Jumpin' Off the Edge

Driving home from the race today, Creed’s song Arms Wide Open came on. As I sang along, an overwhelming sense of joy filled me and spilled from my eyes as I thought about where I have come in the last few years of my life.   Me in 2005      ~        Me in 2013 Spank Blasing I ran my first 5K ever on April 18, 2010. The Spank Blasing Race in Pueblo, CO. I never saw myself as a runner. Instead, I saw a race as something I wanted to cross off my list of things to do in my lifetime. My only goal was to run the entire race and not come in last. I ran as a fat woman, as in my weight was over 180. A friend who identifies herself as a runner ran with me the entire time – even when I needed to walk up a hill for a minute. My time was 36:59. Today I ran a race in Raleigh. Run for our Heros. This time I ran alone. I had a student and colleague at the race that I saw at the start and finish line, but when it came to running it was all me. My chip time was 27:13. In three years

The finish line of a race of any length brings satisfaction. Today, that was not the case in Boston. I can’t stop thinking about it. The celebration that is the Boston Marathon turned to devastation. My heart is heavy; my stomach in knots; and my smile gone missing. I have not turned on the television. I am avoiding the newsfeeds online. Instead, I read updates posted by friends on Facebook. With each one, tears for the victims, survivors, family, and friends threaten to make an appearance. I cannot make sense of it. Why is it bothering me so much? I don’t know any of the victims. I don’t know anyone running in the race. The explosions at the end of a race should be ones of celebration. Instead, we reach out to comfort one another. To make sense of what is happening. To wonder what our world is coming to. Sean is at war. He has had friends and brothers-at-arms hurt and killed due to explosions. While the events resonate with me each time it happens, I knew it w

When one find themselves alone after being married and having companionship for 19 years, it gets lonely from time to time. A few weeks ago, I found myself overwhelmed with loneliness as a river of tears streamed down my face. I knew I needed to get up and run. Do my laundry. Grade papers. Anything. Yet the ropes of despair tied me to my bed. For two weekends this happened. I told no one. I reached out to no one. I was alone. Thankfully, I never got so low that I wanted to end it all. Why do I bring this up now? This morning I was checking the ‘Strictly Platonic’ section of craigslist. (Believe it or not, I have met a couple of really cool people.) Today, an entry grabbed my attention. Not because it was a potential activity partner, but rather the heading: “I want to end it all. Where can I get help?” I glanced at it and continued scrolling down. It was only a couple of seconds later until I was emailing the person. I wanted to let him know that someone cared abou