Trading the Channel of Worry for High High Hopes

As I was driving place to place today, errand after errand, my head was spinning with the multiple lists of things that I need to complete before leaving for the Chicago Super in a couple days. There were work loose ends to tie up following a major scheduling snafu, that unless I was to clone myself tomorrow, had no easy answer, children who needed clean laundry and lunch makings for school, as well as quality time with me before I go out of town, business related daily tasks to complete and then, and I'm going to rat myself out here, try to fight against the ape shit freak out that comes before any event I host.  First, there are the multiple details regarding logistics, hotels, cars, planes.....  The arrival of 7 people from four states to a location, although my childhood home, is truly not home to any of us.  The classic ape shit freak out as I refer to it, occurs every time.  Will everyone make it?  Will everyone enjoy the experience?  Some of these people have never met face to face, will everyone get along and have a good time?  oh wait.  There's more.  I have a 5-8 mile race in a few days (Spartan never truly gives you the distance), that last year ended up being 9 miles in four inches of mud and in places standing water.  Well hell.  Looked at the weather.  It's raining in Illinois.  It's been raining for days.  My childhood friends have backyard pools courtesy of Mother Nature this week..... and so it goes, the merry go round of worry.  I suppose you could say that I am a professional worrier.  Mother of five, grandmother to one, full time job, two businesses, book writing and a crazy race schedule.  There is always something to worry about.

Had to have high, high hopes for a living,

Shooting for the stars when I couldn't make a killing

Didn't have a dime but I always had a vision,

Thank you Sirius Radio for the rah rah musings of Panic! at the Disco's "High Hopes." High hopes is certainly something my spiral of worry has been robbed of in the past few days.  I decided earlier today, to lean into the worry and allow my inner sanctum into my ape shit freak out.  I shared all of my concerns over the upcoming weekend and was met with exactly what I expected.  Laughter.  Yes, they laughed at me.  They reminded me at the end of the day we have done many of these events.  We will race.  We will laugh and we will all fulfill the visions we have set for ourselves when it comes to this weekend. There was the obligatory exchange of colorful gifs at my expense, also as expected.  Side note, everyone needs this caliber of friend.  In the end, their good natured ribbing set my worry aside for a few moments, and I did enjoy the break, however, the merry go round started spinning again.

Mama said,

Fulfill the prophecy,

Be something greater,

Go make a legacy

Mom.  As if on cue this comes on.  Honestly, it would be times like these in my life, I would have called her.  She would have said,"Aim, this is all piddly shit." She, of course would have been right. She was well aware of my propensity to overthink things and get lost in the details.   She would then ask me to spell out my vision of exactly what it was I was trying to do.  I would have told her helping my race team to discover the things that hold them back and see the greatness that lives inside all of us, none of which has anything to do with managing the logistics of a trip for some pre-race carb loading deep dish.  It makes me wonder how often, as the saying goes, we let a very small trickle of worry erode a  deep channel in which all other thoughts are drained, and our whole vision and high hopes are lost in a sea of piddly shit.  

Mama said,

Burn your biographies,

Rewrite your history,

Light up your wildest dreams

Suddenly, as if in some sort of movie propelled flashback, I saw our history, Mom's and mine.  Our decades of obesity as I attended Weight Watchers for the first time with her at the age of 13.  Years and years of hopeless dieting, and she died before truly seeing my success.  Maybe the real message is to find those high hopes to be something better than we started out being.  Not repeating our history of failures, instead acting on clear vision that lights our fire.

Stay up on that rise,

Stay up on that rise and never come down,

Mama said, don't give up it's a little complicated

With a renewed spirit, courtesy of Panic! at the Disco, I think I have decided Saturday, I will be up on that rise.  Fifteen feet up on an A frame to be exact, working toward once again conquering my horrible fear of heights.  At the same time, I will have four new Spartan Super racers who are giving me a front row seat to taking on their own fears and winning, which will likely make all the complicated details leading in irrelevant.  So, maybe it is time for me to put my traditional ape shit freak out to bed and instead shoot for the stars and have high high hopes that the best is yet to come.  

Bruises

I think 23 years of raising 5 children has brought me to the place where the ability to sit in silence is a challenge. Even at my desk at work, in the provider office, I have music on to tie up the chaotic corner of my brain that my children usually occupy when I am home.  Anyone who has read my blog for any length of time will attest to my eclectic musical taste, and I will even cop to seasons in my life where a certain style will speak to me for a period of time.  Yesterday, I slipped into my Train rut that I have been in over the last couple of weeks.  Somehow, through the grief of being motherless on Mother's Day, I needed the upbeat stylings of"Meet Virginia" or "Play That Song". 

Haven't seen you since high school
Good to see you're still beautiful
Gravity hasn't started to pull quite yet
Quite yet, I bet you're rich as hell

Ah yes,"Bruises" because classic Train never dies.  Ironic I would be hearing this two days post Spartan Race.  It gave me pause to pull up the sleeves on my long sleeve shirt to survey the damage.  I had bruises on my forearms and on my inner upper left arm.  A hoisting of my scrub pants would reveal bruises on the bottom of my left thigh, a small gash across my right shin and blisters on both heels that were really more gouges than superficial.  All in all, not too bad.  Well, I should back up a bit, not bad for a Spartan.  From non racers there is the obligatory,"you're crazy" or "why would you do that to yourself?"  With ten races under my belt I can honestly say the answer to that question is different each time I race.

These bruises make for better conversation
Loses the vibe that separates

I suppose it's safe to say each one of these bruises tell a story.  My forearms tell the tale of particularly dry and gravely terrain beneath the barbed wire.  Those I am proud of as I have finally perfected my rolling technique. I did not snag on the wire even once or tear the knees out of my kick ass Spartan base layer.  They even make me smile as I can hear the voices of my teammates as in those moments they outed with our long standing joke of,"great job roller", a phrase adapted from an incident involving a particularly odd participant in a previous race.  The bruise on my thigh is likely from hoisting it over the eight foot wall where I found I did not have to use the phrase,"I don't got this" when my immense fear of heights would usually have kicked in.  The gash on my shin was from a small branch with thorns that my right shoe got hooked under as I was running, reminding me that I largely did not let the rough terrain of the race scare me enough to walk as I had previously.   I actually ran way more in this race than I ever have before.  The blisters on my heels remind me that I should listen to a friend who is constantly telling me to wear long socks.  They make me chuckle too, as I know the months of,"I told you so" with some good natured ribbing is sure to be forthcoming.

One that's five and one that's three
Been two years since he left me

The fact is, despite the engaging catchy melody of "Bruises", it is really about two old friends catching up and seeing the distant perceptions of each other they held on to were not quite like reality.  They had each had their own struggles.  It makes me think about our propensity to follow along the social media personas of hundreds of our closest friends and feel we must be the only ones struggling and should cover our proverbial bruises with long sleeves. This is where I believe Train has it right.  

These bruises make for better conversation
Loses the vibe that separates
It's good to know you've got a friend
That you remember now and then
Everybody loses

Maybe the better answer is to go for it on the hard challenges and realize the bruises that may come are not fatal.  In fact, we just might find a better version of ourselves just as I did under the barbed wire.  As for my team?  I have heard from nearly all of them as we compare our various "Spartan Kisses" as they are called, and had good conversation about conquering hard things. By taking off the long sleeves and sharing the struggle we are finding we lose the vibe that separates, and discover a caliber of friendship that does not exist in the idealistic social media profile, as well as learning every now and then, everybody loses.  

I would love to fix it all for you

I would love to fix you too

Please don't fix a thing whatever you do

So, to non racers, the physical post race display may seem a bit crazy, and at times I have had people try to convince me to stop racing because of it.  However, my fellow racers help me to see, said display is a powerful reminder of how far I have come and what I am actually capable of, as well as the joy I get in helping others to do the same.  To me?  The bruises remind me that the best is yet to come