Tokyo: So many questions.

More navel gazing. Searching for truth. Searching for motive. Why did I remove myself from the Tokyo Marathon course? 

Yes. The race management was inept. The fact that they didn’t put runner safety first and foremost speaks to a set of values I can’t even begin to understand and makes me hate everything about those race organizers. 

But I’ve been in awful situations before, and I’ve always powered through. The fact that I dropped out of Tokyo fascinates me. It’s out of character.  I have a history of not only putting up with shit but overcoming it. I know to wait things out. Here’s one of my running mantras, to show you what I mean. For me, it’s funny and stupid and gets to the heart of everything about the sport:  If you’re feeling good during a marathon, don’t worry. That will change. (And vice versa.) 

I’ve used that same mindset to wait out shitty bosses. Yes, I’m absolutely talking about you, the one who finally screwed up so badly you eventually got demoted. 

I know to bide my time, keep stepping forward. For years, life was all about scrimping and saving, working three jobs at a time, getting the kids through college, caring for my parents, running marathons all over these once-united states and in a lot of countries too. I know how to overcome. I have that skillset. I AM that skillset. 

Why did I, a person who never gives up, do just that? Where did I go wrong? Or, alternately, maybe, where did I go right? 

My journal writing from the morning after Tokyo fascinates me and would probably bore you to pieces. Some of what I wrote that morning is in the previous post. But a lot of what I wrote is intensely private. Up until that morning, I don’t think I realized some things. Of the dozen or so furiously scribbled, tear-splattered pages, all but a few are dedicated to thoughts of my parents. Most are about my mother. 

Makes sense in some ways because I was supposed to be in Tokyo before this. She was the reason I didn’t go to Tokyo when I had an opportunity for grad school. The week before I was to leave, she got seriously ill and was scheduled for surgery. 

I had put at least a month’s worth of work into prepping for the Tokyo workshop. After taking the previous year off from grad school to recoup some of what I’d lost when my dad passed, I was so ready to begin living again, and so excited for an adventure in a new country. I contacted the only family member who could possibly be able to step up to help. That family member said no. They were vacationing with friends. Ouch. That’s putting it mildly. 

I had no other options, so I canceled the trip. This involved a ton of phone calls to grad school people, airlines, the trip insurance company, my mom’s doctor who needed to sign off on the paperwork saying that the reasons I needed to cancel the trip were valid. 

A few days later, on the day – no, at the very minute – the airport shuttle should have been picking me up, my mother called with good news. Her latest lab results showed that the issue had resolved. She wouldn’t need surgery. It was miraculous. Truly. 

“Isn’t that great?” she said. “This means you can still go to Tokyo.” 

There were so many times, while caring for my mom and dad, that I had to bite my tongue, remove myself from their presence, because if I didn’t get some space away, if I said what I was thinking and said it with the emotion that I was feeling at the time, it would have absolutely, positively obliterated them. This was one of those times. 

“It’s a little too late for that now, mom.” That was all I said. Right there? One of the proudest moments of my life. I didn’t know I had that amount of restraint in me. 

Hmm. Not sure what happened here. Started talking Tokyo and ended up on my mom. That’s all for now. While I’m still hurting here, that knot of regret buried deep inside is starting to loosen just a bit. I’m not sad about skipping the marathon. But don’t even get me started on how much I miss my mom.