Running in the Rain

Yesterday was race day in Ogden, Utah. In mid-May each year O-town hosts the Ogden Marathon and Half Marathon. It's always one of my favorite weekends with the town full of runners and fans. It feels like a giant party! I love the vibe of community support, encouragement, accomplishment and fun. The course is a nationally ranked favorite, winding down scenic Ogden Canyon, along the Ogden River and then finishing up in downtown Ogden. This video gives a birds-eye view of the entire course. Ogden Marathon Course

I've run the Ogden half marathon twice. Yesterday I ran as part of a marathon relay team, one of five people running legs of varying distances for a total of 26.2 miles. I ran leg four which is five miles down Ogden Canyon. Here's our team at the finish line--cold, wet, hungry and proud of our finisher medals!

Foley's MMA Training Center Relay Team
Tom, Shawn, Justin, me, Mike

It rained all day yesterday with a constant drizzle coming down from early morning throughout the entire race. At several points during the day there was a serious downpour! The rain didn't seem to dampen any one's enthusiasm though. I think it even added to the enthusiasm for some of the runners. Although I wasn't excited about the rain, I didn't mind running in it. Being wet is much, much better than being too hot and getting dehydrated. The rain also made for some amazing scenic views. The mix of gray granite canyon walls, lush greenery and misty clouds was gorgeous! Mike ran the second leg and took this picture during his six-mile run through upper Ogden Valley. 

Mike McAuliffe photo

Marathon weekend is filled with memories and meaning for me and I tend to get very emotional when I run the course. I ran my first Ogden 1/2 three years ago, which I wrote about in this earlier blog post: Chasing Pavements. It was a real accomplishment for me. I'd trained alone and I ran the entire race alone. Looking back now, I'm pretty impressed at my level of dedication and training. I was focused and determined. My life was in a really good place in May of 2010. I was 40, I was fit and I was completely smitten with a new man in my life. In fact, the day after I ran the 2010 half marathon I went on my first date with Mike. Last week on May 16 we marked the 3rd anniversary of our first date. Race weekend, our first date and all the happy memories from both are forever entwined in my mind. 

The weekend is also forever linked to my memories of Julie. She was with me that weekend in 2010 and it was the last time I saw her alive. Those memories and feelings are overwhelming to me. Yesterday, I'd slept at Mike's house in Ogden Canyon so I didn't have to get up so early to catch a shuttle bus to my relay starting point. I walked the mile up from his house to my relay exchange point. 

Walking up the canyon is rare. It isn't wide enough for foot traffic and very unsafe for pedestrians, but on race day it's closed to vehicles for several hours. I was alone in the rain, walking next to the Ogden River, surrounded by lush, green beauty. Runners from the full and half marathons passed me in the opposite direction, happy and waving. It was one of those rare, peaceful, completely content life moments and it made my heart hurt so badly I could hardly breath. Moments like that never fail to make me think of Julie. She didn't just leave me and everyone who loved her, she left this beautiful life and world. She left those moments like yesterday of being alive, healthy and strong on a beautiful day. And of course, she left me, which I think about every single time I run. I miss her horribly on race days. She was my inspiration, my cheerleader, my coach and one of my biggest fans. I used to run races looking forward to the finish. The finishes and the victories no matter how short or long the distance are different for me now. They make me both happy and sad. I want her there waiting for me at the finish line. I always will. 

Our last picture together
May 15, 2010

Another Birthday

Julie,

If you were still here today would be your 37th birthday. Birthdays are meant to be celebrated. Oh, Jules, what I wouldn't give to celebrate your birthday today. Instead, I'll mark it like a tick mark on a piece of paper, mentally noting the passage of another year of life without you--each year adding to the number of years I'll live without you. 

It's strange, having you frozen in time in my mind, perpetually 34-year old Julie. I try to imagine you at 37. What would be different? What would be the same? Would you be happy to be turning this age? Knowing you, probably not. Would you have found some peace and contentment? Would you have finally found that elusive perfect man? Maybe you would have stopped using the book I gave you,"Settling for Mr. Good Enough" as a door stop and read it, realizing that you had a good man right under your nose the entire time. Would you be a wife? A mother? I'll never know. 

The last three years have been hard, harder than I ever imagined they would be. Recovering from heartbreak isn't easy. In fact, it's incredibly hard work. It's been a grueling journey of learning acceptance and letting go. I think I understand now why you felt there was nothing worth living for. As much as I wish you had been able to see the many reasons to live, I also sometimes feel relief that you escaped your despair. Of course I wish you could have found it a different way, but who am I to say that your life would have actually gotten measurably better? For you Jules, I'm just glad that you're not sad anymore. 

I still miss you, but the pain of missing you is less intense most of the time. The punched in the gut, drop me to my knees kind of missing you happens far less often now. I've learned to live without part of myself, making adjustments for the pieces of me that died the day you died. I've learned how to walk past those dark rooms in my mind, to not open the door. I know what's in there, the memories and emotions tucked away like old boxes on a shelf filled with reminders of the past. 

This year I spent in Easter in Colorado for the first time since the last Easter we spent together there. I was scared to go back. More than scared. Terrified. I didn't want to make new memories that didn't include you, but I knew it was time. Still, like I always do when I'm there, I was compelled to connect with you and your things. Touching things that were yours makes me feel more connected to you, makes you more real again in my mind. I was looking at your books. I like to see the notes you made, the passages you underlined. Inside one of the books I found a scrap piece of paper that you'd copied this quote on. 

"The externals are simply so many props; everything we need is within us. And we have to take everything that comes: the bad with the good, which does not mean we cannot devote our life to curing the bad. But we must know what motives inspire our struggle, and we must begin with ourselves, every day, anew. ~ Etty Hillesum

I wonder why those words spoke to you enough that you wrote them down? Why did you let such a profound quote get tucked away and forgotten inside a book? I guess, sis, you forgot that you had everything you needed within you. You forgot about taking the bad with the good and devoting your life to curing the bad. You gave up on yourself, you no longer had the strength to begin another day, anew. 

Now, instead of being a day of celebration, your birthday is a day of remembering, a marker in a long line of years to come filled with missing you. I'll cry today, I'll go into that room in my mind and let all the memories out of their boxes. I miss you Jules. I wish you were here. Happy Birthday. 

These Boots Are Made for Walkin'

Today I put one of my sister Julie's cd's in to listen to on my drive to work. I do that sometimes when I want to feel connected to her. I kept all of the cd's she had in her car cd changer at the time she died. They're labeled in her neat, slanted handwriting in her typical organized, logical way--Latest Mix #1, Latest Mix #2, Workout Mix. The one labeled Where I Am Right Now is one I listened to over and over in the weeks, even the months after she died, trying to understand, looking for clues in the lyrics. 

They were all custom mixes that she'd made herself. She did that frequently as her musical moods changed as often as her emotional moods. Her choices at any given time in her life were a snapshot of where she was at in her head at that time. 

Today I listened to the one labeled Latest Mix #2. I realized as I loaded it into the player that it really wasn't that current of a mix anymore, being at least three years old. It's like a time capsule of sorts, filled with musical messages about my sister and her musical choices in early 2010. It started out with Lady Antebellum's song Long Gone, an upbeat country song about a woman telling a man that he's missed his chance with her, she's long gone. 

It's so like you just to show up at my door
And act like nothin's happened
You think I'll sweep my heart up off the floor
And give it to you
Like so many times before
You're talking to a stranger
I'm not that girl anymore

That girl is long gone
Boy you missed the boat it just sailed away
Long gone
She's not drowning in her yesterdays
Betcha never thought I'd be that strong
Well this girl is long gone

Don't waste your breath with baby baby please
Cuz I am so not listening
Don't bother getting down upon your knees and try to beg me
I'm tired of how you twist the truth
You're not talking to the same girl
Who used to forgive you

Next up was Nancy Sinrata's These Boots Are Made for Walking. Who doesn't know those lyrics? The video while dated, still resonates with the message of a woman who just isn't going to take any more bad treatment from a man. She's empowered, she's strong, she's sexy, and she's walking away. Haven't we all at some point in our lives felt like Nancy Sinrata? I know I have. 

I listened to those two songs and thought of Julie. Did she add those songs to her play list during a time when she felt strong enough to end her destructive relationship? Were the words her anthem during those times when she had walked away from him? Or were they words of inspiration, songs she listened to trying to gather the fortitude to walk away, to tell him exactly the kind of person he was and that she deserved so much better? Either way, I wish she would have taken them more to heart. I wish she could have sung along with conviction, believing the messages and walked away for good. 

If only I could have made her see that she was strong, she did deserve better, she could put on her boots, literally and figuratively, and walk away without looking back. When I listened to those songs today I was sad. Sad for Julie. Sad for me. Sad for everyone who loved her. Sad for the people that didn't get the chance to love her. But most of all, sad that I'll never again get to see her dancing happily in her red boots. 

Amy, Julie and I at a Super Diamond Concert.

Hence These Tears

In the weeks immediately after Julie's death my grief and pain was so strong, so overwhelming, that I felt too wounded and vulnerable to be out in the world. When I was out it seemed strange that people couldn't see my grief oozing from my pores, because that's what it felt like. I remember a day maybe four days after she died, when Amy and I escaped for some time alone together to laugh, cry, scream and even curse about our sister. That was the day I said I wished I could tattoo my pain on my face so people would know and understand what I was feeling. It was then that we decided that someday we would both get tattoos, for Julie. 

It took me almost three years to settle on what I wanted for my tattoo. After much thought and planning, I finally decided. The words would be Hinc Illae Lacrimae, which is Latin for Hence these tears. Literally translated the words mean from this place those tears. The daffodils aren't because they were Julie's favorite flower. Honestly, I don't even know what her favorite flower was. I love daffodils, so does my mom, and I always associate them with Julie, our spring baby. The daffodils were in bloom when she was born in early April, and for many years after on her birthday. My favorite picture of Julie shows her in Ireland, happy, young, carefree, surrounded by daffodils. 

Over the last few years three of Julie's four surviving siblings have tattooed themselves. I was the last. I guess all of us felt the need to somehow permanently mark our bodies with reminders of our beloved sister, our never-ending love for her, and the permanent heartbreak she left us with.

Taken just after the work was finished.
Mike snapped the picture and then we noticed the time.

Home Improvement

It isn't even three full months into 2013 and I've already fallen below my goal of writing at least one blog post per week. My apologies to my few loyal readers for neglecting my blog. I have so much blog reading to catch up on too, and can't wait to read about what's going on in the lives of my blogging friends. 

So, although my blog shows a definite lack of attention, other areas of my life have been getting some much needed attention. For my birthday this year I asked Mike to re-do my closet. This might seem like a strange gift to some people, but Mike is a master carpenter and I could never afford work of his quality if I had to pay for it. As the pictures below show, I was in desperate need of a closet makeover. My house was built in 1942, and like all houses built during that era, the closets are very small by today's standards. 

I was anxious for work to commence and dismantled the existing closet rails one evening while Mike was at work. I even tore up the carpet, as I knew I had hardwood underneath and was anxious to see the condition of it. My long-term plan is to tear out all the carpeting in my upstairs and refinish my hardwood floors, so the closet floor was going to be the prototype for stain color and finish. 

After a couple of trips to the hardware store, it was finally time for construction to begin. My garage was temporarily turned into a wood shop, and I braced myself for the mess that always comes with construction projects, no matter how big or small. 

Did I mention I could never afford to have custom work of this quality done? Not only that, only Mike would put up with my last-minute changes and modifications to his plan. Soon things started to take shape and there were shelves in place. Lucy and Sophie helped us with load testing. It's always a good idea to know if your closet shelves can hold a 80-pound Labrador and a 15-pound Shih Tzu/Schnauzer, right?

Although the project has taken longer than I wanted, it's getting very close to being done. I've reclaimed my garage, and all the millwork and installation is finished. The only things left are adding some lighting, putting a clear coat of sealer on all the wood, and varnishing the floor. Speaking of which, I love, love, love how the hardwood looks with the stain color I chose! I can't wait to do the rest of my upstairs. Here are some pictures of the almost finished project. My hanging space has increased by several feet, I have upper shelves on three sides instead of two, corner shelves, and a shelf for shoes near the floor with storage space underneath. I plan to upholster a piece of plywood for the door interior, add hooks and use the space for hanging necklaces, belts and scarves. What do you think? I love it and can't wait to start using it. 

Reunions and Reflections

Somewhere in the back of my mind I've been vaguely aware that this year marks 25 years since I graduated from high school. Yesterday I was clearly reminded of this fact when one of our class officers created a Weber High Class of 1988 Facebook group. As I scrolled through the pictures of my classmates I was struck by how little everyone has changed. Sure, we're all older now, but when I look at every one's faces I see the person I knew back in high school. This is probably a common phenomenon, as I think it's almost impossible to separate the reality of our aging selves from the shadow of our younger selves. Not to mention the fact that I think we're all a remarkably well preserved group! We for sure don't look like what in high school I imagined 40ish people would look like.

The other thing that struck me was how quickly the past five years have gone by. I don't remember feeling this way in the months leading up to our 20-year reunion. Then it felt like it really had been decades, years in which we were all busy growing up and becoming the adults we are now. But now, five years past that milestone, I can't stop thinking about the next 25 years. My life will be more than half over by then. I'll be 68 years old! It's a humbling perspective, and one that has caused a lot of self reflection over the last 24 hours or so. I can't shake the realization that I still have so many things left in my life that I want to accomplish, and having 25-35 more years to accomplish them doesn't seem like nearly enough time. Of course I know that life doesn't end in our sixties, seventies, or eighties, or in the case of my grandmother, even in the ninth decade of life. But, it does slow down, and the ability to do things that I'll easily be able to do for the next 20 or so years will definitely diminish. 

These thoughts aren't resting that easily with me. I still feel so young, and in many ways like I'm finally figuring out who I am and what I want to be when I grow up. 25 years ago I expected that by the time I was 43 I'd feel more than grown up, that my life would be exactly what I wanted it to be. Ha! Life had other plans, or to be more honest, my life choices led me to where I am now, which isn't exactly what I imagined in May of 1988 when I threw my cap in the air and walked out the doors of Weber High School. 

Am I the only one who feels this way? Sometimes it's easy to think that I am. In the last five years technology has changed at warp speed. At our 20-year reunion mark Facebook still wasn't that widely used. Today, Facebook makes it easy to stay connected to classmates, and also gives me a glimpse into many of their lives. I guess it makes us all a little voyeuristic as we watch from afar, making assumptions based on little real knowledge about what every one's lives are really like. I try to remember this when I see the signs of seemingly perfect lives of some classmates who seem to have figured out this adulthood thing long before me. 

I look at the picture below and I'm struck by our youthfulness, our sheer delight at being grown up enough to date and go to high school dances. I also see our adult selves, and am grateful that I still maintain connections, however casual and infrequent, with three of the people in the picture. 

As of today there is a poll being conducted on our class page as to whether or not people want a 25-year reunion or want to wait for a 30-year reunion. Five years ago I was ambivalent about our reunion. Today, waiting until our 30-year reunion seems like a really long time. Maybe I'm just getting more sentimental as I mature, but now I see the value in reconnecting with classmates and former friends. Time does fly, life is precious, and there isn't a relationship quite like the one with those who were there during our formative years. We never know what life will bring over the next ten years, nor who it will take. I feel remembering our younger, more innocent selves and the people who mattered so much to us then is important. Maintaining the connection to our past, to the people we were, and the friends who knew us then, is meaningful to the people we are now. I think every opportunity to reconnect with each other should be embraced and cherished. So, yes, I voted for a 25-year reunion. 

My first high school dance - Sophomore Year, 1986

Lost and Found

Having three dogs was never my intention. That all changed last week after a late night call from my daughter. Her dog Reese was missing and had been for five days. Reese had gone missing from Gillian's dad's house five days earlier while Gillian was with me. For whatever reason, her dad didn't notify anyone that Reese was gone. 

Gillian was understandably upset and so was I. I imagined the worst. We'd had several large snow storms over the previous few days and nighttime temperatures had been below freezing. Few animals could have survived outside in such conditions, and a 12-year old Toy Poodle like Reese definitely couldn't. Still, I tried to remain hopeful and promised Gillian that I'd post flyers and start searching in the morning. 

Not looking for her wasn't an option. Gillian and Reese have grown up together. Gillian was two years old when 8-week old Reese joined our family. I named her Reese because of her caramel and dark brown coloring that reminded me of a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. When I divorced Gillian's dad, Reese stayed with him in the house we'd all lived in together. I was moving into an apartment and didn't know when I'd be in a house again and able to have a dog. Also, I thought disrupting Gillian's routine and surroundings as little as possible would be best for her. 

Gillian and Reese - Christmas 2000

Even though it was almost 10 p.m. when Gillian let me know Reese was missing, I immediately posted her picture on my Facebook page along with information that she was missing. Mike also posted it on his. Within a short time the post had been shared by over 40 people. The next morning before 7 a.m. we had news. Someone had messaged Mike saying they thought they knew where Reese was. While I waited for more information I checked my Facebook page. A stranger, a woman who was a friend of a friend, had seen my post and asked me to message her. Her friend had found a dog the same day Reese went missing, and she was pretty certain it was Reese. We exchanged phone numbers and before long I received a call from the dog rescuer. I asked a few questions to make sure she had the right dog. She texted me some pictures. It was Reese! 

She'd found her just a few blocks down from my house running down the middle of the road. She took her home and posted a picture on her Facebook page asking for help locating the dog's owner. Her friend saw both of our posts and got in touch with me. Social media had saved the day! Reese was alive! I couldn't believe it. Thanks to many caring people my daughter would be reunited with her dog. 

I brought Reese home and decided she was going to live with me. The callousness and disregard shown by my ex didn't sit well with me. I couldn't fathom that he would be that insensitive to Gillian's feelings, not make any attempt to find her dog, or even let us know she was missing so we could look for her. He'd also neglected Reese's medical care for years. Her teeth were in terrible shape and causing her obvious pain.Two days after she returned, I took her in for a teeth cleaning during which she had to have four abscessed teeth pulled.  He didn't protest when I said Reese was coming to join our family. 

I've always believed how a person treats animals says much about their character. Not caring for a family pet isn't something I can fathom. When I talk to my mom and sister, we don't just catch up on news about the kids, we also share the latest antics by our pets. In our world, pets are family and are treated with love and compassion. Now I have a new addition to my fur family. Reese will spend her golden years with me, loved, pampered and cared for just as a beloved family pet should be. 

Reunited