In A Blink

Buzzing.  The alarm is buzzing.  In a blink I open my eyes to the realization I actually at some point did fall asleep.  Then I remember.  The phone call from the previous night was not a dream.  The sadness in my heart is heavy.  My run will help me feel better.

As soon as my feet start running, I begin my conversation with God looking for comfort and peace. 

I had been making dinner and talking with Mom on the phone.  A simple conversation centered around catching up on day to day activities.  She received another call and we said goodbye.  Somewhere between cooking the taco meat and shredding the cheese she called me back.  Crying.  Dad's cousin Don and his wife Phyllis had been killed in a motorcycle accident while touring through North Dakota.  The tears fell while trying to collect what little details we had.

With each step I was running, I was re-living the night before while trying to ease the hurt.  The details playing over and over in mind.  Mom and Dad's good friends Ed and Carol had been with Don and Phyllis on the vacation and my heart weighed heaviest for them.  What horrors did they witness?  It is at this point where I realize there is sometimes hope in the not knowing.  There is a hardness and coldness found in the reality of the details, one that can make it difficult to overcome the harshness of the accident.  I kept placing one foot in front of the other.

Dad, Don and Ed had been friends for decades.  As life had moved along, wives became part of the friendship circle and then eventually us kids.  Wasn't it just a few short months ago that Ed, Carol, Don and Phyllis sat in my living room laughing and talking over a family dinner?  And now, in a blink, Don and Phyllis are gone.

My footfalls break the silence of the morning.  The sun is beginning to rise.

Standing in the kitchen crying, my son asks me what is wrong.  I tell him the tragic news.  Studying my tears, he asks me if they were believers.  I nod, and tell him, "Yes, they are."  With a spark of joy in his eyes, he looks at me and states, "Then it's all ok Mom.  It's all ok."

Nearing the final leg of my run, I thank God for my son's wise words spoken the night before and the hope God has given us.  We will see Don and Phyllis again.  Looking at the mountains before me, I watch as the sun rises.  Then I notice it.  Wafting gently in the air two feet in front of me a single feather falls.  I look around and find no bird.  I stop and watch the feather, wondering where it had come from.  I smile and look up towards the sky.  Not until I had heard the rustling of an angel's wing, did I continue on my way home.  Home, just like Don and Phyllis are.

An Ordinary Day

The morning is strangely quiet.  It's 5 a.m. and the sun has not yet introduced the day, reminding me summer is leaving soon and fall is close by.  I'm not ready to say goodbye to summer.

My feet fall quickly on the streets bringing a break into the silence.    The clouds hold no rain, for which I am very grateful.  The quietness of dawn gives me a blank canvas in which to paint my conversation with God onto.  He listens, I talk; peace and comfort abound.

The farmer has a new herd of calves in the grassy field close to the barn.  A few of them bellow to the others as to warn them the strange lady running on the road is dangerous.  I smile as it is always the same.  Just as it is with each new calf herd the farmer receives, one calf gets brave and runs toward me, whether to chase me or to see if I bring food I'm never sure.  Curiosity always grabs hold and soon most are running the fence line behind me.  I laugh as to the passerby I must look like a cow's Pied Piper.  Reaching the edge of the fence line, they stop and allow me to go on alone.

Mount Baker stands grand on the horizon, its foothills lush and green before her.   The sun is peaking above the hills bringing its light to the day.  I hear what sounds like softly falling rain, but feel nothing.  I look around me.  Above me the wings of several dozen sparrows flutter; the source of the noise.  The noise grows louder and I met by hundreds, if not thousands, of sparrows.  Flying in large groups and in percise unison toward a large, old oak tree standing solitary in a field. Upon landing in the tree, they all begin to talk to each other, and loudly; sounding like a room full of old Italian women talking with their hands.  This makes me laugh.

I turn towards home, my 6 miles complete.  I tiptoe into the house which holds sleeping boys.  The coffee is on and its smell fills the room.  The day has started just like so many before it, with an early morning run surrounded by nautre.  It's just an ordinary day.

Push

At my desk eating my lunch, I find myself staring out the window. I sigh. I'm tired. Not a missing-several-hours-of-sleep tired, but a physical tired that comes from pushing yourself athletically beyond your current limits.


My running group and I met at the track last night and did a tough 1600 meter repeat workout. The weather was hot, the workout was tough and it felt great! Drenched in sweat and drinking some water down, we all headed out for an easy paced 2 mile cool down run. Despite my muscles aching from the workout, it felt good to go at a conversational pace and feel the intensity slowly working it's way out and be replaced by a calm knowing you left it all out on the track.

As a busy mom and wife, my alone time to run is at 5 a.m. before the rest of the house awakens; this means my coach prescribed "Easy 5 mile run" on the plan today would have to be run less than 10 hours after finishing my track workout the night before. I had no problem keeping the easy miles easy.


Which brings me back to the present; sitting here at my desk, eating my lunch and staring out the window. My muscles are tired and my body is relaxed; both gifts from pushing myself physically. It's a welcomed kind of a tired, one that brings motivation.


Still, I think I'll treat myself to a latte. After all, it can only help, right?