this evening, a run was held to remember JT Tumilson, a Navy Seal who was one of the 38 men killed on Saturday, August 6th in the Chinook helicopter in the eastern mountains of Afghanistan. At 8:30pm, Mike Rouse (a dear friend of mine), his wife Kimmie, and hundreds of others met at Mission Bay to run whatever distance they chose, in honor of JT and his service for our country. Mike and Kim were close friends of JT's, having known him for some time. JT was a regular in the running and tri community out there and if anyone knows the Rouses, you know he was in good company:)
i met JT two years ago, at Shakespeare's Pub. I think it was a Tuesday. Rousey and a gang of maybe 10 people met there every week to reminisce, laugh, talk triathlon, running, you name it. Rousey pulled Mary, Joe and I along and boy, did we have fun. To say JT lit up the room would be an understatement. His kindness, his laughter and his genuine desire to be present with everyone around him was enough to light up the whole of San Diego. I mean that truly. He was awesome.
So tonight after work, I threw on my running shoes for a lap around the river. In those 30 minutes, i thought about how briefly I knew this man, how much I grieve his passing. How very brave and determined he was - a soldier who fought to keep our country free, who's greatest sacrifice came out of a great desire to serve his country.
And I am so very grateful to him. My heart goes out to his family, his friends, his comrades and the families of the fallen. All of the fallen, who have fought so courageously for my freedom.
And to the friends - or perfect strangers - who showed up tonight in Mission Bay, San Diego to run in honor and respect for a great man that was lost on the battlefield. May his life never be forgotten.
Have you ever just gone and done something without any expectations whatsoever? Maybe it was a last minute add, or perhaps you stumbled upon it and thought, “well why not?” or maybe you purposefully planned it and put no pressure on it to be anything but whatever it comes out to be. and sometimes when you do that - when you set no expectation it turns out to be The. Best. Time. Ever.
Well mine was the first option. sort of. i just returned from Boulder, CO for a few days with my twinner, Mary Mills. I had the Best Time Ever.
a few weeks prior to wheels up, my dearest awesome friend, Claire and I were out for an early morning run around the Charles and she told me she was thinking of booking a flight out to see Moo (Mary). WHAT. YES. DO IT. I couldn’t get the words out fast enough and suddenly, there I was, longing to be a part of it, too. the seed was planted. and with the help of another great friend, and some restructuring of work/life, i soon found myself annihilating trail mix in seat 30e, listening to bon iver sing halocene for the 8th time in a row and staring past sleeping businessman on my right at the wild atmosphere on the wing: we were soon out of the stormy northeast corridor, slicing through the bright hot blue winds of the west.
here we go, rodeo.
oh man, there are no words for the greatness of the 4 days. only four days?! It seems so much longer, and yet i write this from my couch - the only visible clue that i’d gone anywhere is my red-checkered burton bag with clothes errupting out of it.
a few snippets, shall we? The hilarious moment when a certain person almost lit the house on fire. No big deal. The laughter that lasted for days once we were able assure her that no, we wouldn’t need to buy Joe a new stove and that yes, electric kettles heat water electrically - no need to place one on the burner.....
or getting last minute tix to see john butler trio at the fox theater, where we jumped around and danced and laughed and sang hard to songs we knew and harder still at the ones we didn’t. or mary and I being told that we needed our own radio show by the lead singer of the opening act. because we found him outside and proceeded to talk about life for awhile. we almost, a l m o s t sang him our answering machine messages. we were THATCLOSE.
meeting up with people out there that i love. Joe Gambles, Mary’s beau and someone who I respect and care for and love that he loves my twinner , Jarrod and his quiet calmness, his kindness, and his ability to flippn run forever, Rinny, Darcie, Mary’s running friends, Heather and Ewen, the BBQ, the dare that I can’t wait to see come to fruition after Kona.
or the runs. the beautiful marshall mesa, the back side of teller farms, Cottonwood Trail loop with Mary and Jarrod....even the Res where i stupidly ran long in the heat of the day, then drank wine. smart. but even THAT was fun.
I won’t go into it all. all the fun we had, I mean. because maybe to you it looks downright boring, or maybe it makes your vacations look better or bad. it’s not really the point, I suppose. I suppose what you need to know here is that i didn’t expect to feel so filled up after only a few days. that I came away with a greater sense of self, of that great web of support and friendships that you sort of know is there but when you fall into even the smallest end of it, you feel its strength. I am grateful to know what it means to love and be loved.
I will end with this... this moment that may seem insignificant, but it pretty much sums up the long weekend for me:
It was the middle of the day. Joe had come back from training, Mary and I back from a run, Jarrod back from his run. We were all sprawled on the floor, the couch, talking about our adventures and soon we were fast asleep. Just....fell asleep. I remember waking up after about 20 minutes and not really knowing where I was. I turned and on my right was Moo, Jarrod beside her, and Joe, arms up over behind his head, sound asleep. I smiled and closed my eyes again. i liked this moment forever.
this picture and this poem. there's an innocence in them, and while the two aren't tied, they make me smile. they sum up what it means, this growing of Up...
in the summertime, 7:47pm is the best time of day. the sun sits low in the sky and the whole world is awash in rich yellows. sometimes, the sky seems so thick with the day’s residue heat, that even the particles of light fatten into lemony brilliance. it’s a soft sort of beauty and if i were to skim the sky with a knife, i would come away with a pad of sweet butter.
usually, about an hour before the Best Time of Day, I grab my bag and head out to the river. i like to go to the dock after work. the dock with the best view is fortuitously the dock closest to my apartment. oftentimes it is filled with messenger gangs (i hope i coined the phrase, but they’re harmless really) - just bike couriers who are either finished for the day or have come to grab a quick break with their friends. i know this because i hear them talking - large circles of black-clad 20-somethings whose bikedom is a wreath of beater fixed gears and sweet rims laying at awkward angles against the flexing wood. i usually find the corner of the dock and splay out and stare up at a meandering sky, grateful for this sweet spot on the river. i am reminded of how many times this dock has been a friend...
in the winter, my breath froze in the air as i whispered my hands warm for the run ahead. i would pause and watch a crow make it’s circles in the sky, the buildings lashed together like frozen corpses my busy mind draining until it matched the gray sky that matched the frozen river. so quiet and so cold. this unforgiving season promised to us every year brings a beauty in it’s cold claws.
when it’s really nice out and i have no place to be, i’ll usually end my long runs on this dock, cooling down by it’s the edge. i twist and turn and tuck and lunge and reach and gasp and breathe the musky wood and marshy waters. the greatness of this post-run moment is usually amplified by whatever song is on my ipod and if it’s temper trap, jonsi, freelance whales, lykke li or the like, i feel as though i’m in a movie and this is the part where i am the coolest.
the granite steps that lead down the wooden planks is where i sat with a friend who’s heart was breaking. while strangers took their turns by the water’s edge reading, talking, dancing, stretching, we kept our bent knees facing west, sharing our hopes for each other’s lives, and bouying our hearts with truths that will endure. with the sun setting we rose to find our way back, leaving the rich dusk to the geese and night owls.
these past few months have gone by quickly. the sky turns darker sooner, the wind picks up and on it you can feel a change coming. these days play out unaffected by our daily lives, rolling from one dawn to the next, because it’s what Time does....and yet. we are so much changing. or so much staying the same - but isn’t that change, too?
i’ve recently been to oregon for a family reunion, to maine to my beaches. to maryland for my grandparent’s 60th anniversary, and soon to boulder, to visit my twin. so much has happened and so much has changed. we put things down on a calendar and we count the days. but the days that carry us there are the ones where we become. the dock days. the every days. the days where we shut off our brains, lie on on our backs and face the blazing sky. maybe we hold the hand of a friend, maybe we let our hand be held. breathing it all in, it all deeply in. and then maybe we see we’re just a little further along than we thought. the musty watered wood that stretches out beyond the tides takes us farther out then we could ever be on our own. and sometimes that’s just enough.
it’s been a while since I thought about how much i haven’t written on this blog:) it initially started as a highway for my thoughts when i was living in Maine, unsure of what I was going to do next. now it’s the quiet street i look to longingly whilst stuck in traffic. i promise i’ll be better.
so i was on a run yesterday, having spent a few minutes toying with the idea of skipping out on a soppy river jog altogether and taking the core vinyasa class up at back bay yoga instead. after some contemplation and a few blinks through the blinds, the 9pm walk home from yoga in the rain didn’t sound as appetizing so I hustled on some weather gear + headed to the steely gray Charles for inspiration. a neighbor was just heading out for a run, too. we smiled at the traffic light and took to the storrow bridge connect together. his pace was much faster than mine. and though tempted to try and hang, i willed my body to take it slow, instead watching his legs flick like matchsticks across the pavement and out of view. i was impressed with the number of people on the river getting some sort of exercise. i mean it’s May but it’s not like it’s 60-degrees and sunny. More like 48-degrees and pooey.
the thing i love about a run is how much you can accomplish in your mind throughout it’s course. the sorting, the questions, the frustrations or thought patterns seem to iron out. it’s a gift. a shake-down of all that is real and personal for each of us. the talisman.
the rain came a little harder as i rounded the Science Museum. i took an internal tally of the bod: psoas has been feeling good lately. hamstring will tighten as if on cue at mile 2 and so goes the calf and the soleus - but nothing bad. the shoes are losing a little bit of their strike - i could feel the pads of my feet against the ground. it felt good and i’m tempted to hold off on buying a new pair of kicks. my feet feel stronger (or perhaps that’s just the post-Born To Run-glow in my body talking. i loved that book for many reasons).
i turned down Memorial Drive and the windrain smacked my face. that’s one thing the river never loses sleep over; it’s headwind.
i started thinking about the last few weeks, how so much has changed, and yet.
the last few days have felt like a celebration of sorts:
my mom just finished up a show in Boston (To Kill A Mockinbird). For the last month she’s pretty much been my roommate, with rehearsals lasting well past 8p and the drive to Maine too far for an early morning start. we had such a great time together.
last week, I decided to do a 3-day juice cleanse (queue the collective gasp). Yes, friends, each day for 3-days I survived on six, 12-oz purposefully made juices of the garden variety - and i mean that quite literally. There are plenty of cleanses out there but mine came in the magnificent form of Organic Avenue’s 3-Day L.O.V.E. Cleanse, which consisted of a shot of chlorophyll (from alfalfa) followed by a bunch of pure, non-pasteurized, vegan veggie/fruit drinks - stuff like celery-cucumber-spinach. Stuff that quite honestly will make ya gag after a few swigs (i got there). I remember one particular moment when a stray grain of cooked rice from the beautiful dinner my mom had made was lying on the counter. I picked it up and thought about how good it would taste. i don’t think i’m going to do another cleanse again.
i thought about ben - this incredibly incredible human - and what a great time we’d had the previous weekend. how we’d gone up to his family’s camp in new hampshire for a wedding and had plenty of adventure. we’d seen a bear on a trail run, canoed all sides of the lake, made big meals, drank lots of coffee (well, i did) and rebuilt the dock for the summer months.
rebuild.
rekindle.
renew.
repromise yourself.
we never stop learning about ourselves, even when we think it’s over - it’s not. i have found i am stronger than i thought i was. i am powerful and it’s not about proving it every time my legs hit the river for a run. there are people who turn up and excite you just when you think the towel should be thrown. and months later, you look at the towel and wonder where the H-bomb you got the silly idea that a towel needed to be thrown. there are friends who encourage + propel the heart forward. there is enough will power under these lungs to last SIX days on juice (though i’ll never try it). we are a moveable canvas of incredible strength and grace and fluidity. i’ll never stop learning this.
i felt strong as i turned off mass ave and headed up marlborough, the final stretch towards home. it was raining hard now but it didn’t bother me. looking at the forecast i figured i’d better get used to it. besides, it will leave more time for me to get on this computer and keep up twelveohsix. hopefully. :)
xokay
ps - saw fleet foxes at the orpheum last night. simply beautiful.
I’m just getting over the stomach bug and i feel like a new human. but oh the torture.
I left work early on Friday feeling like a cement block had taken up real estate underneath my rib cage and a pitcher of water had settled on top of my brain. A few waves of nausea later, words were swimming off my computer screen and so i peaced. I knew what was coming. I hate the stomach virus. loathe. i’ll stay at work pretty much under any other sick circumstances but when it comes to the digestive tract, peace out. you don’t want me there and i don’t want me there.
I tell most people, including myself, that I haven’t had the stomach bug since third grade, but I know that’s not true. I like to think I have the constitution of a horse (which I hear is great), but if I think real hard I know I’ve had it at least 4 times since then. The reason third grade sticks out in my mind is because I witnessed a situation which traumatized me forever. We all know that those years leave indelible impressions on us for the rest of our lives and definitely through the rest of 3rd grade. Here’s the skinny:
Her name was Regina Brown. She was a quiet girl with a soft smile and almond skin. I remember she always had these crazy braids in her hair which were tied back with those elastics with the bright plastic balls on the ends. She sat next to me in Mrs. Austin’s class at Annapolis Area Christian School. You stayed in one class the entire school day and at this time of day we were just finishing up our reading exercise. Let me pause right here for a hot minute and tell you that this was my absolute favorite time of day. I was the fastest reader (besides Chad Klakring who 1: was a showoff and 2: i had a crush on) and I’m pretty sure I could get through a paragraph or two without taking a breath. Anyway.
So we were reading and there I am buzzing through some story at mach 3 and Regina’s looking oddly pale and I can sense her fidgeting next to me but here I go I’m reading and I’m almost done my part and then I’m done and we all get to go to the water fountains so we line up. We line up and Regina’s behind me and I’m anxious because she’s awful quiet and it’s a different kind of quiet than her usual sweet shyness. She looked frightened. Walking up to the fountain amidst the jabber of antsy children and time suddenly slowed. I look behind me in time to see Regina fold her hands to her face as if making a cradle and positively upchuck an exorbitant amount of bright orange (think Hi-C?) through her hands. Throw up. All down next to me. The hall went silent. It was so foreign suddenly in this new space. In my experience these things happened at home, in the bathroom or - in the unfortunate timing of events - on the way to the bathroom. But never in school. We were horrified. Suddenly there was Mrs. A. ushering poor Regina to the girl’s room. We didn’t see Regina for the rest of the week. When she came back, and even till this day, I associate her and the stomach virus with the mental image of her in that hallway and the mortified look on her face and the uselessness of her hand bucket.
I could tell you the other less-gross story of how, in 8th grade, I went through a phase of having my dad drive me to school behind the bus for the entire route (which Mary still got on every morning) for no apparent reason other than the off-chance that the stomach bug would suddenly occur and I would be stuck on the bus and have to use a hand bucket, like Regina. This lasted about a month. My poor father. There are other stories - mostly from 8th grade since I think that was my "weird year" where I thought I caught every disease known to man. We'll talk about that over coffee sometime.
Today, I feel much better. I'm grown up and I took care of myself and I feel good about it. Fortunately for me, every circumstance thus far has had me safe in the privacy of my own home. But don't think Regina didn't cross my mind in my weakest hour: She did. And I can't help but laugh at the lasting impression a water fountain break made on me twenty-two years ago, and how it has affected the way I view the flu.
(I also haven’t been able to look at water fountains the same way since, but it doesn’t bother me nearly as much)
i can't wait to buy this album. it's fantastical drum beats and happy all the way around. here's the song that won't let my body rest - in the good kind of way. i want the purple sky + i want to run and run and run until my lungs break open and mix air trails with this rainy day. and we'll keep going.
