The morning of my birthday, I decided to go on a run near the neighborhood where I was staying. (Those are the snowy Indian Peaks behind me in the distance.) It felt really good to notice the contrast in temperature between Florida and Colorado. Florida does get cold and rainy, which is what was happening when I left, but it doesn’t snow where I have been living. I love wearing sweaters and cuddly things, something I have missed terribly since I moved away. Having a white Christmas is magical too. I’d better not get started on that! At least I still have family in Colorado to give me an excuse to come back to visit.
Running was my go-to therapy during my tumultuous high school years in Michigan. I can remember running to Lake St. Clair in the wintertime when the lake was frozen over. Sometimes, if it was sleeting, my eyebrows and the edge of my hat would become caked in ice. Brrrrr!
During the better part of my marriage, I trained for races—from 6K’s to marathons—even after the babies, which might not seem so eyebrow-raising now. The Baby Jogger helped bring them into my healthy lifestyle. The thing is, once my marriage began to unravel, running was the first thing I got rid of because it was such a big part of our marital life. I began to question whether I really liked it. Was the training and all those races for him or for me? Running didn’t feel recreational as it did when I was in my youth; it seemed like something else to prove I was something. What? A hard body? Those were the questions that were difficult to answer. Over the years, my husband had ingrained in me that I was a bird with a broken wing and he was the savior who introduced me to this healthy lifestyle, while in reality, it was something I had found before him.
I guess I had to stop running for awhile to reclaim this as mine. I actually can save myself, thank you very much, but in my own time and on my own terms. I regret giving running up completely, because I really think it would have balanced the OCD or prevented it from creeping back into my life. Oh well, life moves on.
As I was winding my way back to the house, I actually saw a white dove on a wire amongst many sparrows. Hmmmm. Very interesting. Do you see yourself as a white bird or a brown bird? I know which one I feel I am sometimes!
Good thing I built up an appetite, because later I had lunch at a little farm-to-table restaurant down the way in historic Erie, called 24 Carrot. The dark wood floors, brick walls, and vintage-looking bar give the room a comfortable, warm feeling.
I ordered the special, which was a generous portion of creamy shrimp risotto with broccolini. My companion ordered an Alaskan fried cod sandwich on a toasted brioche bun brushed with vinegar malt aioli. Yum. I know, because I had a bite, or maybe three!
That’s all for now. Have a beautiful weekend!