Whirlwind

Single, 30-year old, female in the city enjoying life despite its hurdles; writing about her observations, exploits, loves, challenges, friends, hobbies and whatever random theories and ideas that she can't help but comment upon.

Friday, October 20, 2006

Running Down A Dream

Last times are confusing. You don't always know in advance that this is the last kiss the last good bye the last time you are having sex with someone the last time you will ever see someone. Sometimes I think it's good that you don't know. It might put too much pressure on the moment. You might lose the moment in the knowledge that this is the last time. But without the knowledge you forget to savor this thing that you love or are never going to have ever again. This person who you will no longer be able to call, "baby," or touch ever again without intention and awareness or this thing you will never be able to do again.

Staten Island and I had the best break-up that way. I was in a cab on my way home and we were on the phone having a screaming fight. When we were in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge the phone cut out and neither one of us called the other one back. That was our break-up. That was the last time we ever spoke. There was no foresight, no sentimentality involved. It just ...happened. You couldn't ask for a more perfect break-up.

But I wish I had known my last marathon was my last marathon. I am hoping it isn't my last marathon but I wish I had known it was last marathon for awhile, for the foreseeable future at least which right now feels tantamount to forever. I thought running marathons was something I'd always do and always be able to do. I crave the day after euphoria when everything is always right in my world and I am on a cloud of happiness of challenges met and huge endeavors fullfilled and body used up where relaxation is possible and deserved and I am just so happy.

As it turns out, running marathons isn't something I'd always do. I don't like crossing it off my list when I think of what makes up who I am, you know a reader, a writer, a lawyer, a sister, a daughter, a friend....etc. Am I still a runner? That was in the front of the list. It came before lawyer did on the list. And now? I don't know. I miss it so much it's hard to think about. I miss the breeze in my face. I miss the perfect vortex of the perfect song playing at the perfect moment. I miss strong legs and lungs taking me up Cat Hill in Central Park. I miss running over the Brooklyn Bridge and seeing the entire island of Manhattan on a clear day. I miss feeling like a warrior princess running through snow storms and rain and hail so hard it leaves marks in my face. I miss seeing a finish line and finding my reserve tank to hustle me through it. I miss setting up my day with a run. I miss night time runs when I would get the day out of my system with a run and be able to fall asleep with a clean mind. I miss training for a marathon and crossing training runs off the calendar and having something to frame my life around.

I want to run one more marathon. Just one. I want to prove to myself that I can. It would be the ultimate way to prove to myself that I am still myself, my best self, the self I like the most, my strong invincible self, the self who doesn't take no for an answer. Then I can be sick. Then I will know I am not weak. And I want to fully absorb that last marathon that I will know is my last. I want the crazy morning at Fort Wadsworth with runners doing all kinds of rituals before the run like praying and reading the New York Times and sleeping and smoking and eating weird combinations of foods and wearing weird combinations of clothing they will discard before they start running. Running over the Verrazano Bridge where it is like a game of Tetris because people of all different speeds are running together and you are bobbing and weaving to get through them. Running through Fort Greene where choirs and live music abound. Running over the 59th street bridge and hearing the roar of people when you exit on to first avenue. Running the marathon is a sensory overload of the best kind. And I want one more.

I wish I hadn't taken advantage of my strong knees and strong legs and endurance and equilibrium when I had it. I wish I had known my last was my last and I could have given running a proper good-bye. I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish. I just wish I could have said good-bye

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