Run. Read. Repeat. Series #1 - Running and Reading in New England

So over the weekend, I came up with this idea to combine my love of reading with my growing love of running and do a blog series on it. But, not just a series on hey, I love to read and run so here's what I'm reading. No, this will be more of a travel series about places I run in different states/areas and all the cool little libraries I come across and a little bit about things I'm currently reading. A few months ago, I decided I was going to nerd out and do the nerdiest thing ever--compile a list of libraries in the United States I want to visit and then go visit them. I came up with this idea before I started running. I know that sounds nerdy to a lot of people, but to me that's what I believe Heaven to be like. A non ending visit to as many bookstores and libraries as possible. Goodness, just giving about all the places I will go (shout out to Dr. Seuss on that one) is giving me goosebumps.

Anyway, now that I'm a runner. Wait, a minute. I'M a runner? I'm A runner? I'm a RUNNER? ... I'M A RUNNER! Yeah, I'm a runner. How bout that? Anyway, now that I'm a runner I've decided to combine the two. More specifically, I want to be a half marathoner. The kind who travels to different cities to run half marathons who just happens to also visit libraries. Isn't that just the bees knees! No? Just me? That's fine. I know y'all will love it.

So since I decided to start this, I decided to back up to last month and have New England be my first post in the series. So without further ado, Running and Reading in New England...

Last month, I went on a retreat with thirteen other women to Charlemont, MA where we visited Shelburne Falls, MA along with Vermont and New York (the last two very briefly). This was a chance to connect with other women walking their own paths in life that crossed mine. More importantly, it was a chance to reconnect with myself. And, I did. I can't even begin to describe how absolutely beautiful and breathtaking it was there.

Gorgeous, right?! I know! And, I had the most pleasure of being able to run through this beautiful. This is what I envision when someone says "God's country." The beauty of it was overwhelming. The weather--at least the first two days-- was incredibly crisp and invigorating. Afterward, it became a little muggy and kind of felt like I was at home, except surrounded by the most beautiful trees ever. Which made me have an "A-ha moment" as Mama Oprah likes to call them. Being surrounded by such beauty, reminded me that we all have a season. Like the leaves on the trees we change, we fall down, and we grow back. More importantly, we have good strong roots to help ground us and weather any storm. I felt alive when running there. 

The second

I wish I had gotten a chance to run more. I did two runs. One was incredibly great and just made me feel alive, but it was COLD! I started my run as the sun began rising and it was incredible. I regret not having my phone with me to take pictures. But, it wasn't about stopping and taking photos. It was about reconnecting with myself and getting a chance to "run it out." I mentioned before I was depressed before the retreat. Truth be told, I'm still dealing with it, but I feel like it's not so heavy anymore. That run gave me that. My run gave me clarity and with each mile I ran, my life path seemed clearer to me again. 

One thing I really wished we had had time for was to go inside this library we stumbled upon. I don't regret it though because I know I'll be back. Plus, we went to so many indie bookstores that it would be silly of me to be upset over that one little library. I did get a picture though and pretend to put

something in the book return box.


 On day 1,  the first thing I noticed as we were going into town to have lunch was Raven Used Books. It smelled like old books, coffee, and dust. Exactly, what I believe Heaven to smell like. It was very difficult for me not to be the weirdo breathing deeply as if I were hyperventilating in an effort to smell all the books. But, I controlled myself and only managed to by one book for my middle son who loves books as much as his mom.

While I was there I finished this really great memoir titled Son of A Gun by Justin St. Germain. I won't go into detail to avoid giving it away, but it's well written story by the son of a woman who was killed. It's poignant, thought provoking, and definitely a good read. I also read a few chapters of Clash of Kings by George R.R. Martin and the November issue of O Magazine. What can I say? I'm a girl who likes to read.

It's Not Being Polite, It's Being Who They Are

So something has been niggling at the corner of my brain since yesterday afternoon when I picked up my two youngest from a birthday party. It was the first birthday party I have ever dropped them off and not stayed. I know! I've never done that. Ever. I've always stayed to talk with the other parents and keep an eye on my kiddos. But, they're getting older and I trusted the environment so I felt okay about letting them go alone, especially since they were surrounded by people who have become a part of my surrogate family.

When I picked them up yesterday, one of the other moms came up to me. I'd never seen this woman so when she came stalking up to me, I almost went into bitch mode expecting her to start some shit. For all I knew, one of my boys had made her kid cry or something. Not that I have boys who do that, but I'd never left them alone at a party so I prepared for the worst and hoped for the best. Color me surprised when she started raving about my middle son who gave up his seat at the table for her daughter. I wasn't surprised he had given up his seat. I was surprised at how floored this woman was by it. She went on and on and on... that I honestly though this was going to happen:

And then she asked me: how do you do it? How you teach boys to be polite? I can't even make my son not hit a girl.  And then I gave her this face:

After giving her that face for a good five to ten seconds (partly because she wants to make him polite and he hits girls), I told her I didn't know how I taught the boys how to be polite. Seriously, I don't. I can't explain our lifestyle. Yes, I taught the boys how to say please and thank you, open doors and pull out chairs for girls. But their politeness isn't something I taught them or make them do. Their father and I set examples when they were young and they picked up on it. The fact that my Seany insisted the girl have his chair, now that blew me away. Can you say proud mama moment?

But it was crazy, it was like she wanted me to write out a step by step instruction booklet on how to treat others. I mean, I could...a guide to treating people right and not dealing with their bitchassness either...hmm...

So anyway, all that has been niggling at the corner of my mind. When did we become a society that being polite, courteous, mindful, etc is the exception and not the norm? Why was this woman so surprised by my son's normal behavior? Why wasn't she baffled at the grown ass men who weren't giving up their seats for the moms juggling babies in one arm and a toddler on the other? Why was that behavior accepted as the norm and not the exception?

Either way, my sons are growing up to be the kind of young men I've always been proud of.

I Know Why I Run, I Know Why I Run With a Group

So today, I had that moment. That moment that most of us who run with a group experience at least once or twice or even a whole bunch of times when they run with a group. That "this is why I run with a group" moment. Today, I did the Walk Run Lead 5K with my run group, Black Girls Run. I came in last, dead last. Let that sink in for a moment. It hit me right around mile 2 that I wouldn't be finishing within my normal time frame of 40 minutes or so. And, I wanted to cry. This wasn't my first 5K, but my body was acting like it. There weren't a lot of participants so it was very clear to me that I was behind. Way behind.

There was one other woman (not with BGR) left on the trail. We were both keeping an eye on each other, slowing down, speeding up, staying in it together. Her name was Martina and she had been left behind by her husband. We quickly bonded and at that point, I stopped giving a damn about not hitting my time. We talked, we laughed, we commiserated. We enjoyed ourselves. We finished together, holding hands, laughing and smiling. We finished strong, we finished together with the help of my BGR sisters. Keisha came back and walked the last leg of the run with us. Ayeesha was at the finish line waiting. Others all greeted me when I made it over to where they were, telling me how good a job I did.

My group (along with Martina) made me feel good about my run. It wasn't about how fast I went or how long it took. It was about the fact that I made the commitment to complete it and stuck with it. It was the fact that I got my ass up on a Saturday morning at a quarter to dark thirty and went out for the run. I know who I am. I know that if I hadn't had my girls supporting me out there, I would have cried on my drive home, mad at myself for not being able to get out of my own head. It's funny because I was just talking with one of the girls before the race about how I left a different run group because I didn't feel supported. Whenever I would drag in last, no one was cheering me on for finishing. No one came back to run it out with me. No one smiled and patted me on the back. Instead, I felt judged and guilty for holding everybody up. There were many days I left that run group on the verge of tears because I felt like the kid in PE class that everyone groaned about when that kid was put on their team.

I didn't feel that way today. I've never felt that way with BGR! Whether they're cheering me on virtually or in person, they've got my back. I smiled on the way home as I thought of all the girls who passed me on the run cheering me on and giving me thumbs up. From "the turnaround is just up there" to "you got this girl" to the "keep it going chica" to the "get it girl", I felt loved and supported. I felt happy to be a part of this group. Even when I saw other BGR girls who weren't running the race, but were getting in their own runs, they encouraged me to keep going too.

That level of support is why I run in a group. That level of support is why I left smiling. That level of support is why I didn't feel like a failure. Because, I'm not. I'm an amazing woman and those women made me feel every ounce of that amazing today. These incredibly awesome women helped me learn how to be okay with where I finished and be proud of the fact that I finished.

Sure...Whatever...I Guess.

So here I am again trying to make peace with getting rid of my uterus. It's such an explosive topic for me. I've got a surgery date set, I've made plans for the boys, and I'm making arrangements for work. I'm even trying to get over my feelings of feeling _____________, I don't know I can't describe it. So everything is set to happen, things are moving right along and I'm on board with it. I guess.

One thing I'm not okay with are the people telling me it's no big deal and that I'm done having children so what does it matter. Seriously?! Get the fuck out of here with that bullshit! It's my fucking uterus and regardless if I'm done having children or I plan to populate a small island, it's MY uterus! MINE!!! Not yours! YOU don't have to have YOUR uterus taken from you. Keep in mind that this is a general rant and not a rant about you (yes you!) who is reading this). Anyway, yes, it's mine. I've had it for 31 years and while yes for more than half my life it's given me issues, it is STILL mine.

And, I'm not okay with this, but I need to get okay with it because it's happening. At this point (and yes I fully accept I let it get this bad), my uterus is pretty much trying to kill me. Like seriously, holding me at gunpoint and forcing me to choose life. I know! Stupid, little bitch was exactly what I said too. But don't let me hear you calling her a stupid, little bitch because she's MY stupid, little bitch and only I have SLB name calling privileges. Again, anyway... this has to happen. I'm trying to accept this. Accept that I can no longer cancel in the 11th hour. So this is happening.  Unless of course a miracle happens and it's revealed that not only is my personality awesome, but I'm also self regenerating and my body rejects the fuckery that my uterus is putting me through and cures itself.

So yeah... my work husband thinks a party is in order where we serve bloody Marys. I laughed so hard when he said that, I snorted. So disgustingly gross, but hilarious. I don't know. Maybe. Perhaps even a little repass or mini funeral for my uterus. Ooh, I could probably get a death wreath too! But then I wonder if that would be mocking the dead? I don't know. And what kind of eulogy do you give a uterus?

Friends and family, we're gathered here to say goodbye to the one thing in Makita's life dedicated to making her miserable--her uterus. There were good times. There were bad times. There were times where she made Makita cry with joy and times where she made Makita curse her six ways from Sunday. Makita affectionately liked to call her a stupid, little bitch. Boy, was she good at living up to that role and giving her all to earning that name. But, we cannot forget nor downplay the beauty she had a hand in in helping Makita to bring forth children. Such a mixed bag she was. One moment Makita's best friend, the next her worst enemy. So it is with mixed emotions, we gather to say goodbye you stupid, little bitch may you rest in peace so that Makita can.

 Hmm... that wasn't too bad for off the top of my head. I just need to do something to make peace with my beautiful uterus who gave me 3 wonderful children and saying goodbye to her. That isn't too morbid or make people think I'm way too far gone. 

*Untitled*

So this post has no title simply because I couldn't think of one that fully expressed everything I wanted to say. I'm back from my Fall retreat trip with thirteen amazing women. I'm not going to talk much about the trip because I felt like we reached a level of intimacy that is sacred. Yes, intimacy. Get your mind out of the gutter! The definition of intimacy is not just sexual intercourse. It's actually a close familiarity or friendship. And that's what I feel like I found on this trip. It could have been awkward, it could have been a number of things, but it wasn't. It was comfortable. It was warm. It was something special that I could never fully express. To put it simply, it was something you just had to be there to get.

Warning: The next paragraph or so may be a trigger for some. So proceed with caution. 

One thing I will talk about is my depression. My depression over the past few months had been building. To the point where it felt heavy and impossible to carry. You know that feeling you get of uncomfortable fullness when you over indulge yourself on a rich, heavy meal like during Thanksgiving? Or Christmas or Easter? When you've eaten so much, you can't bear to move because you're uncomfortably full. Well, that's how my depression felt. Except, there wasn't the level of satisfaction of having enjoyed a really delicious meal. There was only shame and disgust I felt. Angry at myself for feeling how I felt and shamed of myself for trying to hide it for the sake of others. I felt like a stranger living in my body. I didn't know myself or what had happened to me. Where had I gone?

The only thing I did know for certain was that I wanted to cut Makita out. To bring her back to the forefront. Whoa...cut? Yes. This may be the first time I've publicly acknowledged this and I know many of you will not understand. And that's okay. It's not my job, nor burden to explain it. It took a lot of time for me to understand that. I've been a cutter off and on since I was about 15 years old. Even if I tried to explain the reasoning behind it and what it does for me, I wouldn't know how. Plus, that's not a burden I want to unload on friends. That's something for my therapist to help me with. So, please don't feel pressured to try to help me.

So anyway, my depression built up so much that I wanted to cut myself loose. Boy, did I want that "relief". The good thing is I've spent a lot of time in counseling, both individually and in a group setting, where I've learned what my triggers are. The signs, the gestures, the things that set me off. And, how to see when I'm on the edge. And because of that, I have a plan in place. That plan saves me. It saved me this time. I haven't cut in over 3 years and I'm dedicated to going the distance. Unfortunately, there isn't a chip or token for "sobriety" for cutters, so I usually buy myself something extravagant to reward myself. Last year was a crazy shopping spree at Half Priced Books. This year I'm not sure what I want, but I know I want it. To stay "sober".

So the retreat helped a lot. Don't worry, before the retreat I'd started seeing my therapist twice a week to help me manage. And I'll start back again with her now that I'm home. But something during the retreat simply opened me up. I spent one afternoon in bed alternating between crying and sleeping before finally jumping out of bed and going for a short run to help release it all. I still feel heavy, but no longer uncomfortably full or weighed down. I feel like Makita is finding her way back to the surface on her own and is breaking free instead of being cut out.

Rolling down a hill of leaves. I can see her peeking through, can you?

I feel good. I know I'm going to be okay.