clearing paths


I don’t typically come to this blog with an agenda. If I sit down to write a post here, it’s simply because I like to sit down and write posts here. I don’t need to say much, but it’s nice to say something.  I write here to figure out what it is I need to say.

When I try to sit down and make any attempt at an official article, for example, it’s like trudging through three feet of fallen snow. I can feel what it is I want to say, but to turn my thoughts into something other people can understand is extremely difficult.

When I go to the Y, one of the things I like to do is jog in the resistance pool, except I like to run with the flow of the water and not against it. The resistance pool is an oval shaped section in a greater set of pools. They have jets that push the water to form a current. When I’m running with the current it feels like a rebellion, or more closely, a freedom. “Yes! Finally! Something that makes me feel light, swift, and strong!” It feels like a break from the daily life business of doing all those good and normal things that can start to feel hard after awhile. When I occasionally turn around and do try to swim against the current, it takes a long time for me to gain any distance. Eventually I make it up the ten or so foot section of pool to the handrail, but it’s a very, very slow process. I usually imagining if this is what it’d be like to futilely attempt to swim toward the shore before being thrown over the rim of Niagara Falls.

I feel the need to say that I am not an athlete, not am I in any kind of great physical shape. I’m honestly just an average person. I think I gave the wrong impression one time to a man I was talking to over the summer about running and walking. We both wanted to run the camp 5K that fall and were talking about running through the trails. He asked if I ever ran here and I said I did sometimes, meaning, I have on occasion ran out here. But mostly, if I do anything at all, I walk. Fast forward to later that after the 5K run, in which I jogged occasionally but mostly walked, and finished last. My husband and all four of my kids who participated had finished before me. I was proud of them all, especially the littlest one, for sticking with the whole thing and doing it all in the rain. I was satisfied and proud of myself for doing and finishing something I said I wanted to do. That same man came up to me at the finish line, and after telling me “Good job” he said, “I thought you said you’d been running?”

I wasn’t upset or hurt by his comment, but I felt like I’d somehow not been clear or disappointed him.

I’m just me here, friends.

What you see is what you get.






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