Skip to main content

Running the good race


Navigating through trying to figure out my husband’s ailments is a struggle. With all the doctors’ visits, the waiting for appointments, thinking it’s been figured out but then finding us going back to the drawing board is frustrating.
Sometimes it’s like I’m running in a marathon. In my mind’s eye, I can see the finish line just a few feet ahead of me. As I am about to cross it, the officials appear out of nowhere and grab the finish line and take off with it, moving it further along to where I can barely see the waving banner.  I stop in my tracks, sweat poring off of my brow, completely out of breath, I am utterly defeated.
As I’m bent over, staring at my blistering feet, I see a brief glimpse of how far I have run.  I straighten up, trying to catch my breath. Some runners whiz past me, but some stop to point out the first aid station to get patched up. As I go to it, I’m met with cups of water on the side lines. As I drink down the refreshment, I quit hearing my heartbeat thudding in my ears. I become aware of the music being piped in, Miley Cyrus’ The Climb. I also hear the cheering of the crowd, encouraging me to press on.
I also realize that the marathon is not a competition, just because some runners cross the finish line, it is their own accomplishment. Each runner has their own prize, so I can celebrate their victories without it taking anything away.
What I thought was my finish line was a check point, getting me closer to my goal. My marathon may take sudden different paths, maybe I need to run the same course again but with different terrain.  I notice that I’m developing a runner’s body, my muscles and endurance are getting stronger. What used to be devastating to me is just an emotional “owie”.
As I pick up my pace, I hear another inspirational song Billy Joel’s You’re Only Human (Second Wind). I see that my sponsor outfit is not as faded and wrinkled; its colors are vibrant, reminding me why I’m in the marathon in the first place. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How's the haircut?

Isn't it amazing how a bad memory can stick to you like a wad of gum in your hair? You try to remove it, but in order to do that, you need to cut off some of your hair? At first, you’re apprehensive, but in the process, you end up with a nice hair style? At the beginning of my career, I was working at an apartment complex.  I must have upset my boss by interrupting him when he spoke to me.  I hadn't realized I was in a bad habit of talking over him. I was so anxious to prove I was on top of all the assignments, but in this process, wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise. One day, he held up an eyeglass case and said this signified when it was his time to talk. In front of the other staff, he actually held up the case while he spoke to me. I was embarrassed by his demeaning ways. I didn't put any credence in his opinion. I wrote him off as being a mean old man! For a while, I carried this memory like a wad of hardened gum in my hair. It was brittle and would have...
Post a Comment
Read more

Just a note

If you visit my website, you can now read the first chapter of my book for free! Please feel free to click on its link below: website All I ask is please leave me a comment. Even to just say "hello" so I know that some people are reading it! Thanks everyone, and I'll talk with you later!! Diane
Post a Comment
Read more

Lessons from Teachers

Many times when people talk about the teachers they have encountered in their schools, usually the lessons have been of the traditional sort.   A teacher has done or said something inspiring that has changed their lives for the better.   Actually, I have had a teacher show a negative trait that was a positive life lesson to me.   She was my seventh grade teacher.   She was a very large woman—she had to make her own clothes to fit her.   Not only was her physique large, but also her personality.   She was a very aggressive and no-nonsense woman.     “You can’t get away with anything in Miss C class!”   was the comment we heard from previous teachers and older students.   When she hosted detention, she made a sign to put on the clock that read: “Time passes—will you?”             Being in her class, she made it very clear that she was the boss.   Now, most of the time, she wa...
1 comment
Read more