I have not written a piece in a very long time. To be honest, I’ll be closing this blog most likely. However, before I go I thought we might bring back something real. It won’t deal with race times or training schedules or imaginary running Gods or anything at all to do with physical fitness- let’s discuss emotional fitness.
If you have a capable body, it is actually extremely easy to avoid emotional reality. Run away. Go to work. Raise your kids. I did all that. I am proud of it even. But what of real love?
I loved animals as child. I loved them so much I would capture them and put them in my zoo. Lady Bugs, Rollie Pollies, Lizards, Caterpillars….Frogs…Mice…Rats….Birds…Fish. IF the choir could sing, the song would be GIRL FUCK OFF. But I LOVED them. I even made them a graveyard where they all went to…eventually.
I also loved Cabbage Patch Kids. I was born in 1977. I was female. I think it was literally impossible to be immune from the ugly doll highly desired from the worlds worst vegetable. I begged for my Cabbage. I mean I wrote Santa, Jesus, my Mother, my Grandmother, and ultimately might have threatened my Father with meal time truancy if upon my 9th birthday a Cabbage Patch Kid was NOT wrapped up and presented to me. Ultimately, I got my wish. A short haired, sandy brown, green eyed ugly doll with a birth certificate that read MYRA.
OK, I was thrilled. The fact that my little sister threw up in tears at my birth of MYRA was pure testimony to the power of patch love. I was a mother with a MYRA that I would mail off her birth certificate to immediately change her name to SARA. Don’t make a nine year old pine for an ancient name. If those Cabbages were still spitting out kids today they would all be named Copper, Haven, Everest, Belle, and maybe just to kick it old school, Marie.
Next it was Beanie Baby love. The irony here is that I actually run past the palace that baby beanie built weekly. Ty Warner nailed it- a stuffed animal with eyes no mother could possibly throw away! Instant billions! Are you a mother? Have you ever tried to throw out kids stuffed animals (because they infest your home)? It’s not easy is it? Why? They are fucking cute. BUT WAIT……if they have big plastic whirl pool eyes of brilliant colors, they are no longer just cute, they are lethally under your skin and forever under your roof. You would have to be a seriously sick soul to bag a beanie baby and haul it out for Wednesday trash pick up. Fuck you Ty and your adorable fake entourage.
And that’s it. That was LOVE. I joke. I have loved a lot in my life. The heart grows, it breaks, it grows back, it breaks….it’s a good muscle. Nothing strengthened my heart like my children. I did not even realize it was happening to be honest. I was not the mother that when my kids were born I said, “This is my everything.”
I was the mother that when my kids were born I said, “Jesus, I’m tired and nobody helps me vacuum and my fucking breasts hurt and this kid screams and I have no help!” A perfectly healthy pillow had the shit kicked out of it every night at 2am when someone was crying.
So I started to run. Running became an addiction, an escape, and a source of well being. I loved running- when running loved me, but I was entangled. My marriage deteriorated quickly from the start. We both visited the union ICU weekly and watched it pulse on with a ventilator, but neither one of us were convinced. But how do you end it? We promised.
It did end. The children continued to be everything. We agreed- we loved, truly loved, our children. And I was free to fall into the arms of a man I felt safe with. It is easy to say you love. “I love you.” That is free. It is kind. It is available. It is the actions that obtain the sentiment behind those words.
Timothy Andrew Strand- has watched me at my best. My most shine glistening moments. He’s helped me through normal life like nickel colored lunches and stubbed toes. And he’s experienced what is inevitable to every high low passion rich soul- the low. The very very dark low, the gross. The “I’m embarrassed you saw this,” low. (Might have happened 20 times already).
I brought the baggage- the kids, the dog, the fish that all died (never saw that coming!), and the beanie babies (fuck you again Ty). He brought…….he brought his tools.
I have never been so convinced that someone loves me. I have never felt this much unconditional love. There are no pretenses. No conditions. My name could be MYRA.
I am loved.
I love this MAN, Tim. I love you.