Winning and Losing

I ran my first 10k in 2002, at the age of 42. It was the Exira Road Run, and I won a ridiculously huge plastic trophy for finishing as the fastest 40+ runner. 

Today, 20 years later, I ran the same race for probably my 18th time. I know I skipped in 2005 because at age 45, I'd just had a breast biopsy that had bled profusely three days before the race. The doctor told me to skip the run. On July 6, I was told I had invasive breast cancer. 

So yeah, I missed that year. I probably missed another race or two since then, but the reasons are mundane and therefore haven't lodged in my memory.

The point is, I run this race every year to prove to myself I can--what? do it?  

Last year I ran well. 

This year, I knew I could not match my 2021 time. So instead, I decided to run not for time, but in celebration of a body that for the most part still does what I ask it to do: it thinks (slowly); it moves (with creaks and groans); it hangs in there. I can't complain. This body has been a good life companion.

--------

Like most small-town road races, the Exira Road Run would not be possible if only elite runners participate. The towns could not support a race that brought in only the 10 best runners in the area. They NEED slow runners like me to keep the event profitable. For this reason, I will never apologize for running at a 13:00 pace (which I did one year); if I weren't here paying my $15 entry fee, those speedy cheetahs wouldn't get to run at all. 

Thank me.

----------

Today's run started at 7:45 a.m. I had been in Iowa City all week for a class and had "rested my legs" (i.e. avoided training) for four days. Furthermore, I'd signed up for a very hilly race after running only flat trails for the past two months. I vowed to pace myself and listen to my body. The goal was to finish without injury.

At the one-mile mark, I glanced at my phone and realized I was almost two minutes/mile ahead of my usual pace. I'd just run the fastest mile of my summer--mostly because the other 13 runners had taken off like a pack of gazelles. 

Just then a jaunty red-head (I'd guess age 10) came by on his bicycle. 

"You're losing!" he shouted gleefully.

"No, I'm WINNING!" I shouted in gleeful response. 

And I was. When an hour (+) later I accepted my gold medal as the first (and only) finisher in the 60+ age category, I wish the little redhead had been there to see me skip up to the awards table. 

Be well.
Enough. 

Allison

 

A Dark Day: June 24, 2022

When COVID hit in 2020, predictability was erased by a swath of the great unknown. I steadied myself by coming to the page--this blog--to focus on the immediate and the mundane. I recorded (mostly for my own sanity) the reality of my days. Doing so gave me purpose in a time that otherwise felt quite purposeless. My raison d'être, I told myself, was to pay attention. Notice the experience. Record it.

----

I was standing at the kitchen counter Friday morning, June 24, 2022, when my phone pinged. I glanced down to see the headline: Supreme Court Overturns Roe v. Wade. 

We all knew this was coming. A draft of the decision was leaked nearly two months before. Yet my reaction surprised me with its visceral force: a gut punch. 

An hour later, after a run, I rested under a cobalt Iowa sky. I felt the breeze tingle against my arms. I sipped ice water. 

I had hoped immersing myself in these physical sensations would push back the feelings in my head and heart: sorrow and rage. 

It hadn't.

-------------

Similar to March 15, 2020, I am unmoored. 

The world I've known has shifted with the Dobbs decision. I can vote, I can protest, I can contribute money. 

I will, I will, and I will. 

But maybe what I can do best is pay attention. And I can commit to words what I see and experience. My perspective as a 62-year-old woman (I was 12 when both Roe v Wade and Title IV became the law of the land), as a mother of six, and as a current teacher of high-school students can be offered (Offred?) here as simply that: one person's view as we enter what I expect will be a(nother) time of uncertainty, fear, and confusion.

------------

That is why I'm here blogging again. If I'm wrong, and the Dobbs ruling is only a tiny blip, I will praise every small pot-bellied god. 

However, I'm betting that our current Supreme Court will continue to hack away at what many of us came of age believing were inalienable rights. 

I am here to record my observations while paying attention. 

I am also here to pay attention to my personal reactions and feelings. Consider this not objective journalism, nor an attempt to sort through the layers of politics and religion that brought us here, but instead an open diary--something Offred-esque. I will simply record my experience and observations. 

-------

On Saturday, June 25, 2022, one of the 30-somethings in my life mentioned she had donated $100 to an organization that helped fund women who must now travel out of state for abortions. 

--------

Later that evening I had dinner on the deck with two more young women within my circle. The Dobbs decision worked its way into our conversation only tangentially. I don't believe we were avoiding the topic so much as finding respite for a few hours. The wide Iowa sky and good food offered a graceful pause.  

But within 10 minutes of their departure, I had donated to Planned Parenthood on their behalf. 

Be well.
Enough.

Allison