You Only Get What You Give

“ I broke my ankle.”

This is a phrase I hear multiple times a day as an emergency provider. In fact, it was a phrase I used myself following the tragic Duplo Block incident of 1997 where I tripped on a lego coming down the stairs with a full basket of laundry.  Much like me at that time, the person uttering said phrase usually has an ankle the size of a watermelon that is actively turning colors right in front of me, and has convinced themselves of the shattering of bone that clearly lives beneath this mess. However, about 90% of the time the X-ray reveals no break and I am left wrapping up said watermelon ankle as the patient asks me over and over if I am sure it is just a sprain. Am I sure this ugly looking leg is not broken?  I am sure.  In fact, the radiologist and I are both sure.  At times arguments ensue as people are incredulous that something that looks like this could truly be incrementally better in the two weeks I am promising them. Yes, it is quite a process at times with sprains.

Which brings me to the actual mangled ugly fracture I saw this week. Not a speck of bruising, a wee bit of swelling to where I was questioning the drama of her being in a wheelchair when she arrived. Yet, what lived underneath was a mangled mess that will only be walkable again with a huge amount of hardware and a painful surgery that will take a while to recover from. On one of my two hour commutes this week I was thinking about how paradoxical this clinical picture actually is.  Well, to be fair, I was trying my best to get my mind off a text I had sent that morning.

You see, I have an accountability partner. The person I promise trainings to when I simply don’t want to do them. That particular day, I was coming off a 72 mile commute three days prior leading into a three day stretch of 32 hours, only to commute 2  more hours to my next site and gear up for a 9 hour day the next day, followed by a two hour commute home. I was tired. I was hungry. I missed the kids, and most importantly, I didn’t want to train. This was going to be really ugly.  The,”I don’t wanna” screamed through my thoughts alternating with my disdain for the text I had sent, as well as some misdirected anger at the person I sent it to. After all, it was hard to let down someone else. It would be much easier if it were just me. When I arrived at the hotel, I would be reminded by said text recipient, of the big hairy goals that lie months from now on the back end of this training .  Profanity slipped out and echoed off the walls of my hotel room as I laced up my Hokas and hit the rickety hotel tread for a benchmark run at a 9:00 minute pace rounded out by the New Radicals,”You Get What you Give” through my wireless headphones. 

Don’t give up,

You’ve got a reason to live

Can’t forget

We only get what we give

Don't give up.  My partner would not allow that and I wouldn't let him down.  The run on an old hotel treadmill proved to be aggravating to my hip full of hardware and was not outstanding. It was ugly, uncoordinated and not what I was used to.  At the same time, it was faster than two weeks ago, a run I also considered ugly at the time.  Much like the watermelon ankle, I am wondering how many times we allow what appears to be ugly and hard to stop us from realizing that just about anything we take on may be that way at first, but we are not broken underneath, and with practice, will be a whole lot better in two weeks if we just stay the course?  How many times do we choose instead, to rest on something that looks perfect from the outside, choose to take on no ugly challenges and submit to a complacency in our journey that is ridiculously broken underneath and then suffer the fallout of truly only getting what we gave. In the end, I would send my partner my stats, suddenly seeing myself one step closer to the big goals in the distant horizon, grateful for the text I had been pissed about all day long and suddenly thankful to the partner who holds my feet to the fire to make me better.

You've got the music in you

Don't let go

You've got the music in you

One dance left

This world is gonna pull through

Don't give up    

So, friends, today, I think the trick is to find the music in you and embrace the ugliness that comes along with any hard challenge and then tell someone about it. Tell someone you would be mortified to let down, and get after it regardless of the amount of profanity it may take to get yourself out there.  Only then can will you truly see what you are capable of.  In those moments you will know with certainty, the best in yet to come.

You Can't Always Get What You Want

When my oldest son was 17, all he really needed in this life was a Jeep Wrangler.  He dropped hints relentlessly that Christmas until I finally did what any mom of 5 does.  I used my well developed sarcastic skill set and bought him an RC Wrangler and wrapped it up from "Santa".  I do believe this is the very occasion I started routinely quoting The Rolling Stones every time I had a child who "needed" something equally as unnecessary.

No, you can't always get what you want,

You can't always get what you want,

You can't always get what you want,

But if you try sometime you find,

You get what you need

Ironic this song would come on as I was reflecting on the events of the Chicago Spartan Super of last weekend.  It was my 11th Spartan Race.  My partner Karl and I knew how to do this.  We round up the newbies from our motivational group Team 1DOS for the weekend.  We do team bonding on Friday night, this time Cards Against Humanity, which is a whole other topic of hilarity...  We get up early, get to the venue, calm the nerves of the newbies, get everyone off and moving, over the walls, under the wire, over the fire, medal, shirt, beer and a fabulous dinner and after party.  Yes, we are seasoned at this.  Taking people to races and watch them conquer their biggest fears is as near and dear to us as it was when we raced our own first races.

Then it happened.  Right at the crest of the hill of mile 7.25 in an 8 mile race.  A woman in a red Spartan shirt just beyond the Z Wall suspending the race.  There was lightening in the area.  She assured us the clock was stopped and we simply needed to wait it out under the trees.  Well it damn well better be stopped.  We were at 3 hours flat and 15 mins from the finish.  We had never done this course in less than 4:45.  To be fair, she was just carrying out the directive by the Spartan officials.  Poor thing did not stand a chance trying to hold back 100 Spartans less than a mile from the finish.  People pushed past and went anyway, not realizing a suspended race did not mean an actual finish when you cross the line.  Others were angry.  Others repeatedly asking if we would get the medal or the shirt. 

But I went down to the demonstration,

To get your fair share of abuse,

Singing, "We're gonna vent our frustration

If we don't we're gonna blow a fifty-amp fuse"

Ultimately, we would stand around for about 45 minutes until another official would announce the race was simply over.  Dangerous storms were moving in and they had to call the race.  We were shown a back way to bag check and would walk past the finish line where the clock was still lit up, suspended for the day.   The tents past the line were locked up, as in the tents that held the precious swag.  Many of my fellow racers did demonstrate some fuse blowing ugliness.  The guy refusing to follow procedure at bag pick up and telling the volunteer to,"F#&k off!" was downright embarrassing.  There was another guy who approached the survey kiosk on the way out of the exit tent, angrily slamming the buttons for a negative review saying the same aloud but directing his commentary to all of Spartan Race.  From there, we would head to an open field where the dangerous storm would arrive soaking us to the bone, shivering as we waited for an empty school bus to finally take us to our car, which would also not be without peril, as it got stuck in the mud and two of my teammates had to push it out, one of whom had already taken his race socks off and was barefoot. 

I suppose it has taken me some time to put together my thoughts on this experience.  We had a plan.  We had a routine when it came to racing with our clients and it all stopped right there at the Z Wall.  I would have to find a different shirt to wear to the airport, the bragging finishing shirt that was our norm was gone.  I emptied out my race bag, which for the first time did not require a trip to my medal rack.   I had no PR bragging rights that we were sure we would have this time.  In the days that followed, Spartan did their level best to make it up to me.  A free Super was offered. Well, I did have a team going to Boston, I suppose I could do that. I have raced with all of these people before after all.  In fact, I believe I took almost each and every one of them to their first Spartan Races at one time or another.  It could be really fun to race together as a seasoned tribe.  This is an opportunity I would have missed had things gone according to plan. 

As I thought about missing the opportunity to post a PR, I originally let my disappointment cloud the fact that we were on track for by far the best race we had ever done finishing or not.  As I considered that, I began to realize that maybe, just maybe, all my time spent helping others in this process, and following the plan race after race, I had missed the fact that I had grown as an athlete and it's probably time for bigger, hyperventilating, scare the crap out of me personal challenges. Maybe what I really needed was to abandon my rigid corporate planning and find a better balance between being motivator and attacking my own goals

 No, you can't always get what you want,

You can't always get what you want,

You can't always get what you want,

But if you try sometime you find,

You get what you need

This all makes me wonder how many times in life we have a plan that gets absolutely destroyed just shy of our destination.  How many times we give up on our goals when circumstances change, rather than taking the opportunity to see the lesson and learn to change trajectory.  I can honestly say, I have a closet full of race shirts and a wall covered in medals, which truthfully, I "need" about as much as my son needed his cherished Wrangler, or the RC version for that matter.  What I needed was to be left shivering in the rain empty handed in order to realize sometimes "according to plan" is actually just complacency in disguise and it's time to go back to the start and try again, only this time a little stronger, a little wiser and to push myself a little more because clearly I am way more capable than I ever thought.  So, here's to a new Super with some badass people I am blessed to call friends, and to new goals I never dreamed possible because the best is yet to come.

 

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

Journey is so Pissed

Being the head of a motivational health and fitness company, Team 1DOS, I spend an hour each morning updating my social media presence with motivational quotes to help keep my my mighty shiver of great whites moving.  As I was perusing my usual quote sources today, I ran across this one.

I have seen it before, but still, cracks me up every time.  In fact, I was still chuckling about it as I was pulling into Orangetheory today.  Wait.  It was today.  April 30.  It was April 30, 2015 that I entered this studio for the first time.  Today was my four year anniversary of training here.  I was suddenly flooded with memories from that day.  I was 85 pounds heavier wearing my XXL t shirt and hoping not to look foolish.  What was I doing there anyway?  I could not hang with these people.  These people ran.  They used that rowing contraption.  I couldn't do that either.  In fact, in my first few months here, I used the phrase "I can't" like a comma.

Looking back, maybe this meme is not as funny as I originally thought.  The years leading into the start of my transformation were loaded with multiple tragedies and stressors.  There was the passing of three very close family members in the same year, none of which were expected.  There was the stress of a three year extremely unpredictable Haitian adoption process to get our two youngest children home,  while at the same time dealing with  the difficulties of parenting our other adopted children of trauma, all with unique issues, demanding different parts of my emotional motherhood.  There was a cross country move to avoid the racial bias of where we were living, as we found ourselves to be targets in our own community.  Thing after thing.  Crisis to crisis.  It would seem all of my plate spinning to manage it all had gotten me to a place I stopped taking care of myself or believing in my own abilities.  With years of that, Journey should have been mad as hell.

It makes me wonder how many times we take all of the stress, crises and disappointments that go with this thing called life and use them as a crutch to lose all faith in ourselves to carry on and learn to live as our best selves.  How many times do we let the,"I can't's" become so loud that believing is no longer an option?

That being said, you may be asking how my four year anniversary workout was.  I suppose if I were some sort of romantic novelist this would be the part where I would explain "I can't" has totally left my vocabulary, I now run a five minute mile and squat 200 pounds.  Let's go with no to all three things.  Did I sing some heavy metal with my besties on the treadmill like usual?  No to that too.  Today, I had a unique day when my close gym family members were missing.  Work, life and kids had kept them out of our usual 8:45 class.  It was me.  Just me in a room full of non sharks attacking one of the hardest tread blocks I had come by in some time.  Twenty-two minutes of rolling hills with no walking recovery.  Here I was with the two things I thought I hated most, working out alone and running on the hill. As I got to work for the 2.35 miles for the 22 mins I found myself on the godforsaken inclines, I thought back to the scared power walker I started out as.  The one who came in the door four years ago and would not have covered much more than a mile in the same amount of time.  I was the same person who was terrified to try anything outside the studio because I didn't trust myself to do anything alone and not quit.  Yet here I was, showing up for myself conquering things I would have responded,"I can't" to four years ago.  These may not be olympic record setting things, but large victories in my journey to believe I can be my best self.  After conquering this class, the shout out from the trainer, who has walked the whole road with me, was that much sweeter and reminded me showing up for hard things and trusting myself to get them done is far more satisfying than avoiding them because they are uncomfortable.  

I'd love to tell you that this was the happy ending of a long journey and that the trials of life have not struck me in the last four years as I have walked this road, but they have.  The worst of which the sudden loss of my mother under circumstances I'd rather not think about.  There were other trials such as major health problems under my own roof, and children with their own unique issues.  No, all those plates are still spinning, with the addition of a very special plate that is held central.  It is the "show up for myself" plate.  That one is central and securely spinning which has ironically made all the other plates much easier to manage.  So, friends, I think at the end of the day our job is to not piss Journey off.  They are an iconic 80's band after all, and that would be just wrong.  Instead, we don't stop believing the greatest version of ourselves is truly attainable regardless of where you came from or what life is handing you at any given moment, and to hold on to that feeling that the best is truly yet to come.  

Celebrating the Finish Line

The last few weeks have been absolutely crazy.  Working lots of hours, coordinating a challenge for my business, and this past weekend coordinating a large team to run a half marathon on Saturday, with a fund raiser for my foundation on Sunday, followed by leaving said fund raiser and driving directly out of town, only to be gone for work for three days.  All in, I believe I have been on this kind of roller coaster for about six weeks.  Saturday morning I would coordinate the teams, take all the obligatory social media pre-race pics, locate the corals, adjust all my race gear, and suddenly the gun would go off and I would find myself running down the rail trail with a sea of other half marathoners on a beautiful spring day.

I don't know where I'm goin'

But I sure know where I've been

Hanging on the promises in songs of yesterday

An' I've made up my mind, I ain't wasting no more time

Here I go again, here I go again

Ah yes.  Whitesnake, the consummate 80's hair band.  Reminds me of my college days with my gigantic hair supported with the superhuman hairspray, better known as Aquanet, that my sorority sisters and I consumed so much of. I am still quite certain there is a large hole in the ozone over 200 South Summit in Iowa City. As I chuckle about that it dawns on me I am alone.  Jogging along in a sea of humanity alone in my own thoughts and music for the first time in a while, as life's busy has consumed me for some time.  I would see the sun starting to poke through the clouds, enjoy the newness of a beautiful 13 mile downhill rail trail and revel in how strong I was feeling in those early moments.  Check the pace.... first mile 10:02.  Well shit.  My half pace is really more of 11:30, but this was down hill I was good.  I was ready to roll.

Tho' I keep searching for an answer

I never seem to find what I'm looking for

Oh Lord, I pray you give me strength to carry on

'

That is, I was fine til I wasn't.  My strength began to waver, my hips and quads began to hurt.  As it turns out, a 13.1 mile downhill course was not easier, it was different.  Coming out of the gate too quick, new muscles activated, running alone, as my last half was in Disney and run with my son, suddenly everything was a whole lot harder.  I started walking at intervals at mile 9, and I really did hope I had the strength to carry on. In the end, my splits would get progressively slower and I would finish a painful 2 minutes behind my half that I did in October and nine minutes shy of my goal.  I would spend the next few days analyzing what I did.  I should have come out slower.  I should have had more even splits.  I should have trained longer distances.  If only I did....  I should have.... Days of this self questioning.

Then it would happen.  A seasoned distance runner in my motivational group would post a simple meme,"celebrate the finish line, not the finish time."  I was so busy being disappointed in my lack of PR, or my slower time from October I had missed it. 

And here I go again on my own

Goin' down the only road I've ever known

Like a drifter I was born to walk alone 

As it turns out, going out on my own, lost in my own personal race critique, I had missed a lot of things that happened in that race far beyond the timer.  There was the amazing scenery of the newly opened rail trail in Upstate New York, complete with rolling streams, and the sun shining through the trees on a beautiful spring day.  Not to mention being part of an inaugural half on this very trail.  There were the thousands of well wishers who gave high fives as I passed by and rang cow bells.  There was being passed by one of my trainers as he patted my arm and told me to keep going.  I would later be passed by two of the most seasoned distance runners I am blessed to call friends, one at mile 3, one at mile 4, who would both ask if I was OK and to tell me,"you got this," reminding me of the amazing people in my life committed to my success.  I would be completely struggling at mile ten, only to hear,"Sweet Caroline" which was my mom's favorite song, to remind me once again, even though she is not physically here anymore, she can still find ways to show me she is always in my corner, which admittedly brought some tears through the physical pain I was in at that moment.  Ultimately, I would hit the finish and be met by a few of my faster teammates who cheered for me like any solid teammate would.  Later, I would see an epic finish by a previously injured teammate, a smile that could only be characterized by freedom across the face of another who has lost over 100 pounds as she finished, and the finishes of two others who had taken on their epic first half marathon.  

I now begin to wonder, how many times do we go out again on our own, working on getting our own pace right, trying to power through the tough stuff, yet drowning in our own disappointment when we miss the mark we have set for ourselves, and later obsessively trying to figure out how to do it better.  Probably, the better focus is in on the achievement itself, taking advantage of the amazing people and stops along the way that got us there regardless of timing. 

 In the end, we did celebrate at the finish.  We raised our individual bottles of prosecco, as is our 1DOS tradition, had a lot of laughs, took turns at the massage tables, and took the most epic after shots to date.  For me, maybe the walk alone thing as Whitesnake suggests is not quite the right choice but, there is something this song gets right on the money.

An' I've made up my mind, I ain't wasting no more time

It's time for me to continue to invest in solid training, stop worrying about the PR, begin to revel in the fact that I have the most amazing half sisters (13.1), embracing that the journey to the goal will always teach me more than any PR, and most importantly stand firm in the knowledge that the best is yet to come.

Closer to Free

About four months ago, I took a traveling nurse practitioner job covering the eastern side of New York.  Consequently, I find myself on the road a lot and am learning how to occupy my time traveling from site to site.  I have discovered the beauty of audio books, and the rediscovery of music from days gone by.  Earlier this week, I found myself making the trek from Utica to Oneonta.  It's a straight shot south through the hills of central New York on country highways.  Sounds great right?

Well, not really, there was something oddly familiar about this drive.  Up, down, around, 55mph, 30 mph, small town cop on the side of the road....  yes.  I know all about this.  About ten years ago this city girl from Chicago was dropped into southern West Virginia for five years.  Chicago is one thing.  It's a logical grid.  The streets steadily increase in number from the center of the city in three directions, north, south and west.  East simply lands you in Lake Michigan.  You can't really get lost in Chicago, you simply go to the nearest corner and look up and read the street sign  1400 North is 14 blocks north of the loop.  Easy.

West Virginia brought with it a learning curve of sorts though.  First, I had to augment my practice of medicine with adding a good understanding of the role topical vegetables and black salve played in the treatment of infection.  I would later become proficient at administering antivenom on the occasional Sunday when the snake handling church goer was bitten by the copperhead also present at said service. Mostly though, I had to learn to understand local sayings, my drive through central New York this week reminded me of one such saying,"as the crow flies."  When you live in hill country this is indicative of how far away a place is from an aerial perspective, rather than a road perspective.

Living on the top of a hill there, just about everything was located on some other hill.  To get anywhere it took trekking down the mile long hill from my subdivision that looped around once to get down.  It was steep and slick in the winter and, if I was really lucky, I would have to wait for the gaggle of wild turkeys to clear to even hit the bottom to begin to take off to someplace else.  The bottom may hold some piece of farm equipment like I encountered this week on my New York drive slowing me to 15 miles an hour in a 55 mph zone, and then at some point I would have to cross the river that ran through the town at the bottom of my hill, and begin to ascend someplace else depending on where I was going.  Some of those hills had gravel and mud, others difficult to pass with two vehicles, causing me to have to pull off on a narrow shoulder to allow someone to pass, where I only hoped the guard rail, inches from the passenger door, would hold if disaster struck. Yes, my New York drive was exactly like West Virginia driving.  Through my frustration of the drive, the Bo Deans attempted to distract me from the annoyance of it all.

Everbody wants to live, like they want to live

And everybody wants to love, like they want to love

And everybody wants to be closer to free 

Yeah, I wanted to be free.  Free of the freaking tractor in front of me.  It's 55, he's going 10 without a care in the world.  I needed to get to work. Why am I winding around seemingly in circles through an endless sea of country roads that seem to lead to noplace?

And everybody needs a chance once in a while

Everybody wants to be, closer to free

Yeah, I would have loved to have had the chance to be free on that drive.  You know, like the crow. I would simply take off flying, avoid the spaghetti bowl of country roads and be earlier to work. I was becoming extremely impatient until I suddenly found myself emerging in Cooperstown. The Baseball Hall of Fame on my right.  Being a catcher for 12 years of my childhood coupled by my love of the Cubs, suddenly the bright green of the fields and the building itself began to lift the frustration I was feeling at the time.  

And everybody wants a good, good friend

Everybody wants to be, closer to free

I found myself excitedly using voice text to share where I was in a group chat with my business partner and finance guy, both huge baseball fans, albeit for the wrong teams....(go Cubs).  I may have enjoyed their jealousy a little too much in that moment.  Nonetheless, in those moments I began to wonder how often we look at what exists on the next mountain and dream about the day we can just be the crow and fly over with ease.  I maintain this is what keeps us wanting to be free but never quite getting there.  Perhaps the better thing to do is to start the trek down the slippery hill finding new ways to gain traction.  Try to learn the lesson from the ballsy gaggle of turkeys that  proudly occupies the road and stands between us and forward progress.  Even the beloved farmer in his excruciatingly slow farm equipment at the bottom of the hill, can help us to learn that moving slow is still forward, and there is something to be said for patience.  As we cross the river, leave the hill behind and begin to ascend to what exists on the next hill, we should take the time on the single lane road to pull aside for someone else and trust our supporters  to fully embrace our location in the climb and to serve as our proverbial firmly grounded guardrail, not allowing us to fall off the mountain.

Everybody one, everybody two, everybody free

So, maybe in thinking about it, it really isn't the crow who is free.  He will never learn the lessons along the way that go with the fight in getting from hill to hill.  He will never know the satisfaction of getting what he always dreamed of and knowing it was because he dared to brave a difficult journey.  Maybe the trick to being truly free is to select the hill, take off down the mountain, and not be afraid to press on no matter what may stand in our way.  As for me?  I seem to be settling into travel life and learning to see not so subtle reminders on my journeys, like this rainbow from my commute Sunday morning, that the best is yet to come.