Chapter 51

The promise of cheaper insurance rates is about the only thing that’ll get me in to see the doctor on a somewhat regular basis. Thanks to my employer’s wellness program (wellness points = cheaper rates) and convenient health center, my list of excuses for why I don’t address any physical ailments I might have has dwindled considerably. In an effort to keep a promise I made to myself, I’ve had an annual physical every year for the past several years and it always occurs somewhere around my birthday.

Between my visits and the frequent visits I make to the health center for the girls, I’ve gotten to know the Physician Assistant, Lauren, quite well over the years. I’d say she knows as much about me as, or even more than, my therapist. I hadn’t had a general physical in years so imagine my surprise when I showed up for my first one a few years ago and she asked me a question about my mood. I almost didn’t understand the question. I thought I was there for a physical. I paused and contemplated it for a moment, and then burst into tears.

If you know me, then you wouldn’t be surprised by that. My feelings sit just below the surface. I’m an easy laugher and really easy crier; a deeply thoughtful and sensitive person. Author and speaker Glennon Doyle describes it perfectly when she says, ” I understand now that I’m not a mess but a deeply feeling person in a messy world. I explain that now, when someone asks me why I cry so often, I say, ‘for the same reason I laugh so often – because I’m paying attention.'”

At that time, the tsunami of emotion was likely the culmination of simply trying to hold it all together for far too long. A new job, a divorce, a new relationship, and parenting four teenage girls among other stressors. I felt like I’d been running sprints one after another in succession. The dam had to break at some point.

Little did I know that it was just another marker in my unraveling, and that it would take a few more years for me to break completely open. Last year, just before I turned 50, was the break.

I would like to say that my fiftieth year started with a bucket list-type of trip and was my best year yet, filled with travel and fun and friends and only good times. But to be completely transparent, my fiftieth year was full of difficult truths, conflict and confrontation, hard decisions, solitude, study, cycle breaking, and self reflection. There were so many tears, tough days, and a lot of discomfort. It was ugly, for sure.

Still, I can say it was my best year yet. My family and good friends rode it with me and saw me through it. I still found reasons to smile and laugh. I had some professional success. I slowed down enough to meet myself again and found out that she’s pretty great. There were highs to match the lows. And were it not for all of that ugliness, I wouldn’t be walking into Chapter 51 a more authentic version of myself, standing on a solid foundation, with an open heart.

A few weeks ago, I was at the health center for my physical. It closely resembled a session with my therapist with added discussion about things like mammograms, sleep studies, and easing the strain on my aging joints. I managed to get through it with fewer tears. But when Lauren was walking me out she said, “I am so proud of you for the work you’ve done on yourself. You’re so brave. Most people don’t get to where you are.” And that was the line that sent me over the edge.

The truth is that I didn’t trudge through a shit pond for a year to arrive at some beautiful, magical place where I’m completely healed and will never fuck up or slide backward again. And it is hard some days to fix my gaze toward the future, to resist the urge to look back at the last fifty years as a wasteland of failure. Some days still feel like I’m in the shit pond. Awareness cuts both ways, folks.

But here’s the thing. If I take all of that awareness and just sit on the bench, if I never enter the arena, that isn’t brave. That isn’t living. It is still a form of self protection. Every relationship – every single one – provides challenges to my resolve and opportunities to change my patterns. It’s exhausting and uncomfortable, but incredibly beautiful at the same time. That is, if you’re paying attention.

Much love,

Carmen

P.S. If you’ve been following me for a while, you’re probably looking for my song of the year. I usually pick a song that reflects where I’m at in my life. Last year it was My Future by Billie Eilish. This year I would have to say that the lyrics of Slow Burn by Kacey Musgraves perfectly capture me and where I’m at right now in every aspect of my life.

Lessons from the Trail

I got some miles in for Global Running Day yesterday on what has become one of my favorite trails. It’s called Hidden Valley Park and is just a short drive from my house, up by Worlds of Fun in Kansas City. It’s a 3.2 mile loop through woods with huge trees and around a colorful valley with a breathtakingly beautiful but very deep ravine. The thought that at any moment, I might slide off the trail into the ravine – especially when it is slick with mud and leaves – is a good motivator and reminder to stay alert and sure-footed. I have learned so much about myself and about life through running – whether I’m on trails or pavement – that I could easily write a chapter book, but I thought I would just write down some of the highlights as a way to mark the occasion.

1.) Solo. It has taken me years to figure out that I am a solo runner and, most importantly, to be okay with it and even unapologetic about it. For a long time I felt pressure, admittedly, mostly self-imposed, to be in a running group or have a running buddy. To embrace the social aspect of it. To use group running for accountability. I also know that as a woman, running alone is a risk, so there is a personal safety aspect to it, as well. I would gaze longingly at the groups of women running together in my neighborhood and think, why can’t that be me? What is wrong with me? But what I’ve learned about myself is that I just need solo time. Time without external noise or responsibility for being a good listener and holding up my end of a conversation. Time to process emotional shit, to recharge mentally, and to get in touch with my body. For me, trail time is that time. So if I meet you and you’re a runner, too, that’s great. *fist bump* But I won’t be inviting you to run with me. New boo? Yesss! Guess what, though. You can come with me every now and then, but don’t expect a standing invitation. Doesn’t mean I don’t love ya. It is just me time.

2.) Support. I am a naturally independent person. I don’t ask for help very often, and this has without a doubt impacted my relationships. I had a partner tell me recently that he didn’t offer help to me and didn’t feel needed by me because, “You look like you always have things under control.” I learned two things in that moment. First, he was a completely self-absorbed jack ass who wasn’t paying attention. And second, there was probably some truth to that. It was a real wake up call for me. Did I show my true self in relationships? Was I too busy helping him that I didn’t look like I, too, needed help or support? Because the truth is that I play things fast and loose in every aspect of my life. I, more often than not, feel like the wheels are gonna come off, and some support would be really nice. You may be asking yourself what in the hell this has to do with running, so here it is. My absolute favorite shoes to run in are my Adidas Ultra Boosts. They are lightweight and super flexible. Sock-like. What I’ve learned is that trails are very different, though, and I really need extra support. When I get cocky, I wear the Ultra Boosts. When I step fully into myself, my humanness, I lace up the trail shoes. Yeah, they are clunkier and definitely don’t feel as good as my Adidas, but when I hit a root or a rock or have to jump over a fallen log and am not sure what’s on the other side, I’m always grateful for the extra support they provide. And they ensure I live to run pain-free another day. Full disclosure: I ran in my Ultra Boosts the past two days. I did say fast and loose, didn’t I?

3.) Fear. The whole truth here is that I’m still battling this one. Besides the ever-present thought that I might slide or stumble and go into the ravine, there is a part of this trail in particular that I just can’t bring myself to run through. That stretch of the trail, to me, feels a lot like a roller coaster ride with its quick ups and downs and sharp turns, and even a bridge. A little bit of personal history, I ran track so I love speed. I can still hear my coach yelling, “Dig, Carmen! Dig!” This part of the trail isn’t so much about speed, though. It’s more about letting go and letting your body do what it knows how to do, and I’m finding that is the biggest challenge for me right now. So what am I afraid of? Falling? Okay, ouch. But I just get back up and move on, right? Why can’t I run through it? I made it three quarters of the way through yesterday but slowed up because I felt like I was going to throw up. I don’t have any answers here just yet, but just know I’m working on it. It’s so relevant and important to where I’m at in my life right now and how I’m showing up in all of my relationships – personal and professional. I feel like this is my Everest and by the end of the summer I’m going to conquer it. And I’m going to have a good cry and throw a party when I do.

4.) Partnership. Most of the trails I’ve been on are shared by hikers, cyclists and runners. Like healthy partnerships, sharing the trail requires good communication, respect, and an acknowledgement of and willingness to meet the other’s needs. That’s an oversimplification, for sure, but bear with me. No matter the trail, I try to be a good partner (it’s not all about me, right?) and use trail etiquette. I run off trail and use a verbal signal when I’m running by hikers. More often than not, I stop my run to hop off the trail to let a cyclist/cyclists ride by and I am more than happy to do so because I am usually given a “thank you” as they ride by, a simple acknowledgement that they’ve interrupted my pace and appreciate the gesture. Yesterday, however, the trail was overrun by cyclists who either weren’t aware of trail etiquette or who just didn’t give a f*ck and I found myself in a game of chicken with one gentleman. Listen, I don’t give a rat’s ass how big your tires are, dude. My pace is just as important as yours (pro tip: goes for more than just running, if you know what I mean). The next time you try to run me over on the trail you’re going to get hip-checked into the ravine. Wait…that’s probably more of a warning than a lesson. Or perhaps, both.

5.) Softness. Life, like the trail, is rough. You trip and fall or get knocked flat out of nowhere and find yourself with fists full of mud. And sometimes you get completely uprooted and have to start over from the ground up. It’s easy to find yourself getting hardened by it. Defensive. Cynical. Hypervigilant. To armor up. This is more just a note to myself, and whoever else needs to hear this I guess. Living, in the realest sense of that word, an authentic life involves some risk. You grow when you stay soft and curious and open to it, even if that means risking heartbreak.

6.) Music. It should come as no surprise to anyone that really knows me that music is such a motivator for me. I use it to get hyped, for a boost of energy when I’m tired, to set my pace, and to remind myself to breathe. I’ve written about this before, but I have a tendency to hold my breath when I’m under stress so I sing out loud when I run to remind my body to breathe. It’s crazy, I know, but it works for me. Sometimes I just use music as a soundtrack to whatever I’m processing through during my run. Anyway, if you’re looking for some new songs, you can find my current playlist here.

That’s all I’ve got for today. Hope all of my fellow runners got in some miles yesterday, too. See you on the trail!

P.S. If you have a favorite trail you can recommend or a new song for my playlist, drop it in the comments.

Carmen

I Saw the Sunrise

I arose early for work on Saturday and got in the car just as the sun was about to come up. When I hit the highway and rounded a corner, it was in full effect and I was moved to tears by the beauty of it.

My first thought was not to pull out my phone to capture a picture so I could share it with those who missed it. Very few photos, especially those shot out of a car window covered with a grimy mix of winter weather and road dust, do it justice anyway.

No, I thought first about my Grandma Ruby. I thought about how much I miss talking to her and the sound of her voice. Then my thoughts turned to my girls. Emily was back home in New York. Madison, Cameron, and Quincy were with their dad. My world was quiet, I was alone again. We’d all been together just the week before. Tears continued to roll down my face as I relived the memories.

Then a wave of thoughts rolled through and washed the memories away like waves erase images drawn in sand on a beach.

Would grandma be proud of me? What would she think of my nose ring? My divorce? What completely unpredictable thing will happen at the Market today that I’ll need to be prepared for? Will it be busy today? Do the girls remember her? If she were still alive would they be as close to her as I was? Will I have grandkids? If so, who will be the first to have kids? Please, let them at least get grown before they bring another life into the world. Is the dock elevator working yet? But if I have grandkids, will I be like my grandma? I should have looked for a house with a bigger porch so I could have a porch swing. When will the girls and I all be together again? Can I get some things knocked off my to-do list today? Can I pull off a family vacation this year? I need to have that rattle on my car fixed. And get a Missouri driver’s license. And switch my tags over.

And just like that my brain went sideways, with even that beautiful sunrise now a distant memory.

I was gifted a pair of socks for Christmas that say “Shhh…I’m over-thinking” on the side. And now you know why.

A yoga instructor recently took our class through a sensory grounding exercise that has been very helpful to me. For those who aren’t familiar, grounding is used to calm stress and stay focused on the present. You can learn more about it here and here. It can be used in times of acute stress and overwhelm, or as a daily mindfulness practice to lengthen the space between stimulus and response. If you find yourself living out unhealthy patterns, you may want to explore this space.

Being present-focused is something I’ve struggled with for as long as I can remember. Whether used as an antidote to intellectual boredom or as a salve to calm a hyper-stimulated nervous system, I was often the daydreaming kid who had an active and vivid inner world. As I have always loved telling jokes and stories, creating characters and dialogue, I used to explain it away as just having more of a creative brain.

More recently, I took a magnifying glass to my personal history in search of an answer to the question, “Is this just simply a part of who I am that I need to love and accept, or something I can and should change?” The answer, of course, is yes. It is a beautiful part of who I am that I need to love and accept and, dare I say, celebrate as an incredible gift. And, yes, it is something I can and should change when and where it renders me paralyzed, unable to move forward, and robs me of opportunities to fully enjoy my life and the people in it. I approach mindfulness work now with both purpose and heaps of grace.

As a music lover, it came as no surprise during the sensory grounding exercise that sound was the most effective at eliciting a near-immediate result. I’m drawn to a strong beat, an unusual voice, a rhythmic clapping, or random sounds thrown into a music mix, so it makes sense that sound would work for me. Laying quietly on my yoga mat that day, I latched onto the soft whir of the fans, the steady thrum of the HVAC system, the sound of activity outside the room. To use this practice when I’m not in a yoga studio, though, I need only sit wherever I happen to be at the moment, close my eyes, and focus on what I hear around me.

Now when I have meetings or there are things on my to-do list that are stressful, I may stay in my car focusing on the beat in a song for a few extra minutes before walking into work. You may find me sitting at my desk, eyes closed, listening to activity in the Market. Or I may take a few moments when I roll in the driveway before walking in to greet the girls at the end of the day. It is so simple, and I have already noticed a measurable difference between when I have taken the time to ground myself and when I haven’t. With continued practice, I hope to put some distance between stimulus and response, reign in my anxious brain and prolong my enjoyment of beautiful sunrises, among other things.

For my fellow music lovers, I put together a Spotify playlist of songs that work for me. The wordsmith in me usually pays attention to lyrics, but for purposes of this practice, I focus on the music, whether it’s a beat, a clap, or another sound. I recommend that you turn the volume up. Of course, if you know me, you know I like my music LOUD.

Namaste,

Carmen