Runstreak

 I don't think I've mentioned it, maybe I have, but I've decided to stop my run streak.  November 1, 2018 was my first day of my run streak, so October 31, 2022 is my last.  4 years.  There were so many times this summer that I was done.  I was running so little, I only ran more than one mile 27 times from June through August, several of those were only 2 mile runs.  Looking back, in March I only ran 3 miles one time, the rest were all 1 mile runs.  I've been done for a long time, but too stubborn to give it up.  

This summer I had enough.  I was going to e. WA all the time, I wasn't even home on the weekends in August, I was just done.  I didn't want to run anymore.  So I decided I'd get to my 4 year mark and end it.  Honestly, when I made that decision it was soooooo long until Nov. 1.  I didn't think I'd make it.  But now it's only a week away.  Including today (because I haven't run yet) I only have 8 more runs.  8 more days until I can take a break.  

I'm dreading it, and looking forward to it.  I honestly don't know how I will handle it.  Chris told me this weekend he thinks I'll have anxiety not running every day. My sister told me she doesn't think I'll stop.  And honestly, part of me doesn't want to.  I will never do this again.  This is it.  1461 days, that is a lot of days.  4 years.  

I worry that I will stop completely.  It will just get to be "I don't have to run and don't want to run, so I'm not going to run."  I don't want that to happen.  But I also want to want to run instead feeling I have to run.  I want to enjoy it again.  I've started running more miles in the week.  I've gone back to trying to have a schedule.  I used to run on the same days every week, and have the same days off, well, at least Monday is always the day I took off, with another one or two later.  But always run on Saturday and Sunday, with Sunday being my long run.  I've been trying to start "long" running again, but so far, I've only made one 5 mile run (2 four mile runs).  I'd like to run at least 4 times a week, although this month I've only managed that once (well, more than one mile right now).  I started this in October, end of September, because I know I'm going to be done and want to be in the habit now.  

Mondays are now good days for me to run, while Wednesdays and Fridays are harder, so those will probably become days off, although I liked Monday off because I would rest after my long run, so we'll see.  But I do feel I need to have my "rules" so that I stick with it.  I had them several years ago, never run on Monday, always run either Thursday or Friday, long run on Sunday.  With my current schedule and not doing crazy long runs, I'll probably run on Mondays, and probably skip Wednesdays and Fridays and no fewer than 3 days a week, but preferably 4 or 5 days a week.  I guess we'll see how it goes.  

My crazy one mile run last November
at my dad's in freezing temperatures.

a downer of a post

I had a really hard time titling this post, sorry.

I was catching up on my blog reading, through my move I read very little of my favorite blogs.  Then when I was finally wanting to catch up, my main way of reading, bloglovin, wouldn't let me in.  I was trying to find my blogs in different ways, but I have definitely become dependent on bloglovin and how I get to my favorites there, I couldn't remember the names, much less the addresses, of the blogs I read.  Well, a few weeks ago I was finally able to get into bloglovin, and I had some time, so decided to look at some old entries.  

Stained Glass Butterfly posted in September that her mom passed away, and it hit home for me. 

I thought I had been very open about my own Mom's death, but I don't see any posts about how she died. So I'll tell you. In February of 2018 it snowed, on Valentine's Day my mom went out to make a snowman (because in my family, if it snows, you make a snowman).  She slipped after taking a selfie and broke her ankle.  She was told she would need surgery but they had to wait for an available spot.  Well, about a week, maybe 2, later while she was trying to get up to use the bathroom she fell again and made her ankle worse.  They ended up admitting her into the hospital and did the surgery the next day. They started talking about putting her into a rehab place for physical therapy, so my family and I decided to go over (4 hours) to celebrate her getting out.  Well, she started having breathing problems, her oxygen was low and she was always breathless.  They did a bunch of tests and saw a mass in her lungs, the doctor thought it was fluid, but all the tests came back saying it wasn't anything.  Finally it was discovered that she had a lung disease, I can't remember the word but it meant "generalized lung disease"  meaning they didn't really know where it came from or how long she had it.  But being put under anesthesia exacerbated it  and by the time it was discovered it was way too late.  We found out on Saturday that she wouldn't make it home again.  My sister had to come from N. Carolina to say goodbye so she held on until they got there, and she died Monday evening March 5, 2018.  

This loss was devastating to me.  I was angry. Really, really angry.  Not at her, but at the world.  She was the healthy one, she was the one that we expected we'd have to take care of after my Dad died.  Her family was the one with long life (I had a relative that lived to be 100 on her side), my dad's family has all died before they turn 80, they have multiple illnesses and no one lives long.  (Probably has a lot to do with living downwind from Hanford.)  I could not say my Mom "passed," my Mom died.  I felt "passed" was too kind, and it wasn't kind or fair that she was gone so soon, she was only 70.

My Dad died a year ago.  And my reaction to his death has been very, very different.  I still have the anger, but this anger has been focused at him.  He gave up after my Mom died.  He did nothing, he sat at home and just. gave. up.  He has 4 girls, 5 grandkids and one great-grandson, and he did not care enough to live for us.  I have compared him to my Mom so many times.  My Mom would have been devastated the he died, but she would have lived.  She would have enjoyed her kids, grandkids and great-grandson.  She would have always been at my house.  She would have lived, she would not have given up and she would not have allowed her health to get so bad that she died in her sleep.  You can still tell that I am mad at my Dad for giving up.

Going back to Stained Glass Butterfly.  She posted about her Mom's death, and her very next post was so inspiring. She focused on how her Mom lived, not on how her Mom died.  And that should be what I focus on.  

My Mom loved her girls with her whole heart.  She was kind, and friendly, embarrassing and unique.  She was friends with everyone, no one disliked her.  Even if she disliked someone, she never let that show, she showed grace and kindness to everyone.  I actually started school because of her, but not because I wanted to make her proud, but because I needed something to keep my brain active and not dwell on her loss.  But she would have been sooooo proud of me.  I can her voice so often "Woooo! Go Cathy."  I heard that countless times growing up. 

And my Dad . . . right now he's harder for me, but I need to forgive him.  He loved my Mom and he just couldn't handle his grief (he did not kill himself, he died while sleeping).  My Dad was a family man, he loved his family, he loved his farm.  He was loyal, he was hardworking.  He was kind and humble.  He was quiet, he was always in the background, he would let my Mom talk after church forever even though all he wanted to do was go home.  When I was in college I started calling him Pa as a joke, so he started addressing his letters to me as "Da #3" (I was the third daughter).  I think we had a connection that way because he was also the third child in his family.  In fact, after I had Maddox he told me I had to have another so that there was a 3rd child.  I know he was proud of my school and my job.  I talked to him about a week before he died and he told me.  I was only 2 weeks from graduating (yes, he died one week before I graduated), and I was talking to him about my career options.  He told me he was proud of me.

I need to remember the good things and not be so angry.