Obviously Juneau didn't happen, as plan B, plan C, and plan D didn't happen. We are all now well aware of the fact that NOTHING was going to happen for a long long time. And yes, it's shallow to focus on trying to run a marathon when others are literally fighting for their lives or sources of income or even meals or shelter. The only defense I have is that it gave me something positive to focus on and at times obsess over. Not to mention that running in and of itself was my solace during the madness.
So back to the training run. I really did come here to talk about a run I did in Mackenzie Park in Lubbock a few weeks ago. I drove to Lubbock to visit the "Linder Laws", and decided to take advantage of the lower humidity and run 20 miles. I love running at this park. There's a 7 mile loop that runs through the park to and around Dunbar Lake. There are interesting points of interest along the route, such as an amusement park, a windmill farm and of course a cemetery at the top of a steep hill. My plan was to run the 7 mile loop, pit stop at the car, run a 6 mile loop north of the park, which I haven't really done before, then back out to do the 7 mile loop in the opposite direction.
Toby willingly drove me out to the park and insisted on sticking around while I ran this thing. Normally he'd run too, but on May 13th, while riding his bike, he ran a red light and didn't see the car going 40+ mph that hit him. What could have killed him or left him paralyzed or severely brain damaged left him with a fractured pelvis, broken ribs, and a concussion. A great surgeon put him back together, but his road to recovery has and continues to be a long one.
Toby flew out beforehand (on crutches by now) to handle family matters while I drove up on Friday. After five hours on the road I was taking the exit to Slaton (where the Linders live) when I saw a text from my cousin saying my sister was in the ICU. I pulled into the Family Dollar parking lot and called him to see what was up. My sister has had her share of visits to the ICU over the years, so at first I wasn't sure it was as bad as it seemed, but after talking to Cliff it didn't sound good.
My sister Donna had her share of demons, the deadliest of which was alcoholism. Fourteen years ago they diagnosed her with end stage liver disease and said if she kept drinking she would die. Fourteen years ago! After some time we began to joke that she'd be smoking a cigarette, and with a drink in her hand be dancing on our graves. She seemed to start losing what little grip she had on self control over the past year, so I started sensing that time was running out for her. Was her time up? I called my parents. They had been with her that morning and called an ambulance. She was very critical and had already been put on a ventilator shortly after being admitted. Her liver was failing. They said it wouldn't do any good to turn around and come back to Ft. Worth because none of us could be in the hospital due to COVID 19. My poor parents were sitting at home waiting for the phone to ring with updates.
That night I put the phone next to my head as I tried to sleep, but didn't really, and got up at 4:00 AM to head to the park. No calls. Maybe she's pulling through like she did before? No news is good news, right? We got to the park around 5:00 AM. As I gathered up my things I handed my phone to Toby in case my parents called. We were discussing what he should do if they would call to say she died while I was out running when the phone rang. It was my dad. Donna had died.
I was numb. My only thought was to start the run and let it flow into my brain piece by piece, the enormity of what just happened. I thought, well I have 20 miles to let this sink in. Blankly, I started running. It was still dark, but it was peaceful, not scary. There were other runners out there and Toby was driving ahead and stopping from time to time, so it was all good. Pieces started flowing in. What about all of her animals? I need to tell her childhood friends on Facebook. What kind of funeral can we possibly have at this time? What was the last thing we said to each other--I can't remember...
Before I knew it I was at the lake. I kept hearing this sound across the water that almost sounded like a baby crying. It was a strange high pitched shrill of a sound. Once I rounded the other side of the lake and made it over the Cemetery Hill I realized what the source of the noise was. In the field sat a rather large fox, just sitting there crying out. I had no idea they made such a sound. A street light was shining on him so there was no mistaking that it was him. I just stopped and stared at him, which startled him. He made some weird garbling sound at me and ran off. I have tons of strange encounters with wildlife in the dark, but this was one of the strangest yet.
The sun was rising as I made it back to the car for a pit stop. My only complaint was that my back was bothering me. It has been bothering me off and on and I've been blaming it on lots of things; not being as mobile because I was no longer working, not going to yoga, not doing my regular stretching routine, sitting in chairs in the ER and hospitals for hours on end, and for three weeks I dealt with passing a rather large kidney stone! I had just driven five hours in the car, so I attributed this morning's back pain to that. I told Toby he had plenty of time to go get coffee as I ran the next 6 miles, and headed north of the park for part 2 of the run.
Almost right away I started having issues with this section. First of all it started out ridiculously hilly, which caused my back to tighten up even more. After a few turns onto the main out and back portion I doubted I was on the right road because it was very dismal and sketchy. I had used the Strava heat map to map this section out, which is a great tool that shows where people run in any given town, so it had to be right. Sure enough I saw a few runners along the road eventually. Still, note to self not to run this section again...I had my music with me this time, but my mind was still too busy thinking about Donna to turn it on. Even though we were only 2-3 years apart in age we had almost nothing in common. We we never close as kids, but we were even further apart as adults, living our lives in completely opposite directions. Before the alcohol there was drug addiction, which she overcame. As long as she was alive there was the hope that she'd overcome the drinking too. And now that hope was gone. She was gone. She was funny as a kid. She would have us in stitches with her impersonations. She liked dumb movies and so did I, so we did share that. The other day I watched "Ready or Not" and almost instinctively went to text her to be sure to watch it. (Seriously, check this movie out. It is crazy dumb but funny as hell). I'm not haunted by what wasn't said or known. We knew we loved each other, but I started to feel the haunted feeling that she was gone completely, definitively.
As I hit the hills heading back to the car my back was hurting so bad that I had to stop and walk. I tried all sorts of bends and twists to no avail. I even took a 2nd Aleve, which I rarely do. I approached the car with a lot of negativity about the situation. Toby tried to help loosen up my back as I refilled my water bottle for part 3 of the run. I told him I'd blast my music and power through it, just 7 more miles, and walk the hills if I had to. He said he'd drive up to the base of the first hill and wait for me there, and off I went. You're probably wondering why he didn't just tell me I should quit. The same reason why I didn't tell him not to buy a new bike.
The first mile out was pretty flat, which made it fairly easy to get moving again and fall into some semblance of a rhythm, but it didn't last long. I felt like I was pushing on the pedal of a car with no gas. I had absolutely nothing inside of me to keep moving me forward. Without consciously deciding to do so I started walking. I was done. I saw the car in the parking lot across the street from the hill and crossed over, walking towards the car. Toby saw me coming and pulled out a camping chair from the trunk, where I plopped down and burst into tears.
We drove back to Ft.Worth that day and spent the night with my parents, and have been living in the whirlwind that follows the death of a family member ever since. I saw a doctor about my back, and while explaining to him how I felt this weight on it like someone was sitting on it I realized that my body was doing what it has instinctively done all my life, and that is it was saying ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. Deal with your emotions. For the first time in forever my runs became unstructured and mostly alone. My back is loosening up, but I still find myself walking some, stopping to take in things, like just yesterday I stopped to watch the sun rise over the lake. I don't have any fight in me to do much else right now and that's ok.
Ironically, our plan F (or is it plan G?) marathon is actually happening in just two weeks and I'm not running the full. I'll run the half while Jamie runs the full. There's still a chance that the race will be cancelled, so I'm trying not to get too excited. Very few marathons have taken place since March, and sadly, very few marathons will take place in the near future. Trying to make sense of 2020 so far has been an act of futility and probably not helping my back pain, so I'm trying hard to accept this current day to day life as is, with its many many limitations and non-stop negativity. Day by day, find the gratitude, no matter how hard, for being here, and for being alive. That's the goal.
