Oasis

I slept until close to nine a.m. this morning. Not wanting to miss an opportunity to run without rain pouring down, I quickly pulled on my shoes and headed out the door. Two hours makes a huge difference in the heat index. Sunday morning traffic is at a minimum on my route, so I like to take advantage of this quiet time in the Reliant area. It's a completely different run at five p.m. on Tuesdays.

Less than ten minutes in, I was feeling the sun pounding down on my shoulders. I thought this might be a good thing. I don't want my vacation tan to fade just yet. It wasn't long before I was just plain....hot. I run in a very commercial area, all cement and a lot of car dealerships. The stretch from Belfort and Kirby, then down the 610 feeder road seemed much longer than usual. I started looking forward to the few trees and bits of shade as I saw them coming up in the distance. I'd run faster in the full sun, and then slower in the blissful shade...to make it last longer. But I was exerting myself more. My pace was a little crazy, and I was beginning to wish I had a water bottle in my hand instead of my cell phone. (I always run with my cell phone. If I'm attacked, I'll use it to bludgeon the bastard to death.)

I made the final turn home and there was, thankfully a long row of trees. I allowed myself to finish at a jog. This wasn't the morning to time-train. Ending up in the cool, blinds-drawn, relative darkness of my apartment was like walking into a final destination oasis after passing through tiny ones along the way during the run.

There have been so many challenges during the last year. I've had to sprint to make it from shady spot to shady spot. I am learning to know myself, to understand my pace. As in running, living and thriving requires self-study. There are times when all I can do is listen to my breathing. And that has to be enough.

My oases are sometimes populated, sometimes I'm the solitary inhabitant. It seems that I am learning to enjoy them more with each stop. Relaxation, rest, love, comradeship and laughter are all becoming more sweet as I age. As is my time alone. The discovery of who I am, how I came to be here and how I react to certain situations is no longer traumatic, it is a gift. Choosing how I react to situations with thoughtfulness is an assignment I'm only now beginning to understand, but I look forward to the day I can relish that assignment, rather than fear it.

If I can keep my eyes on the horizon and enjoy the run in the meantime, I believe all the work will be worthwhile. My task is to remember that there will always be shade, there will always, always be respite.