As I sort of alluded to here and here (and maybe here – there, now you’re caught up), since April ended, I’ve drifted into a small social media/anti-public-writing slump. I actually keep sitting down with the intention of writing, and then have gotten sidetracked into something else (… or fallen asleep), and then days have gone by, and then I’ve tried again, and suddenly it’s the middle of June*.
*And 30-40deg, with SNOW, in between bookend days of 75-85deg glorious summer-ness.
It’s almost been long enough where all I really want to write is a play-by-play recap of Thingz That Have Been Happening(TM), which I usually despise doing, because I get bored by writing that and bored by reading it. But. Thingz Have (In Fact) Been Happening.
Most shockingly (drum roll?): I bit a massive, massive bullet a few weeks ago and went on a run WITHOUT MY WATCH for the first time in over four years.
(The fact that that is most shocking is really a nice testament to the pleasant-ness of ‘stuff’ right now).
I hit a breaking point a bit ago (tied in part to my whole anti-social media slump) where I just suddenly got very tired of feeling like a cell wiggling around on a microscope slide in magnified form, and ‘rebelled’. I set out on a foggy morning down into Martis Valley, and 45ish minutes into plodding through the wildflowers and mist, I stopped inadvertently lifting my arm to look or reaching over to my left wrist to hit a button. I power-hiked guilt-free back up through the woods, reverted to my old school guesstimation method of dividing the total-ish time I was gone by 10, returned back into my house, showered, and carried on with my day without doing the tedious Garmin to Strava upload.
And guess what?! I survived. I’m still alive. That run, and the two weeks of subsequent runs, did, in fact, still happen, despite their lack of presence on my Strava account right now. I have no clue how fast they were. I have a rough idea, thanks to my very scientific guesstimation, that I still ran 35-40 miles each week. But holy cow, it has been freeing, and I’m actually a bit scared to put it on again.
I decided (without much of a fight) to bail on doing any more summer races (unless there happens to be something random and cheap that crops up and I am in the mood), and I’m now, for whatever reason, acutely aware of how deeply my body is hurting and how ready I was for a bit of time with less intensity. I made it a few miles the other day and just wasn’t feeling it. Watch-wearing, training me would’ve had some internal debate and then kept going; non-watch-wearing, non-training me stopped, looked at the cow in the field and the blowing trees and the snow clouds hanging over the mountain peaks, promptly turned around to hustle back, and then gave myself some kudos for being ‘smart’ and ‘intuitive’ and not just pushing on for the sake of numbers and grit and worthlessness and whatever it is that sometimes makes it seem okay to pummel our bodies into movement-submission despite the flashing red alerts of PAIN-PAIN-PAIN.
Anyway. So running is happening, but it’s running for me, and while it’s ‘hidden’ from the world at the moment, it’s been filled with some lovely hours spent in the Tahoe wilderness, some in solitude and some with always-enjoyable company.
To really throw things off, we impromptu summer skied a few weeks ago at Squaw. Because the only people who really ski in June are hardcore skiers, the mountain was filled with legit skiers (like, pro and Olympic legit), and so I got to cruise through the parks (around the jumps, that’ll be next year’s adventure) watching these legit people do crazy freestyle things… and then we hiked up to the top on some very rocky terrain to ski down the other side, and I can confirm that climbing a mountain in ski boots while carrying skis is harder than any trail running I have ever done.
At some point over the past few months, I also skipped a decade and acquired a ten-year-old friend, and so in between the running and working, I’ve been spending a lot of time driving back-and-forth to elementary schools, getting my nails painted in bright, glittery colors, and watching softball games. I don’t hate it, at all… although I still just really, really do not understand the allure of the Fidget Spinner (but am, however, very jealous of whoever came up with and marketed this idea).
After cramming through three books one week, I took a break for a few days, but read Wonder by R.J. Palacio this weekend and highly recommend it. Between that and All the Bright Places, my young adult reads have been killing it this year. It was a nice break between the much heavier, psychology-related books I also slipped in.
This has been an insanely quick 9 1/2 months. I completely get now how people come here and never leave.