Monthly Archives: October 2009

Strings

Life is a series of connections. Invisible strings stretching from person to person outward over great distances.

Even as a young teenager I recognized the string of my soul mate. As his string was pulling me to him, it was a relief to find my destined best friend at the end of that string. I am so lucky to have found him early in life. Strings connect my children to me too; even though I witnessed the umbilical cord being cut I was comforted to still feel them near me. An automatic and enduring string they have, resilient to the most weathered circumstances.

My family has such hearty strings as well. My parents, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews, grandparents and extended family are all there, strings pouring out of me.

I love the strings, but I get lost in them. I get overwhelmed. “What a mess” I sometimes think and want to tidy all those strings and bundle them up or at least organize them a bit better. I feel them spread around me so tightly that I am afraid I will choke from the emotion woven into them. So many strings I lose track of them. What are these extra strings doing scattered around? What is their use? Will I ever get to see where those strings connect? I think I will go mad with the confusion of it all. Can I tie all these strings up in a bow and give them to someone who needs them more that me? When I try, the strings just get longer. They connect to more people and I feel like a greedy little spider.

The web I am weaving is unbelievable.

I don’t know how the strings I have for my friends found me. I don’t know if they orchestrated a sneak attack or the other way around. I can’t even remember the day I discovered their strings. Were they always there, waiting for me to pick though my tangled mess to find them? When I meet a new friend I soon find that I have a shiny new string spinning thicker as time goes by. I have friends I made strings for a long time ago, but when I stopped seeing them they never cut their end of the string. The string is still there.

I feel that something is still connected to the end of it, so I leave it be for now. When I meet an old friend I smile to find them bringing the end of their string over to me, not to give back, of course, but to show me they kept holding on to their end for me all this time. I am honored and humbled to see it. Those sticky strings!

Even as I sit in a pile of what seems to be a mad knitter’s paradise I can’t seem to let any of my ends of these strings go. Even the ones I think I don’t need or want. Too bad they are not real strings. I then could I maybe make a blanket with them? A fashionable ladies scarf?

I was surprised to find that as people I loved got older their string became a stronger connection to mine. When they died the only comfort I had was that the string was now too strong to sever, too overpowering to break. And when I miss the people who are gone I have only to send a tug on that string and feel an echo in response. While I sleep I feel them in the palm of my hand and the back of my mind, whispering soothing sounds of regret that they cannot physically be present. When I wake up I feel all my strings wrapped around me as if every connection I have has enveloped me in one big hug.

Feliz anivers�rio vov� Machado. Eu me lembro dos abra�os.

Love it or hate it, you always remember your first

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Editor’s note: I haven’t written a story in a while for the blog, but I hope to have a few out soon. I did manage a small coup and got one of my best friends and an awesome writer to author a guest post (with hopefully more to come!) about her first racing experience this last weekend.

Thank you Meghan!

This is a guest post written by Meghan Ewald

The race started fine. Good spirits and good weather made for a great first 5 miles. I smiled at others, chatted, even shared a bit of toilet paper I had carried with me with a woman standing at a port-a-potty (ah, race bonding moments). Police officers trundled back and forth along side the runners, and AED operators rode their bikes back and forth. The wind would gust and die periodically, but that first 5 miles was a beaut.

Just after mile 7, I turned the corner of NASA Road 1 and Space Center Blvd. I realized there was nothing to cut the wind. I was drenched with sweat and wearing a thin long sleeved shirt as wet as I was. The wind turned the shirt to ice. At first, that wasn’t so bad. I was running at a pretty good clip and the cold shirt cooled me down. That wind though… I wasn’t expecting that.

I developed a stitch in my side and slowed to a walk. Then I started getting cold. The wind blowing through my shirt and shorts caused actual pain when the material snapped against me. I started running between miles 7 and 9 only to be derailed by the stitch in my side. As I tried to walk off the cramp, a constant litany marched time with me through my head, “you have to finish, you have to finish.” Besides… the food was only 3 miles ahead and 7 miles if I turned back.

I tried to catch a few of the walkers in front of me, but I was wiped out. I was hungry enough to be shaky, I had a stitch in my side that I couldn’t shake, and my legs felt like Jello. I turned the corner just before mile 9 and walked through the water station, grabbing a cup of water. The volunteers shouted encouragements, “you can do it”, “you’re almost there”, “just a little further.” I don’t think I even smiled. Just walked with my head down.

Another runner, clearly done with the race, was walking in the opposite direction and took one look at my face. She just held up her hand for an encouraging high-five. I slapped her hand, and she kept going. She didn’t say anything, just smiled at me. She could probably tell just by the miserable look on my face that I had almost given up. That one smile from a perfect stranger was all I needed. After the mile 9 water station, I started to run.

There were markers along the last mile for those like me needing just a touch more encouragement. My favorites were those that just said “RUN” and an arrow pointing forward. Really that’s what it comes down to, doesn’t it? An arrow pointing in a given direction and a simple directive: “RUN”.

So I did.

After 2 hours and 21 minutes discouraged, hungry and wet, I finished 825th place, dead last in my age group. But, by God, I finished.

I continued beating myself up for a few days, completely discounting the first good 7 miles I put in, and only giving myself mild reprieve for running that last mile. I could only focus on the 2 bad miles I spent on Space Center Blvd wishing like hell a police officer would take pity on me and throw me over the back of their motorcycle instead of suffering one more minute.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to race again. Run yes, I told myself. Race, no. Although, now, I recognize that saying I wasn’t going to race was the equivalent of quitting running, too. Because once you start quitting on things, it gets easier and easier to do. I was tempted these last few days to cry off the Aramco Half Marathon in January. Clearly I wasn’t meant to race, what the hell was I thinking? My Easy run on Tuesday turned into a very long, very brutal Tempo run as I continued beating myself up. Consequently, my Speed workout on Thursday turned into an Easy run. I felt better after both, but not like I’d exercised the demon of my first USA 10-miler.

Then this morning, I found myself in a conversation about running. One co-worker said, with all the authority of a non-believer, “Running has to have a purpose. If you’re not chasing a ball, there’s no purpose.” I wasn’t thinking of the race, the race didn’t even cross my mind until later. I was comparing his statement to every good run I’ve ever had. The runs that make you feel powerful, as though you could go forever in any direction under just the power of your own two feet. Thinking of that, I responded, “Running is the purpose.” He scoffed, rolled his eyes, and gave me the “oh, you’re one of those…” looks.

And just like that, my faith was restored. I was a believer again.

Can I get a hallelujah.

Letter to Lizard

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Dear Lizard,

Imagine my surprise to come out of Ella’s room to find you staring back at me. I thought you were a snake at first, so I hope you didn’t take offense when I wished that you’d slither back to your hole. I called my husband to complain about you only to find out he was a few minutes from home. I had to work quickly to catch you so sorry about the numerous cups, paper funnels and other fashioned devices I had to use for my purposes. I know now that you are much speedier than I first estimated. I will be ready for you next time.

Isaac enjoyed me running into his room at full battle cry when you scampered under his door. By the way, that was the first nap he had taken in a week, so I don’t appreciate you tricking me into waking him. I refuse to believe that Isaac was frightened by me letting out scared little screams as I tried to capture you, so I blame you for any psychological damage that will result from the attempts. Running under his bed was a nice move. Bet you didn’t know I could call upon super human strength to hurl the bed across the room to get to you, did you?

The past 24 hours that have passed since I discovered you have been interesting. I live in constant fear, thanks to you. Every light switch for which I reach, blanket I pick up, and step I take is riddled with anxiety that you will be lurking underneath. Isaac however, seems invigorated with our random “lizard hunting.” He wields the flashlight with all the skill of a college student on a weekend bender. He excitedly insists that lizards “could be anywhere!” Ella’s diapers, the neighbor’s drive way, and up his nose are the most highly suspected lizard hideouts. Ella slept better last night and if you had anything to do with it then, congratulations, you are finally earning your keep.

Some people have joked you will become our pet. I have no clue how to take care of a lizard. I just learned how to take care of children and you can ask them how that’s been working out. Unless you want to become a Seeing Eye Lizard for the Blind I suggest you stay clear of me. You will have to take care of yourself, but listen up Lizard, there will be no sharing of resources in this house. That Ben and Jerry’s S’more ice cream in the freezer is mine! Just ask my husband what happens to those who try to force me to share… Oh wait, never mind, I just read on Google you eat spiders and other bugs. You can help yourself to as many of those you wish to consume. We have plenty. I also read that you like dry climates and so excuse me a minute while I go remove the trap I have set for you in the bathtub.

Let’s cut to the chase, lizard. I want you gone. I realize that you have little opportunity to accomplish this goal, so I will make you a deal. I will agree to leave the sliding glass door open for a small amount of time in the mornings. Don’t let the screen door hit you on the way out. Please do not abuse my generosity by inviting in all your other free-loading lazy lizard friends. I hope you realize I could just as easily order your execution without trial.

Now who’s afraid?

Take care,

Tina

P.S. I have friends that believe “take care” at the end of a letter is the equivalent of saying “I hope I don’t see you again” but nicer. It is pretty much the literary version of a middle finger. I’ll let you ponder that one when you are a safe distance doing your lizard tongue thing on some rock, miles away from my home.