Been home for a week and finally feel back to somewhat normal. Twenty-nine hours total, waiting in airports, flying on planes, and crossing fifteen time zones takes a toll. Some U.S. runners at the Sydney Marathon arrived just a day or two before the race, then left shortly after. I’m sure most finished much faster than I did. I marvel at how their bodies and brains coped. Oh, to be young and/ or nuts.
Sitting down now to write this, not because of some pressing urge to talk about the marathon, but rather because the further away I get from the day the less I remember. And then there’s the fact that it’s not just the marathon I want to write about, because the marathon was only a tiny part of a much larger experience that encompassed three weeks total of eating everything in sight, drinking too much wine, hiking, exploring, swimming, snorkeling, and in general just being – as in truly being in the moment – in a country that left me wanting so much more for myself and the world around me.
That reminds me of another similarly blissful time. Years back, I’m talking 95 marathons ago, so ancient history, my younger daughter and I hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and stayed for a few days. It was mid-July with temps breaking 100. We spent most of our time there coping with the heat by sitting in a creek in our shorts and T-shirts, cool water rushing over our thighs and bellies, tiny fishes pooling around us. Surrounding us, the cool green colors of cottonwood, willows, mesquite, desert grasses, punctuated by the red orange rocks that kept us close. Above, turquoise sky. Nothing else but the sounds of nature.
I remember pulling a Tony Hillerman book, The First Eagle, from the camp bookcase. Finished that story the first day, then devoured it all over again on day two. Since then, I’ve read every one of his books at least twice. First randomly, then the second time in publishing date order with the AAA Navajo Nation map nearby for quick referencing. Not sure what my daughter chose to read, but she was similarly engaged with her own literary finds.
When our time was up and home duties beckoned, I recall feeling a profound sense of loss, like every step forward was taking me further from home. In the canyon, everything felt right. Life was exactly how it was supposed to be down there.
Australia felt sort of like that.
The trip was an escape from reality, for sure.
The marathon? Not so much. And that was a good thing. That was the best thing. Because while life here in the U.S. right now is fraught with stress and anxiety, at least I've got this concrete stupendousness to remind me that forward motion matters: I ran – well in truth ran-walked - a marathon in Australia!!!!! Wow!!!
Forward is a pace. More later. I need a nap.
