The other day I went for a run. Just before I left the house I was looking for my reading glasses in order to choose the music to stream from my phone. When I wear contacts it makes me far-sighted, so reading glasses are a necessity. When I run I often can’t read my Garmin watch well because I don’t have magic telescoping arms. I couldn’t find the glasses but I was able to manage without, so I left the house knowing I would surely find them later. I ran an easy 2.2 miles around the neighborhood. When I came back I grabbed my giant water bottle and went out on the deck with the dogs – our usual post-run routine. When I set my phone and water bottle down on the ledge of the deck I happened to glance down just enough to notice… my glasses were hanging from my collar. They had been there all along! I was surprised they hadn’t fallen off while I ran and chuckled to myself. Then obviously went back inside and snapped this selfie so I could show you how obvious and ridiculous it was that they were hiding in plain sight the whole time.
Running is going well. I’m taking it easy and focusing more on consistency and speed rather than piling on the miles. Only one race officially on the books, and that isn’t until March. It’s a 5k so my aim is to see if I can break my personal record (PR) from the 2019 Turkey Trot. That time was 34:03, which is ridiculous fast for me. I ran the whole thing terrified of tripping or getting knocked over, so I’m sure adrenaline played a huge role in my speed. That was before I had purchased the deaf/blind vest and to be honest, that was probably the reason I got the vest in the first place. I knew I would feel a lot safer with that information displayed for other runners. I’m currently in the process of getting trained to use a white cane for very similar reasons, but that’s a whole other post. I’m sure you’ll hear about that from me later.
I’ve got some other stuff rolling around in my head to write about so until then, shalom y’all…
Finally, my post race recap. It gets a little messy in my head, so bear with me (you are welcome for that accidental pun!)…
We call this Flat Mel. It’s a runner tradition to lay out your gear the night before. One last check to be sure you have everything you need!
Allison and Mel, getting some pre-race fuel at Slabtown Burgers in Traverse City.
The Sleeping Bear race was four hours away, so I booked a motel in a nearby town for myself and Allison, my guide runner (all the lodging in the area was filling up fast!). We had to drive to Traverse City (also nearby) to pick up our race packets so while we were there I introduced Allison to one of our favorite T.C. restaurants, Slabtown Burgers. After dinner, we made a valiant effort to find ice cream for dessert, but were unsuccessful. All the ice cream shops were closed for the season!
The sun setting over Lake Michigan at Empire Beach
We drove to the beach where the finish line would be the following morning, and got some pictures of the sun setting over the water. Incredible to see. There was a local retired man with two goldendoodles there watching the sunset, and we chatted with him for a minute. I asked him about the hills on this course, after he told us he rides his bike on the trails all the time. He said there were a couple of decent hills, but assured us they were short (Spoiler alert: he lied.).
The morning of the race was cold. I think maybe around 40 degrees Fahrenheit? A little more than a few degrees above freezing. But the forecast showed it would be warming up to the 60s, so I dressed for that. You warm up quick when you are running, so it’s always wise to dress for the later weather, not the earlier. We parked at the lot near the finish line, and walked over to hop on a charter bus that would take us to the starting line. The charter bus was a welcome reprieve from the cold. Soft cushy seats, heat. I was making a conscious choice to enjoy this ride. I was excited to be surrounded by all the other runners, and excited to finally be running this race I had been training for.
Once we were delivered to our starting location, we got in line for the bathrooms for one last go. I was thankful to have a real bathroom available because I have a semi-logical fear of porta potties. And since we had gotten a pretty early start, the lines weren’t terribly long, and I was also thankful for that.
Runners waiting in line for porta-potties with the sun rising in the distance.
From the bathrooms we walked over to the starting line and waited some more. The sand dunes were to our left, and the starting line to our right. The sun had just started to peak out when we got off the charter bus, so by the time we were waiting at the starting line, it was in full sunrise glory. I got a great shot of the sun rising over the portapotties (the ones we didn’t have to use).
The starting line
While we waited we were able to cheer on the full marathon runners as they made their start, 30 minutes before us. And before long it was our turn. We counted down, and then we were off! The start of most races is always pretty crowded, and this one was no exception. I just tried to stay focused on not going out too fast, and let all the faster runners get around me (let’s be honest, they were all faster runners).
It was in that first quarter mile that I realized my Garmin watch was on my “walk” setting from the day before! So I didn’t have my pace showing in the big bold numbers, and I didn’t have my run/walk interval notifications. No worries, I was feeling pretty strong and told Allison I would just keep running at this pace (whatever that was) and see how it went. Throughout the race she was able to tell me how fast we were going, so that helped a lot. I wasn’t worried about missing walk breaks because I knew there would be hills coming that I would likely need to walk up (and down), so that was a fine compromise for me.
I can’t remember how far in I started feeling gassed, but it was a lot farther in than I had expected. I was feeling great. Super surprised at how well my legs were holding up. However, in the last half of the race there were lots of moments where I was running out of gas and needed the Gatorade that the race organizers provided at the aid stations. I knew that would be provided, so I intentionally did not bring any hydration with me. And as it turns out, that Gatorade saved me. Without those periodic pick-me-ups, I would have been slow walking the last half of the race, for sure. I would walk through the aid station, gulp my Gatorade, and minutes later that second wind would come and I felt like I could run again. It was quite fascinating to me, that such a simple thing could rejuvenate me so quickly and I was able to go from barely able to move my legs, to being able to run again.
I can’t give a play by play, because I don’t remember details of any race that way. I’m sure some people can, but I’m not one of them. I remember snippets. Like the time I tripped on a small crack and went flying forward. Allison thankfully had quick reflexes and caught me before I fell. Falls like that are so scary. They happen so fast yet they seem to happen in slow motion. During this race it happened around the 10 mile mark and I only remember that because that’s when I was starting to feel the major fatigue in my legs. Hence the trip and near-fall.
The last mile was an exercise in insanity. I was trying my best to stay in a running motion, but it was getting so difficult. I did have to walk some to rest my legs because I wanted to finish strong. So during the last mile I told Allison to stay close to me, because falling was definitely a greater possibility. I was starting to get mildly frustrated because there were so many turns in order to get to the finish line. I kept asking her, can you see it? And she never answered in the affirmative but assured me we were getting closer.
Allison and Mel crossing the finish line
The closer you get to the finish, the more spectators you see on the sidelines. At one point, a woman shouted to us, “You’re almost there!”. And I shouted back, “I don’t believe you! She’s (Allison) been telling me the same thing!” But alas, we did finally turn the last corner that revealed the finish. I couldn’t see it as much as I could hear it. The cheers and shouting were endearing. So many people there to support all the runners. And on our right, hordes of faster runners walking back to their cars with their arms full of snacks. That’s when I knew we were close – all the snacks. I forgot all the pain and weakness I was feeling and ran forward. Allison and I both raised our arms in the air and smiled big as we crossed that finish line.
I tried to walk out of the way of the runners coming behind me but my legs wouldn’t withstand walking, so I collapsed onto Allison instead. A photographer rushed over to help walk me over to the fence and someone offered us bottled waters. I kind of hate this drama at the end of longer races, because it really looks worse than it feels, but it’s unavoidable. When I’m pushing my legs that hard, I have to expect they are going to rebel. I think my prayer is always just that they wait until I cross the finish line for that rebellion. One of these days it could result in a DNF (did not finish) and that would be soul crushing.
After my legs resumed normal function (mostly), we sauntered (hobbled) over to the snack area and retrieved our hard-earned spoils. Banana, granola bar, beer, and orange slices!! I remember getting orange slices at one of the aid stations during the Grand Rapids Marathon and how it felt like a gift from heaven, it was so refreshing. On this day? Equally miraculous. The gentleman handed me two and I could have kissed him I was so happy. Orange slices never taste as good as they do after running all those miles.
To end the race experience we walked over to the beach area and took our socks and shoes off. The water was blocked off by a slight stone wall, so we didn’t put our feet in the water, but putting our feet in the sand was cooling enough. It felt amazing to sit and rest there. Allison didn’t know this about me, but I used to have a strong aversion to sand. I couldn’t stand touching it. Up until a trip with my family to the Michigan’s Upper Peninsula in 2020. We walked onto the beach so we could all dip our toes into Lake Superior and I found myself saying, “oh, this feels nice”. Which was such an odd thing for me to say, I surprised myself! Something about that trip I guess flipped a switch and now it doesn’t bother me. Sand, sugar, flour, it’s all okay for me to touch. It doesn’t make me cringe anymore, and I’m loving that change. But I digress…
We sat for awhile and then decided we were hungry, and ready for that post-race meal to replenish all that we had burned off. We had decided ahead of time to get pizza, because it happened to be something we both love. After some quick Google searching, Allison found us a highly rated pizza place, Papano’s, that had a location nearby. They had personal size pizzas, so we each ordered our own and got what we liked. It was a fantastic end to a full and memorable race experience.
A few months ago I signed up for a new-to-me 10k. The entire race event is set up to raise funds and awareness for pulmonary hypertension (PH) and multiple sclerosis (MS), and it offered multiple distance options. The name of the 10k distance was “Melinda’s 10k”, which is my full name so you know I just HAD to sign up. I did not look at the course map, and I had no friends who were running it but I wasn’t worried about it. I would wear my DeafBlind vest and be extra careful, and it would be fine. I signed up, and then forgot all about it.
A month ago I received a message from United in Stride, which is an online database that helps pair blind runners with guides. The company was founded in 2015, so it hasn’t been around for long, but I do believe it’s growing. I signed up with them several years ago, when I realized I was getting serious about running, but at that time there weren’t any guide runners in my area so I just forgot about it. Then comes this message from Allison, who wants to know if I need a guide runner for any upcoming races. At first I told her no, because I had forgotten about Melinda’s 10k, but then immediately came back and said yes, actually I do have a race I need a guide for. She was immediately on board! Not only that, she was eager to run a couple training runs with me, which was a great way for us to get to know each other ahead of the race, and for us to practice running side by side.
Me & Allison before the race. Lots of sun! All smiles.
We ran this race together, and it was a good thing I had her with me. For several reasons, much of the course we were the only ones in sight (or at least in my sight): it was a small-town race, not a lot of 10k participants, not a lot of spectators, and I’m pretty slow so I hang at the back of the “pack”. There were several spots in the course where I could have easily made a wrong turn and gotten lost. I was super grateful to have her with me. I had been hoping to beat my previous 10k PR (personal record) from 2020, but that wasn’t meant to be. Not only was it really warm this day, but my fatigue this past month was pretty gnarly and prevented me from doing the amount of training I needed. I was happy to finish though, and I wasn’t too far off my goal, so I’ve got something to work towards for the next one.
Me & Allison after the race, holding up our medals. Still smiling!
The best part about this for me, what I’m really excited about, is that it opens up more options for racing. Up until now I’ve only ever entertained the idea of running races local to me, where I could easily get a ride from my family or friends, and not have to worry about inconveniencing them. The couple I have done outside of our area, my family and friends graciously took me to because they knew they were important to me, but I’ve run out of those bucket list type races. Now I just want to keep racing for the fun of it. It’s hard to ask someone to bring you to an out-of-town race when there’s nothing in it for them but standing around waiting for you to drag your sweaty ass over the finish line (thank you a million times over to my dear husband who does this without complaint, and is always more than willing to hug me and hold me up at the end, despite my level of stink).
So. All that to say, I am stoked to have yet another running buddy. Allison and I have been talking about what other races we could run together, and I love her enthusiasm. I’m old enough to be her mom, which took some getting used to at first, but I think her energy helps to motivate me so it’s a great thing. She made us matching bracelets that say “Unstoppable”, and I’m looking forward to wearing mine at all our future races.
The finisher’s medal and the bead bracelet Allison made for me.
As I was writing this it occurred to me that I don’t think I ever posted about my race from last month, so I’ll get that one started for you too. It will be another great opportunity to talk about my invaluable guide runners. I couldn’t do this crazy stuff without them!
I know it’s been a while since I posted. I’m still writing almost every day, because it’s what I must do for my general sanity, but I haven’t felt a strong need for blogging. Well, that’s not true. This whole blog is pretty much my personal stream of consciousness, and I haven’t wanted to bore you with my thoughts lately. But I’m going to try to get back to it. I’m trying to work some consistency into my life with writing and exercising, so adding blogging into that isn’t a huge stretch. (That’s a lie, I started this post 5 days ago.)
Consistency is a challenge when you are having to work around bouts of fatigue. I never know when it will come and how long it will last. And to be even more honest, it really bothers me that after nearly 15 years with M.S., I still struggle this hard with fatigue. Thankfully it doesn’t send me into a tailspin of depression the way it used to. My brain is getting better at managing, I suppose. Thank you to my therapist for that. And for the Holy Spirit, who whispers wisdom when I make a point to stop and listen.
I’m still running. Still writing. Still deaf, and still mostly blind. I have days when I feel okay with my physical limitations. Days when I’m just putzing around the house, so it doesn’t interfere too much. And then days like last Wednesday, when I was out grocery shopping with a friend. It’s exhausting and psychologically taxing. For someone who lived most of her life as a people pleaser with strong codependent tendencies, it’s a tough switch to not care about bothering the people around me. This is the attitude I must take whenever I am out in public if I have any hope of not collapsing into a puddle of tears. Metaphorically speaking, of course. What I am trying to say is that in order to make it through a store, even a store as small and streamlined as Aldi, I need to put on my blinders and not worry that I might be in other shoppers’ way. There is no sign on my back that warns – “Slow shopper, please excuse” – in order to solve the mystery of why I’m staring for so long at a wall of bread. (They all look so similar and I have to carefully read the labels on the shelves.)
I’m not sharing all that to garner pity or validation (well, maybe just a little). I think I’m mostly sharing it because I want you to remember this the next time you are at the grocery store, or in line at a fast food restaurant, and the person in front of you is taking an excessive amount of time (from your perspective). Maybe there is someone on a motorized scooter parked right in front of the chips you came for, and you have to wait an extra minute or two. Does it irritate you? Does it make you mad? Remember, they are probably just as frustrated having to use the stupid scooter. So please, have some patience please. Your kindness goes a long way.
********** So that post went an entirely different direction than I expected. I came back to it today and groaned. This is the life of a writer. Not every day can be a great writing day, but you keep doing it anyway. The catch with blogging is other people are reading your crap writing and may be (gasp!) *judging* you. So I figured I have two options: obsess over every sentence to tweak and make it better, or delete it altogether. I’m going with a third option. Hit publish and move on with my day. I’ll be back with more updates, I’m sure. See you later, folks. Have a beautiful day.
I recently read a book for book club called Learning to Walk in the Dark by Barbara Brown Taylor. Ever since, I’ve been thinking a lot about the dark, and my relationship to it. When I lost my vision and hearing I became very afraid of the dark. My limited field of vision leaves me wanting more. If I could just get more light in, maybe I could see the whole picture. With more light, maybe I could see it all. But that’s futile wanting. Even with full light, I still can only see fractions. I’ve had extra lighting installed everywhere in my home. Extra lamps in the bedroom, recessed lighting in the living room, under the cabinets in the kitchen. It does help when I’m trying to get work done and need to see specific things. Paperwork, food I’m preparing, the dust on the couch. But it doesn’t fix it. I’m still partially blind.
How long to you feed the longing for something you lost? How long do you entertain the yearning when you know it’s not coming back? Is the frustration worth it? Probably not. When is it time to give up the striving? Probably now.
I’m learning to sit in the dark. I woke this morning to get the kids up for school. I know they are teenagers and should be able to do this for themselves, but I enjoy it. I enjoy being around them in the calm of the morning. I know I’ll miss it when they are gone. This morning when I came downstairs to let the dogs out, I intentionally did not turn on the light in the kitchen. We have under-cabinet lighting, so it wasn’t completely dark. But it wasn’t completely light, either. It was nice. Calm. When I let the dogs outside, out of habit I flicked the outdoor light on and our deck flooded with artificial light. It was harsh, and as I looked out into the yard I noticed the moon hanging low in the sky. It was a near full moon, and it was majestic. So majestic, that I decided I needed to turn off the floodlight and let the moon shine in all its glory. I stood on the deck as the dogs ran around the yard and just absorbed the blend of early morning light and dark.
Normally I would have been trying to conjure up some profound thoughts in response to this moment, but today I just wanted to be. I just wanted to breathe in the morning, thank God for giving me the moon, and let that be enough. Over ten years into this disability, I am still grieving my losses. I don’t think grief is a checklist to be completed. It ebbs and flows, and it never truly ends. But I am thankful that it has waned, and is not so soul-crushing as it used to be. I am learning. Learning to sit with the dark, look up to the sky for solace, and be okay. Because today, that is enough.
Today I used up too many spoons folding laundry and fixing lunch, so I had to make the decision to stop part way through and cross some things off today’s to-do list.
Spoons? What?! No, I’m not having a stroke. I’m referring to the Spoon Theory. I was trying to explain this Spoon Theory to my therapist this week, because she had never heard of it either. This article explains it much better than I can: https://www.goodrx.com/health-topic/mental-health/spoon-theory. Basically, it is a way that many people living with chronic illness conceptualize how to manage our energy levels. Each day we wake up with a set number of spoons, and as we go through our daily tasks, we use up those spoons.
I can say that for me, I never know how many spoons I’ll wake up with each day. My spoon rations (I.e. energy levels) are unpredictable and sporadic. I often have moments in the day where I feel energetic, but it hardly ever lasts very long. That happened today. I woke up feeling pretty well, considering the excessive fatigue I’ve been struggling with over the last month or so. I folded a load of laundry, started on a second load, and then noticed the time and realized I needed to eat. I went down to the kitchen and fixed myself a breakfast taco. After eating, I went back upstairs to finish with the laundry and just couldn’t. I had to sit down. Lie down, actually. Like it states in the article linked above, everyday tasks demand extreme effort. Getting dressed, brushing my hair and teeth, all cost daily “spoons”. I forget that fact and tend to overdo it. Repeatedly. I may never learn. But that’s why I’m grateful to have loving family members and friends who graciously remind me of my limitations (something like, “you have M.S., remember?”) and give me permission to rest (I know, I can give myself permission, but sometimes it helps to hear it from someone outside yourself.)
So. It’s only 2:30 pm and I’m thinking about what I have on my plate for the rest of the day, and how many spoons it will take to clear that plate. I am attending a sporting event for my son tonight and I know that’s going to require several spoons, so I’m resting in order to reserve my energy for that. Because even if I have enough spoons to get there, it’s likely I won’t have enough to pay attention to what’s happening or carry on conversations. With cochlear implants, having conversations uses up a lot more spoons than it did before I was deaf. Same with the vision. It takes a lot more effort to get around than it did before. Thankfully, my husband will be there to support me. That is always reassuring. But that act of evaluating my daily activities and how it will likely affect my energy levels is a daily thing. I think about it all. The. Time.
I’m not sharing all of this to whine, and I hope that’s clear. I just thought you might be interested in hearing a bit about what my daily life is like living with this chronic illness. As I told my neurologist earlier this week, managing M.S. is like a full-time job. Seriously. And I’ve had it “easy” for a long time now, so I suppose I was due to have some difficult days. I’ll get through this. Lord knows I’ve done it before and with His help, I’ll do it again. Slowly but surely, one day at a time.
So with that I say – take a break, reader! Go outside, listen to fun music, take a nap. And happy Friday… have a wonderful weekend.
Wow. I knew I hadn’t posted in awhile but I didn’t realize it’s been nearly two months. I’ve been okay, really. I’ve just been focusing on a lot of other things. And I’ve still been writing in some capacity all along, because I am still the ME who lives and breathes for writing. Writing seems to be one of those things that actually gives me energy. Mental energy mostly, not physically. The running helps with the physical energy. Since it is winter in Michigan, I have struggled to run consistently, because I detest the treadmill, and running outside is neither safe nor desirable. Even when I can bundle up for warmth, I still have the ice and snow to think about. I walk out my front door after a good snowfall and it’s a sea of white, covering potential icy hazards. So I’ve been trying to get to the gym for treadmill running and strength training, but it’s been a bit sporadic.
Also, all the sleeping! With shorter winter days and limited sunlight, I feel like I’m not alone in this. Needing more sleep seems to be the trend, so I’m not blaming the multiple sclerosis for this one, though I do think it’s heightened. I’m definitely needing more sleep than usual. And this year, I’m just accepting that. It’s fine, I’m fine, everything is fine.
We lost a close friend to cancer last month, and that has motivated me to stop wasting time with my memoir. Because he was too young. Life is short and we are not promised tomorrow, so we need to cherish every moment. So I’ve been chugging away at my memoir a little teensy tiny bit every day. All the books I’ve read on writing memoir compare it to training for or running a marathon, which fortunately I’ve done! So I can compare the two, and I honestly believe writing this memoir is proving to be more difficult than training for a marathon. But I also think it will be more rewarding once I’ve completed it.
Writing memoir requires a lot of introspection, self-awareness, and emotional gymnastics. I’m comfortable with this, but it does exhaust me in surprising ways. So I’m learning – again – when I need to take breaks, and giving myself permission to do that. Hi, my name is Mel and I’m a recovering over-achiever. Most nights I try to go to bed with a to-do list for the next day, and very rarely do I tackle everything on the list. The excessive sleeping has been a huge hinderance to that, for sure. Some days I’m writing stories, other days I’m organizing my ideas and brainstorming, and still other days I’m reading about writing. But if I can give the memoir even 15 minutes per day, I’m calling that a win because it’s progress. Snail’s pace progress, but still progress.
So that’s kind of a snapshot of what I’ve been up to. Sleeping, writing, and sporadic exercise. What else, folks? I guess that’s all I’ve got for now, but I wanted to pop my head up and let you know I’m still around, and I’m doing well, overall. I hope the same is true for you. Shalom, my friends. Shalom.
I stood in the aisle at Wal-mart, flooded by the harsh florescent lights above. Crafts to my left, kitchen goods to my right. I said to my sister, “Kari, I just have to say… I really hate not being able to see things.” And then the tears quickly started to fall from my eyes. She came over and wrapped an arm around me and said “I know. I mean, I don’t actually know, but I know how hard it is for you.” She held me for a minute, just knowing I needed that moment to process some of my never-ending grief. You have to let yourself move through it. It comes in waves, but thankfully doesn’t linger for long.
We had been shopping all day for Christmas gifts for our families and this was our last stop. I still had one gift to find for my husband and I was exhausted. Sure, my feet were sore, but I was more mentally exhausted than anything else. It’s tiring having to find things when you can only see a scattered portion of what’s in front of you. If you’ve ever been overwhelmed by the vast varieties of mayonnaise in a large supermarket, then you have a glimpse into my frustrations. Multiply that by 100.
I said to Kari, “it’s not like this at home. At home it’s easy; I feel like I can see everything.” And that’s not because I can physically see what’s there, but it’s because my brain knows. It knows because I live there and interact with every inch of every surface, every drawer, every cupboard. I know because I put it there. Unless someone moved it (or I did, and just forgot), I don’t have to wonder. I don’t have to move my eyes or head around to find things or to read labels. As long as the cans are where I put them last, I know where to find the soup from the beans.
At home, I don’t feel so slow. Out in the world, out shopping, I’m slow. And I am sure I look it. Strangers walking by might think, “Wow, she’s really taking her mayonnaise choice seriously.” No, I’m just trying to find the one I need out of the thousands in this Wall O’Mayo. I’m not conflicted about the decision; it just takes a long time to find and read the words on the labels when you can’t see most of the letters. In my world, patience has become a virtue I would not survive without.
My visual impairment is a permanent result of optic neuritis. Optic neuritis is a fancy term for inflammation of the optic nerves, and for me, it comes out of the grab bag of damage multiple sclerosis has left me with. It presents differently for everyone, but my particular case has left me with permanent blind spots and atypical color blindness. The blind spots are like thick, scattered clouds that impede more than half of my visual field. I’ve compared my vision to taking a completed 1000 piece puzzle and randomly removing 600 pieces. And then spilling water on it to mute the colors. The atypical color blindness means I have a difficult time distinguishing colors like blues, greens, reds, browns, etc. unless they are highly contrasting. This is why I often can’t see cracks in the sidewalk or the texturing on the white walls in my home. I lived in my current house for six years before I discovered the front facing was painted two different colors. The loss of visual field means I can’t see whole faces. I’ve hugged complete strangers thinking they were family members; I’ve stared blankly at friends I’ve known for decades. Again, patience has become a necessary virtue for me.
When I described my vision to a friend recently, she said it sounded like I was a human viewfinder. Which sounds a lot more fun than it really is, but I’ll take it for the laugh. It’s either that, or cry. I’ll take the former, always. Unless I’m at Wal-mart, I guess.
**Note, I started this post several days ago and didn’t finish it. I just didn’t feel like I was writing the way that I used to, or would like to, or “should”. All kinds of silly reasons to abandon a post, but whatever. I’ve been trying to hop back into the art of writing that I have loved, on and off, my entire life. After completing that marathon I was exhausted in so many ways and then lots was happening here at home that required my energy and attention, and then Thanksgiving, and on and on with the reasons/excuses for my absence here. I really desire to get back to regular blogging, regular writing. Lots of changes have happened with me over the last two years so I’m hoping “Writing Mel” is still alive here. I believe she is, and we are just dusting her off a bit. Bear with me, por favor. Gracias. Now back to the original post.**
I noticed when I logged onto WordPress today that they had a writing prompt; the question was “what will your life look like in three years?”. Which is interesting to me, because I was just hopping on here to tell you about a discussion I had with my husband recently that was along these lines. We were basically discussing whether we were content with our lives. And if asked that question, I would say that absolutely, I am content. However, if you had asked me 15 years ago if I would have chosen this life for myself, the answer would have been “hell, no.” I would never have chosen to be disabled and unable to work a job. Having multiple sclerosis, being deaf *and* half-blind, simply put – SUCKS. But I’m 10 years into this, and while it’s taken time, I’ve slowly learned to see (not literally, unfortunately lol) and be thankful for the benefits that have come from it. I’ve learned from these struggles. They have made me who I am today, and I love who that is.
I feel like I’m coming into a new season of life. I’m done training for marathons (for the next few years, at least). My kids are teenagers and can feed themselves (and prefer to, actually). The dogs are pretty low maintenance. So now I’m at a point where I’m learning how to rest. I’m learning how to be okay with sitting still. For as long as I can remember, I have had trouble with sitting still. Not that I physically can’t, but that when I do, there is a general unease felt underneath my skin and deep in my spirit. Like I’m “supposed” to be doing something. I’m often noticing my shoulders are hunched up and I need to consciously pull them back down.
I was actually discussing this general unease with a friend the other day, and she expressed how completely opposite she was from me in this regard, and we had a laugh. She seemed like she was saying she rests too much, and finds herself procrastinating. Sounds a bit like we would do well if we came more to the other’s side and met in the middle. But then where would be the fun in that? I love the variety I see in all of my friends and family members. It’s funny to me the things we experience and think are normal for everybody, when really we are all so different in so many ways. It makes life a lot more interesting, and brings us closer together as we support each other in our areas of strength and weakness.
So back to the season of rest. That’s where I am currently. I still have an ongoing list in my head of all the things I want to *do*, but I’m trying to be more kind to myself. While I’ll never regret running that second marathon, I will admit that I made the commitment without full consideration of my limits; physically, mentally, emotionally. So you could say I’m taking a break. Ish. A semi-break. Evaluating what I value most, and then easing those things back in. It feels a little like riding an inner tube on a lazy river. I’m enjoying it so far.
And that, my friends, is a little taste for you of the rambling that goes on in my brain on the daily. You are welcome. See you next time.
And above we have your girl, Flat Marathon Mel. This is basically what I’ll be wearing tomorrow. Unless I change my mind on the way and switch out accessories. I’m going by the forecast so we’ll see if the weather cooperates. It’s looking to be around 50 degrees and dry. The rule of thumb is to dress for 20 degrees warmer because your body heats up while you’re running. I’ve always followed this rile and it works, but it does feel a little like torture in the beginning when you are standing in the cold feeling drastically underdressed. But I know my body, and I heat up quite a bit, maybe more than 20 degrees, so I believe the tank and shorts should be perfect.
I seem to have forgotten why I signed up for this race so I’ll be spending the rest of the night reminding myself. It’s gonna be fun. It’s gonna be worth it. And God has and will give me the strength to keep going when it gets hard. This race represents all of the ways Jesus has healed me physically, mentally, and emotionally over the past 10 years. This one isn’t about proving i can do it. This one is about enjoying the growth process and celebrating the outcomes. This race for me is about proclaiming victory. We can do hard things when Jesus Christ is our strength.
Lord Jesus, please be with me extra close tonight as I pretend to sleep and tomorrow as I pound the pavement for 6 or 7 hours. May you get all the glory for this one. I couldn’t do it without you.
And also thanks to my cousin Zack, who agreed to be my guide runner without hesitation! He enthusiastically agreed and I’m looking forward to our extended time together. This is such a unique opportunity to share. It’s truly a gift, and I’m excited.
Now it’s off to bed folks! Wish me luck!
Deaf and half-blind runner with multiple sclerosis
Little M.S. Runner 