The pair I have been running in are 8 months old and have taken me about 350 miles. It was time. So I got myself to FitRight, got the new shoes--oh, they are beautiful--and came home on Saturday to a giant wall. The Inspiration was running in CLR over on the coast. Shit. I was super happy that she was doing it, don't get me wrong!! She's a force of nature and I know that any relay team is pure gold when she's with them. So this one had to be on my own.

I got up Sunday morning and fumbled around for a bit, running little errands, and doing everything I could to get out of it. But time came and I mapped out my loops. Put on the kicks, got the Camelbak, and just went for it. I forced myself into a rhythm--run 2 blocks, walk 1, repeat--and decided that instead of just running to my halfway mark, what I really wanted to see was the water. Needed to see the water. So I went 5 and change to halfway out on the St Johns Bridge. This bridge is something else, it's absolutely my favorite place to run, and as soon as I reached it I felt a shift. It's not something to be described, but you all know it. It's that moment when the tumbler clicks and the safe pops open, when the puzzle of the White Album cover (damn you, John Lennon!) is finally done, when you first tied your shoes by yourself all those years ago--it is the completion of a task that has awakened endless possibilities. It was hard. It was hot, I was heckled by three different cars of young men (dear boys, go run 18 and then come back to mock my pace thank you very much) and when I made it back home (11 and change in) to get the pup (I couldn't make her do 18 with me, I just couldn't, so I went for it Autumn Leaves style and challenged myself to pass the finish line and keep going for another lap), it took quite a lot of willpower to go back out. But you know, I did. The Runner had a lot to do with it, she was dancing on two paws and kept herding me towards the door, I couldn't deny her longings. By the end she was cursing me with every fiber of her dog heart (it is SO hard to be little and black and run in 75 degree weather! i am SO put upon you know) but we did it.

Finally. I started without a doubt I would finish. What power! It was hardly of my own accord, my Chicks were the wind at my back and when I put my face up to feel the sun I knew I wasn't doing this alone. 18.5 miles and I fell in love with running again.

What's the point of this post? A little pride, for sure--or a lot to be honest. This was big, maybe even bigger than my first marathon. A rejoicing in the miles won, in the miles regained. A thank you, again and again and again, to the women who bring me home every time to the pavement and the air and the steps, back to where I am supposed to be. And a gentle reminder: we all lose our mojo. It'll happen, from time to time. Not just in running; we all have those days or weeks or months when who we are is so far away from the person we want to be, 50 miles of terrain and a lifetime in the distance. And that's ok. It really is. Tell your friends--tell your parents--tell your kids: to be fallible is to be human. Humanity's inherent grace seems to lie in that ingrained ability we all have to pick ourselves up--dust ourselves off--and start all over again.

My grandfather's favorite saying was one he made up himself, living in a one room apartment in the Bronx at the height of Depression summer heat and pining for a girl he loved teaching at a summer camp in upstate New York: i am not lost. i am right here. So when the day comes that you find yourself a bit off your way, I urge you to stop. Take a beat, take a breath. Orient yourself by the stars and the sun, and you will find your way home again.

I did.

I am once again a runner.