This week provided both a trial run and a treat for my 5-year old daughter, Claire and me.
All preschool year long, she's been begging to join friends for an afternoon enrichment program. From 9:00am-2:30pm, students get the opportunity to mimic a school day by bringing their lunch and learning in-depthly about a specific topic...this week is the Rain Forest.
The program is held Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday and so for 5.5 hours each day, I was a free woman while my littliest experienced a small dose of what next year will look like.
Resolute to make the time productive, I diligently made lists and Holy Fuck did I stick to them. Somewhere on those lists, I treated myself to a 6-mile run each day...logging 18-miles in the books.
And this is what I learned.
The magic for me as a runner is in the long, grueling, slower, endurance-filled mileage. I like it when it hurts. And in a strange way, it doesn't start to feel good until about mile three....because this is the sort of ridiculous monkey mind that I have to get through:
Why the fuck can't he remember to bring his Social Studies book home?
What am I going to make for dinner? What will they eat? I don't care what they'll eat. Let them starve.
Why am I on my period again? Why doesn't he have to be on a period and carry tampons for the rest of his life?
Oh shit! I forgot to remind him to schedule that thing. Damn it...I never got back to her. Ugh...she probably thinks I'm an incompetent flake.
Oh my God...the sun is shining. It's gorgeous outside. An early spring, indeed. Praise God!
Jesus...I just made it up the bitch hill. I'm gettin my mojo back. Not bad.
Argh...I left the whites in the washer again.
I have to cycle through all of the good, the bad, the ridiculously mundane, the seemingly never going to be different stuff to get to the really good adrenaline, endorphin boosts that remind me that I am alive and that today is a new day and eventually, in time, all be well.
This is why for me, running is a natural anti-depressant, a chance to keep my homicidal tendencies at bay and a way for me to release stress, frustration, exhaustion, martyrdom and overall, meanness...because underneath it, especially when I'm experiencing a visit from Aunt Flo, I can be a good old fashioned bee-yatch.
I run home. Jump in a hot shower listening to my favorite podcast or Voice blind auditions and look forward to having a few hours alone before my sweet Claire Bear jumps in the car telling me all about pythons, rain, humidity, playing outside and how excited she is to go back tomorrow.
I think next year is going to be really, really good for everyone. Be forewarned, if you're a reader, I'm probably going to be writing and running a shit ton.. it's the only way I've found to work out the kinks....18 miles of freedom.