Grab Someone's Hand.

I had a post all written about the horror of what happened, and for all too many is still happening, in Oklahoma. I had dovetailed it into an experience we had last night regarding Alex's nightmare. But I didn't like it, because I didn't like comparing, no matter how unintentional or innocently, something so simple like a child's nightmare to the ongoing tragedies in that state.

And maybe I'm just a big sap but I'm teary-eyed writing even that paragraph, because by God does my heart go out to them all. From the children being pulled from the rubble to the parents frantically searching for them, to loved ones torn apart... But then in the face of tragedy there are always moments to cherish, like all the people who came to others' aid; pulling men and women from wreckage; teachers using their own bodies to protect those of their students from the crashing school walls all around them; other teachers carrying their students to safety, ignoring their own injuries;  two bloodied and injured horses literally comforting one another after the storm passed; the young nurse who stopped to comfort a torn up, dying dog in its last few moments on earth. It was those photos that touched me most, that brought the tears to my eyes. The helping. The nurturing. The extension of oneself on behalf of another.

There are always heroes that crop up in extraordinary circumstances. There are always those who will stop in the middle of the mayhem to put themselves aside and put another person ahead in terms of priority. But that's not the only time to extend ourselves to others. Every day there are opportunities for all of us to reach out, grab someone's hand, and help them, whether it's with their groceries on a rainy day or helping a three year old find the rabbit pens at the fair. It is a beautiful thing to do. It is a beautiful thing to give, and to receive. And we should try and make it happen every day.

Run, Girl, Run.

For the past three weeks I've traded a 10 mile bike ride for a three mile run, just once a week, to see if I could handle the pain of my plantar fasciitis, thereby making a weekly run worthwhile. I decided I'd get extremely proactive with icing, stretching and using my PF boot.

The first week was okay but predictably the morning after I woke up and had some pretty significant pain upon standing. It's nothing like that one time last fall when I woke up the next morning and wondered if I'd have to literally crawl to the bathroom to get ready for work. Walking was that impossible.

The second week I really focused HARD on stretching while my body was still warm from the workout, and icing once I'd cooled off. That really helped, but I had run on a Tuesday. Wednesday is Chore Day and I was on my feet all day. It was a pain-filled day due to that, but Thursday I woke with zero pain, just a little stiffness.

That's why I decided to run yesterday. I work Tuesdays so I knew I could focus on stretching, but ultimately stay off my feet whilst I worked. By Wednesday I'd be fine. I'll be honest, I wasn't sure if I should have run on a day when so many runners suffered up in Boston. I know that's likely very silly but there you are. Anyways, I was motivated more by a day of relative rest afterwards, so onward and upward I suppose.

It was a sluggish run, though. I am still so tired from Alex's birthday party this past Saturday and that fatigue really manifested itself yesterday. Plus the wind! Jesus Christ, it was like running in a dream whenever I was running westward. You know that feeling, right? Where you are either fleeing something or chasing something and your desire is speed speed speed, but it's just impossible. That was me yesterday.

Patton was also slower than normal, hanging by my side like OH MY GOD A DOG IS SUPPOSED TO. He is a headstrong puppa and no amount of passive, laid back training helped so we threw a prong collar on that son of a bitch (not offensive, he is a dog) and compromised that way. Anyways, so we're just two slow ass movers yesterday, battling the wind and the sun.

Due to my fatigue I wasn't as aggressive with my post run stretches. I was hot and thirsty and wiped out so I went ahead and copied my trusty hound and took off my shoes and socks and laid on the cool concrete floor while Todd dropped some ice into my water bottle. It worked though! Dogs are smart. Not that he has many other options for places to cool off: the ground outside (too sunny), the dog bed (too warm) or occasionally the sofa (too high). But of those options clearly he made the right choice.

Anyways, long story short (too late*), after an icing and actual progress where wearing my boot while sleeping is concerned, I'm happy to report that I didn't have to limp, not even a little bit, when I woke up this morning. Sure there's soreness, but I could easily compare this to the pain I felt every single day for months after the triathlon, even when I'd completely removed running from my workout regimen.

I feel like the sun is starting to peek out after a long, long bout of darkness. That's what it feels like, being held back by a stupid injury that could have been so easily avoided by stretching. So I'm going to do a home workout tonight, and I'm going to ice, and stretch, and I think I'm going to do that every night this week. If I have to do it every night for the rest of my life, just so I have the freedom to choose whatever form of motion I want, I think I'll do it.

It feels trivial to talk about such a small thing with such big words, again, after such a tragedy happened yesterday, a tragedy that happened to runners. It IS a small thing, I acknowledge that, but it's also a small victory for me, and for that I'm so, so grateful.




*NAME THAT MOVIE IT'S ONLY MY FAVORITE

Silence.

I opened up my browser to come here and complain about how my hair is already looking dry on the bottom half, and dull, and ugly and gross and I hate life and my hair sucks and you suck too maybe. But then right there on MSN it stated, against a red drop and in bold, ugly white letters, that the death toll from Super Storm Sandy is already up to 33.

I know that there are horrible things that happen every day I come here to further mire myself in self-absorption by talking about myself as if my opinions matter in the grand scheme of things. But to see a death toll just there, up from 17 this morning, sort of breaks my heart.

Yesterday it was a nanny who killed the two children in her supervision, completely dependant on her, helpless in the struggle. Last night it was a woman beaten half to death outside a Wal Mart at 8pm. Before that, it was an article in Vanity Fair about a young Indian boy separated from his brother and then his family for 19 years. And then it's all the women being subjected to genital mutilation. Before that, it's everything else. Sex slavery. Rapists. Hate Crimes. Bullies and subsequent suicide. War. Torture. Death and pain everywhere.

Sorry to get so maudlin but as a person who lives in a country that blesses her with the free time to blog about dull hair and trips to Disneyland, sometimes I think a little perspective is necessary. No matter how hard it is, it's worse elsewhere. Prayer and gratitude should mingle, from time to time, with sympathy, awareness and heartfelt attempts to make this world a better place.

Since I'm currently unable to go help the wounded or heal the sick, send money to Red Cross or volunteer, right now I'm going to take a moment of silence, and pray for those who died because of a merciless storm, for the families who are mourning, and for anyone else I can think of.