In my defense, everything has just always worked out for me.
You immediately hate me right? That person that just doesn’t deserve it, but
somehow they come out of it just fine. I’ve always been an eternal optimist. I
feel like it’s the chicken and the egg. I don’t know if it’s just that I’m
consistently lucky, or if it’s the attitude that gets me through. But I have
come to firmly believe that no matter how shitty I may feel, no matter how
crappy the day, the best is yet to come.
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The worse the situation, the harder I force my
happy-ever-after opinion. We could be stranded on the side of the road for 3
days, and my only goal would be making the world’s most ironic joke out of the
situation.
-
-
“You mind if I just change my shoes when we get there?
They’re like 2 sizes too big and impossible to walk in.”
We were headed to a little bridge for a fun and quick photo
shoot celebrating Montana women.
“Yeah no problem- it’s a little hike in anyways. Why did you
get shoes way too big?” A local clothing shop had helped us pick out clothes
for the shoot.
“Oh my foot is swollen to all hell, and heels have been my
arch nemesis for months now.”
“What’s up with your foot?”
My blessing and my downfall is that I am really terrible
liar, and thus I know I have to stick to the truth instead of drawing out an
awkward situation.
“Oh I’m the proud recipient of a tumor. Whoo-hoo!” I try my
best to laugh really lightheartedly, but no one appears to appreciate the joke.
“Wait. No really? You really have a tumor?”
“Uhmmm… yeah! No biggie.”
“Are you ok? I mean does it hurt?”
Oh man. The questions. This is the part where I spill enough
information to satisfy them in a lighthearted enough tone that it plays off the
situation like it’s a hangnail.
-
The worst part about being an EMT is that when you have
something wrong with you, you profoundly ignore it and tell yourself that if
you can’t fix it, it will fix itself.
However, after months of this attitude, realizing that I could barely
run (my stress relief passion), not to mention hardly walk, and was
consistently exhausted, I finally decided someone with a degree might be of
some use.
The podiatrist hung the x-ray up on the light box in the
examination room. Gah those rooms all look the same. Some dingy off-white color
on the walls, a little sink, that horribly uncomfortable paper over the chair,
and some disgusting excuse for encouraging art on the wall. “Inspiration” it
says, under some generic waterfall. Truthfully it just makes me have to pee. Or
more annoyed that with this ridiculous pain I probably couldn’t even get to the
damn waterfall without pausing 18 times.
“Plain as day!” he exclaimed as he switched on the light.
Sweet- I think, someone who can come to quick conclusion on the matter. My man.
“See that lump?”
“Uhm yeah.” Slightly rolling my eyes. It’s glowing white in
my foot- the thing was easier to spot than a fetus.
“Well that’s your tumor.”
Oh yeah! Totally. Wait…. My what?
“So we’ll need to do surgery in the next couple weeks, but
don’t worry you’ll only be out for a week and then you’ll just wear this boot,
we’ll try and make it as cosmetic as possible, we know women love their feet,
we’ll do a biopsy, and we’ll get you a handicap parking permit….”
I’m nodding, but not absorbing any of it. The word tumor
just keeps echoing in my head…
-
A couple times a year I sit down and make myself a list.
It’s something I’ve done since high-school- a nice little visual check-in on
what I want to accomplish, what I want to get better at, and what I want to learn.
These lists are stashed in various notebooks all over my house, typically
titled by the month I’m inspired and followed by the profound term “Stuff”.
I run across them on occasion while cleaning. It’s funny to
review how your priorities change over time, and how little other passions
change.
“Surf for 6 months in Costa Rica- next June?”
“Learn how to cook. Classes in Bozeman?”
“Get under 25 minutes on 5k. See training schedule.”
“Pick up some tunes on the piano that aren’t by an old dead
guy.”
Two of those items remain on my list… a little disheartening
that they first arrived on the list 4 years ago and have yet to be checked off.
One item has been passed to the backburner, but I swear it will happen at some
point in my life. After completing a list I look at it happily, expectantly.
Tomorrow I begin. Tomorrow I am the person I want to be.
-
“Omg. I am sooo out of shape.”
This phrase has come out of my mouth millions of times
during my life, but mostly it’s an excuse. An excuse for why I am particularly
sweaty, not as fast as the person next to me, or why the stairs gave me a
little extra trouble that day. Truthfully, I have never been truly or terribly
out of shape. Until now.
I now realize that I have abused the hell out of that phrase
in a ‘that’s-what-she-said’ sort of way. Because, omg. I am SOOO out of shape.
Like for real. Like I think I might pass out at the gym. Like ‘oh I dunno about
5 miles today’ isn’t being lazy, but because I really don’t think I can do it. I
am beginning to empathize with every health rescue story I can find on the
internet.
The funny thing about exercise is that when you are
perfectly able, you can make every excuse in the book to not go. And when you
suddenly lose the option entirely- all you can think about is going to the damn
gym.
I am attempting to crawl out of a hole. And it sucks. It
really really sucks. I’ve never ran into that wall that says ‘if I go another
step I will drop’. The wall that tells me ‘maybe I can’t do this’. That maybe
my health is failing me. That maybe the rest of my life won’t be long enough to
obtain my goals.
-
“Today we are
focusing on side plank.”
It’s my first yoga class in months- I’m so excited I can
finally do this again. But side plank? We were frenemies at best when I was
going to yoga 3 times a week.
I look at the lean, sleek woman next to me, effortlessly
holding an arrow position. I can do this. I can hold it at least as long as
her… but I start shaking profusely, and am forced to lay down a knee. Dammit.
I strap on my running shoes, making a mental note that it’s
probably time for a new pair, and set out the door with Erik, who is excited
beyond belief to see the old leash in my hand.
He promptly squirrels out the door, practically knocking me
over, and leaving an entire patch of hair on my black running pants. We set off
for an easy 3 miles, Erik running me more than I am running him. 2 miles in and
I think I might have to walk. I am so frustrated. This used to be so easy.
These pants didn’t used to cut into me like this. I just want to cry.
-
I am an eternal optimist. I firmly believe that what is
broken today can be fixed tomorrow. Thankfully, my doctor was too. He told me
not to worry, that these things happen, that it doesn’t mean the big “C”, that
he doubts cancer will be the result. But it still made me come to a screeching
halt. A tumor at 26 was not in the
life plan. Having to suddenly reconsider all your priorities if the worst was
to happen isn’t something I wanted to think about it. I just have too much to
do, and this is seriously getting in the way.
A surgery, two biopsies, and multiple appointments later I
was released free and clear. Free to realize how hard it is to crawl out of the
hole of less than perfect health, and cleared to seriously over think
everything.
But as always, I am lucky. I am blessed. And as painful
those first few steps in the ‘ol running shoes are, I know that at some point I
will get there. To never take your youth, your health, your life for granted.
To run freely and know that you can get to the end, no matter the detours that
may momentarily derail you.
The running shoes are lying in the corner, beckoning me
toward them. I hate them. I love them. I’ll lace them up and remember the words
of my favorite yoga instructor, “Today, your body may not be able to accomplish
what it could yesterday, but that’s ok. Maybe tomorrow it can do more. Just
thank yourself for being here.”
