Space, June 11, 2011
Quails like their personal space. They declare their presence proudly, for some reason shouting "Chicago!", clearly confused about basic geography. But if you try to get a closer look, they do their best Usain Bolt impression. The male is always on look out for danger. They travel in pairs. They wear stylish hats.
In New York, during the marathon, personal space is not really the point. With over 2 million spectators, you are practically carried by sheer sound from one borough to the next to the next. And throwing caution to the din, you can't help but touch the hand of every eager, germ-ridden child at the sidelines wanting to give you a high five. This is so different from my daily runs, which are deliciously spacious. In my day to day life, I am constantly with people. Running into the postcard of scenery that surrounds us is my meditation, my peace, my moment to breathe.
I talk to my children about space. Not so much planets and such, but the increasingly lost art of taking a moment of space before reacting to what the world hands you or what some kid says to you. "Don't say on Facebook what you wouldn't say to someone's face" I tell them. Take a breath. So easy to say, but as my wise husband always points out, just walk the walk and maybe they will follow. So running for me also lends a hand when I need to take a moment of space before reacting, and dare I say over reacting, to some idiotic move they made or thing they said. I am a quail Dad at heart, and when I sense danger, I want to protect my family. The thing about quail though, is, as far as I know, their chicks don't seem to have a sassy attitude. But I suppose they get kicked out of the nest before they are teenagers.
In the long run, I meditate, I breathe, I bask in the space. And after the long run, I can come back refreshed to gather my chicks. My three beauties.
In New York, during the marathon, personal space is not really the point. With over 2 million spectators, you are practically carried by sheer sound from one borough to the next to the next. And throwing caution to the din, you can't help but touch the hand of every eager, germ-ridden child at the sidelines wanting to give you a high five. This is so different from my daily runs, which are deliciously spacious. In my day to day life, I am constantly with people. Running into the postcard of scenery that surrounds us is my meditation, my peace, my moment to breathe.
I talk to my children about space. Not so much planets and such, but the increasingly lost art of taking a moment of space before reacting to what the world hands you or what some kid says to you. "Don't say on Facebook what you wouldn't say to someone's face" I tell them. Take a breath. So easy to say, but as my wise husband always points out, just walk the walk and maybe they will follow. So running for me also lends a hand when I need to take a moment of space before reacting, and dare I say over reacting, to some idiotic move they made or thing they said. I am a quail Dad at heart, and when I sense danger, I want to protect my family. The thing about quail though, is, as far as I know, their chicks don't seem to have a sassy attitude. But I suppose they get kicked out of the nest before they are teenagers.
In the long run, I meditate, I breathe, I bask in the space. And after the long run, I can come back refreshed to gather my chicks. My three beauties.
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