A few months ago, I decided to resume my love of running. Back in BC times (in this case, before children), running used to be a larger part of my life. Back then, I ran for fun, I ran to try and stay in shape, I ran for stress-relief and when Jarrett got sick, I ran to keep it together (or maybe I should say, to "TRY" and keep it together). And then, when we became parents, running became the last thing I thought of. Actually, for the first 2 years, I don't even think I thought about it.
As we settled into becoming parents and life developed a new routine, my heart and my mind started longing for the joy I found in pounding the payment. So here and there I started running. By here and there, I mean I'd tell myself I was going to start running regularly again. And for a couple of days, I would. Then, life would happen and my plan would get side tracked. There always seemed to be something else that demanded my time and attention, and while I could have gotten up earlier than the kids and gone out, the truth is, I was exhausted. I felt like I had nothing left to give, not even to myself.
Seven months ago, Jarrett and I had a heart-to-heart, and in our conversation, I shared how I needed to bring running back to my life. I needed it to be a constant, a commitment I made
for myself, to myself. I needed it. As Jarrett always does, he supported me and said he'd do what he could to make running a daily part of my life.
I started running and then I signed up to run a half marathon. I knew if I didn't sign up for an actual race, my pattern of start and stop running would continue. By committing to a half marathon, there was no way I could stop.
Now, many months into my continuous running, I decided it was time to blog about it. I purposely waited because I wanted to prove to myself that this time was different. There was no stopping. While life was going to keep throwing things at me to tempt me into stopping, I wasn't going to let it happen. And I haven't.
Each morning for the last 6 months, I wake up well before I'd like to -- most mornings, before the sun has risen -- and I commit. I put on my running shoes and I pound the payment. Man, is it glorious! I run by myself but I never feel alone.
As I turn the corner onto the road near our house, I cross the street and connect to the canal. While some mornings I see white tailed bunny rabbits or a couple of ducks swimming, every morning I see the same (or what I believe to be the same) humming bird. The moment I jump onto the canal, I am accompanied by a hummingbird, always flying above the canal and usually between 5-10 feet ahead of me. Even as I cross the street and continue onto the canal ahead, the hummingbird stays ahead of me. It's almost like a beacon of light guiding me on the right path.
I noticed it earlier this summer, but it wasn't until just over a month ago, when the sun started rising at a later time, that it became so apparent to me that I wasn't alone. Running in the dark, by yourself, in a isolated canal, isn't the smartest decision. I tell myself that each and every morning. With my heightened awareness of my surroundings, I became extra aware of movements, even the slightest ones. That's how I came to realize, that my running partner, was with me each and every morning.
I'm sure some expert on hummingbirds could give me an explanation for why this bird greets me every morning and leads me down the path and back for the several miles I run. But in all honestly, I'm not really interested in hearing an experts reason, I have my own belief.
My grandmother Virginia was a wonderful woman. She deserves, and at some point will get, her own post on this blog.
My grandmother was the picture perfect image of what a grandmother should be. She always gave of herself and did everything she could to make other people's lives better. I was lucky enough to get to spend a lot of time with my grandparents. After kindergarten, I'd get to go to my grandmothers house where she'd make me my favorite lunch -- Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup with melted butter. Because I only liked the noodles, she'd then strain all the noodles out of the soup and put it on a separate plate. There are so many stories of her kindness all through my years, I could go on and on. I can still hear her voice sometimes when I pick up my phone to make a call. Every time she'd call, I'd answer and she'd say, "Hi Dear, do you have a minute?" Oh how I'd love to get one of those calls again.
My grandmother love all things but some of the things she liked the most were birds. She had several bird feeders at her house which she'd keep plumb full, to make sure the birds knew they could always count on her to provide their next meal. I remember many times helping her and Grandpa fill the bird feeders with the thistle seed, those would bring the yellow finches (one of the really pretty birds you could find in Iowa).
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| A picture Grandma took of a yellow finch outside of her back window. |
She had bird plates she collected that surrounded the walls in the top of her kitchen. When we were little, we'd have lots of conversations about the birdies outside of her window. In fact, in a book my grandmother left me about her favorite things, she said her favorite poem was the one about the little birdy. It goes something like this...
Once I saw a little bird
Come hop, hop, hop;
So I cried, "Little bird,
Will you stop, stop, stop?"
And was going to the window
To say, "How do you do?
But he shook his little tail,
And far way he flew.
As a little girl she'd sing me this poem over and over as we watched the birds outside the window in her kitchen.
And that's why I don't feel alone. The moment I see the hummingbird, I immediately think of her. I have conversations with her in my mind as if she's on the phone calling just to check in. I reminisce about the many good times we got to spend together, and I think about what she would say, what advice she'd give, in helping me with some of the challenges motherhood brings.
While I know it sounds silly to think that the hummingbird who greets me each morning and leads me down the path, is somehow connected to my grandmother, But, if I'm being honest, I really think it's a sign. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I'm a believer in signs.
As I run alone in the dim morning light, I can't help but feel a sense of comfort, of peace and of reassurance that while I'm running by myself, I'm not alone. I miss my grandmother each and everyday. I can't help but wish my grandmother was able to meet my children, to see that I was given the gift of being a mom. I know she would have been happy just to see me so happy.
Running has given me the gift of finding a part of myself I felt I had lost when I became Gabriel, Michael and Isabelle's mom. It gives me time to process the million and one things that happen in our days and reminds me that I'm stronger than I think I am. I look forward to it now for many reasons, just one of them being a little birdy that seems to wait for me to step on its path.
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| This image itself, is worth getting up early for. |
Bright and early (or dark) each morning, I run by myself to give me time I need to regroup, to recharge, to wipe the slate clean and start over fresh. I consider it my time because it is something for me. When I started running, I wanted to do it to feel better, to get back into shape. Little did I know I'd get so much in return.
I run by myself, but I never feel alone.
Until next time,
Angie
