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The Day I Ran a Metaphor

Instagram @slwindisch | Photo by Anna Hixson

 Yesterday, I ran up a mountain.


Like most of America, I've had a hell of a week. I'm exhausted. My soul aches. I've endured a professional drubbing from doing two Veterans Day programs on the same day and not being able to eat lunch and no one really understanding what all that entails, because, "that's your job" and "now you might know what [standardized testing] is like" and "that must have taken weeks - thank you." (See, not everyone is awful and inconsiderate.)

I never try to get out of the weekly runs I take with my People. I love to run in the rain and the mud. I love the snow up to my butt and mornings that freeze my nose hair. But this week? I didn't want to go. I tried to get out of it. I wasn't in any place mentally to run, especially to bag a peak with my girls and a guest, but they talked me into it, promising me unlimited swears and no judgement, (Hah, girls, that's every week.) plus some sort of fancy-pants coffee.

I decided at the bottom I was going to run the whole thing. All 5 miles up. No walking. No breaks. Partially because I'm incredibly stubborn and a bit of a masochist. Partially because I had plenty of stuff to deal with and running is how I do that. Mostly because I knew it was in me.

The first time the two in front stopped and I ran past them, it was no big deal, but it kept happening again and again, and they started noticing. Then the one behind me walked beside me for awhile (because that part was steep and I never said I was going to run fast). She said, "You're not stopping, are you?"

I shook my head.

"Get it." she replied. "I'll see you at the top."

I didn't talk to my companions. I ran. There were times that I didn't know what was sweat, what was tears, and what was rain. I ran. The people I was with stopped. They rested. They complained (mostly good-naturedly) about the mountain. They walked. They shouted encouragements at me. I just kept going. Because I told myself at the bottom I would.

We took the obligatory picture at the top. We ran down, a 10-mile round trip. We ate doughnuts in the car. They told me I was a beast, a total badass. I guess that felt good, but I stared off into space a lot, still not collected and at peace, yet knowing I'd left something behind atop Mica Peak and glad of it.

It was a real mountain, not just a good metaphor. I could belabor the point here and talk about how making and keeping a commitment at the bottom shows me even more that I'll fight against hate when others give lip service.  How I can put my mind to something and know it will get done. Mental fortitude. Inspiration. Blah, blah, blah.

I could say that we are at the bottom of a mountain as a nation right now, and we have a long way to the top, and that it's going to be hard. I could tell you about embracing the suck. About can't stop-won't stop-pick a sports cliché.

I could tell you that today, my body hurts as much as my spirit does, and I'm so, so grateful for that pain.

Draw your own conclusions. Take what you need from this story.

Yesterday, I ran up a mountain because I said I would.

And if I say I will, I will.

Note: Pushing myself mentally, physically, intellectually - living on the very edge of what I can do and having to improve to complete something while I'm doing it? That's what I need to survive. I know a 10-mile mountain summit on a Saturday morning seems crazy-intense, and I guess it probably is...but my "light 'em on fire and watch 'em burn" mentality isn't just for my students.

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