Run Away

Last Tuesday, October 7th, I was talking to Nathan on the phone. I admit I was depressed, down-trodden, completely pessimistic. I was tired of not knowing where we're supposed to be and what we're supposed to be doing, tired of the house not selling and worried that it will, tired of writing and writing and getting rejected over and over again. (I think I failed to mention my last rejection. Needless to say, I'm NOT getting that great agent I'd hoped for.) So, in this phone conversation I was UNLOADING on Nathan.


He sighs and says, "Why don't you just go downstairs, plug in the treadmill, and go for a walk.


Seriously, do you think that is what I wanted to hear?


At my silence, Nathan replies, "Now you're mad."



"No, you're right," I said. "I'll call you tomorrow." Somehow I didn't want to talk to him anymore, BUT here's the amazing thing. For once I listened to him. I went downstairs, found and extension cord, plugged in the treadmill and instead of walking, I ran. I ran two miles. Since last Tuesday, I've logged fourteen and a half miles. And, here's the jaw-dropping part-- I've been looking forward to putting the kids to bed each night, so I can run. This is so unlike me, but everyday after I step off the treadmill, I feel great.

The other day, Nathan and I had a nearly perfect morning. We sent the boys off to school, put Josie down for her nap, Mazie was watching a movie, and Nathan and I went down to the basement. While I ran, he set his mountain bike up on the stationary stand and biked. He had the stereo down there, tunes pumping from the iPod, and my thought was, "Hey, we're back!" This is the couple we've been intermittently when we didn't have a newborn or sick kids, when Nathan had a schedule that allowed us time to work out together. He's very committed to fitness; I'm the slacker.

I packed away my scale. For now I'm focusing on getting in shape, and I know that I won't automatically drop pounds doing it, so I'd rather not know. I'd be happy dropping a few inches (around the middle).

So, the next time I get a devastating rejection letter, instead of drowning my sorrows in cinnamon rolls (yes, I did that), I'm going to run until I catch the tail of my dreams again and have the drive to move forward. Rejection is a killer on inspiration. I haven't been able to write a single page since that letter came, but running is good for my mind. Usually, I don't listen to music, and my thoughts run with me. If I'm on a creative train, the repetition of running often gives me the words. Lately, however, I keep missing the train.