Mark chuckled last night when I set my alarm for 7:15am. I had plans to meet a new group of trail running ladies at the Whitewater Center. I did not want to be late. Or at least, not really late.
We'll be up by then, he said with a smirk.
When my alarm went off, at 7:15am, I was stunned, searching my mush brain, desperate to remember why my alarm was going off? What day is it? Where am I supposed to be? What time do I need to be there? Where am I? Where are my children? Where's my coffee? (The coffee thought may have been before the kids, truthfully.)
I figured if I was up by 7:15, I'd have plenty of time to casually drink some coffee (and not have to spill it all over myself, my running clothes, and my car), eat some cereal, leave by 8:10, and be there by 8:30, ready to meet with some new friends and do a much-anticipated long run in preparation for the half marathon in 14 days.
At 8:20, I was backing out of my driveway, willing myself to focus on thoughts other than, I'm late. I'm always, always late.
I'll admit it. Despite my old lady, hands at ten and two, elbows up and out, highway driving, I really enjoy the 485 ride to Moore's Chapel Road. Sunday mornings are best. 106.5 has Resurrection Sunday. From 8am-Noon they play the roots of modern rock. Mostly they seem to think this includes Elvis Costello's Veronica and Big Country's In a Big Country. Good songs, for sure, but if you time it just right you might luck out with Communard's Disenchanted or XTC's Dear God.
Today wasn't Sunday, but it was still a good, clear, minimal traffic, sunroof open, 68 degree drive on 485. My thoughts about tossing pumpkin bombs, and on whom I would throw them (my list was long. A head-clearing, long run was most definitely in order.), morphed into additional thought about super powers, and if I could have some, what would they be. This train of thought isn't all for naught. I will be leading a creative writing workshop in just under two weeks. The theme: Superheroes. I'm not sure who is more fortunate: me, because I have a cape-flying, web slinging, city-saving, Gotham-living, Batman Jeep-driving, bad guy-bamming preschooler? Or Heath, because I am now boning up on all things super powered, so our banter regarding the subject is deepening by the day.
At 8:30am, still not at the Whitewater Center, it occurs to me that I have no idea where I am meeting these gals for our trail run. How nice would it be to blink my eyes and transport myself to the place I'm supposed to be, no one the wiser that I am late and unsure about our meeting spot?
Car parked, pocket full of Gu (yucky vanilla orange, caffeine-loaded Gu, because I STILL haven't made it out to pick up something more likable), a hand-held bottle loaded with iced water, and very, very happy to be moments away from running like a maniac through the quiet woods, certain I have missed the meet-up group, I was spotted from a distant by a friend. Apparently, my pink running skirt was a dead giveaway.
For the first hour, I enjoyed the company, the lower temperatures, and working my way into a steady groove. The second hour, I ran solo, feeling relaxed and balanced about my upcoming race. As a matter of fact, I felt steady, relaxed and balanced about everything. Stella is on the lymph node mend, thanks to an albeit hesitant visit to a specialist, a necessary one. Despite my inattention to her nearing birthday #2, it will come, and it will be celebrated with appropriate pomp and circumstance. And the list of much-needed assurances went on.
Besides, if my confidence begins to falter, I can just zoom! in a circle, zap! into my running skirt and running shoes, zip! into the woods, bam! faster than a speeding negative thought, and save the day (and my sanity).
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