Ode to Joy

I am overdue for a post. Bloggers who hardly ever post are almost as annoying as bloggers.

Sometimes you have to talk about running more than actually doing the act of running. For instance, when you work 12 hours a day and are on 24/7 call and are thus highly irritated and exhausted because you are almost closer to 50 than 40 and getting up at 5am seems a lot harder than it did. Well actually it never felt easy, as I am not a morning person. I am not a night owl either. I have a few good hours between 10 and 3, and all the other hours seem really good times to take a nap.

I am a little injured. I was on a run recently and suddenly someone shot an arrow through my right hip. I fell to the ground, and my dog promptly mauled the arrow shooter. I then gave birth to dragons and now am a nomad in the desert with a limp and a sidekick with an English accent.

Or maybe I just pulled a muscle. It could also be a stress fracture but that is just not acceptable. So never mind.

Thinking about the future, I become paralyzed. I am a professional with a lovely life and I need for nothing (except time to take a pee). I just sometimes wonder what it all means and then I come to my senses: that is an unanswerable question, like the sound of one hand clapping. My grasshopper once told me if I ask it one more time, he will hop away into oblivion and all of my luck will be gone forever.

I cannot remember the last time I saw a grasshopper, come to think of it. I have seen a housefly that, though reported to have a 24 hour life span, survives on for now over a week in my bedroom and allows me no peace. What is the meaning of that fly life? And why cannot my ninja poodle capture it so I can finally get some rest?

Recently, there came to my attention a 70 year old ultra marathoner. So humbling. She even ran an extra 3 miles, getting off course for a bit. If I ever finish Western States, even once, I will feel like wonder woman. It does occur to me that there are a lot of hurdles (so to speak) in life and running. Injury is one: it means time away from running and defining your physical self otherwise. Then there is the age thing. But age is a good thing, for without it we are 6 feet under.

What scares me most about Western States is mountain lions. Second most is the prospect of getting lost. Third most is my terrible night vision. But none of this is insurmountable. Mountain lions probably hate spandex. Getting lost is the surest way of finding oneself. And if a blind person can run, play piano (at my alma mater!) and live fully, then a night-vision-disabled person like myself can probably get by.

I spend my days caring for the most vulnerable. The seriously ill. Those at risk of dying, and soon. The frail elderly. The disenfranchised. I like this work. It is tiring though, and sometimes a doctor needs to refuel. Pretty soon this cannot involve tuning into The Daily Show. Sigh. But I have a lot to be thankful for. And as the mother of Dragons, I am not to be trifled with. Plus there is the wonder of human beings. The fact that gay people can freely marry. Obamacare lives to see another day. And: Beethoven.

It's all good.

Except for the lack of time to pee.