this is their story. part 1.

She was 17 when she decided to run away from home. She earned the right. Her parents were "catholics" ie. they didn't believe in birth control. But they sure did believe in abuse, neglect, and abandonment. There were 7 of them. One boy. Six girls. The boy, one of the eldest, had tourettes and a addiction to drugs. Of the youngest girls, one was mentally challenged. Their aunt and uncle, the only saving grace, took pity on them, as they had no children of their own. Falling towards the bottom of the totem pole, her piggy bank robbed by her older brother, her time robbed by her disabled sister, and her heart broken when all the older siblings flew the coop.

He was 20. Been with the same girl since middle school. A dream come true. Except she was jewish. And he was the farthest thing from it. A red headed Ramirez. That carried a connotation that we know nothing of now. Mexican, Indian, Scottish, Irish = Catholic. But, if he was willing to convert, the world lay at his feet. Her parents owned a restaurant in the city, across from a hospital, and they had acquired a solid bit of wealth. In fact, they had already purchased high ticket items a dishwasher, refrigerator, washer and dryer, for the young couple and kept them stashed in their basement waiting for their wedding day. Paired with a promise to provide the means for college, and a prosperous career as a lawyer. This was his dream. Until he decided that he did not want to live indebted to someone else.

questioning.

sometimes the questions are infinite. sometimes that's ok.

run for your life.

whew! Does it ever get easier?! I feel like more often than not, the first ten minutes of every run is like going to the dentist- you know you need to- but good lord it's still awful. I completed, somewhat reluctantly, an hour run this afternoon... it was the guilt that pushed me... all the cocktails, the milkshake and french fries... too many calories that need to be exhausted. But about 40 minutes in, while climbing a rather long and steady hill, I managed to lock my eyes straight ahead, the voices in my head shut off, and my body took over. I've been running for my whole life, haphazardly for the last ten years, my body knows how to run. My legs know how to pump up a hill, they know when to shuffle with small steps, they know when to take long strides and dodge holes. They know how to communicate with my lungs, which are working hard, pulling in oxygen, pumping it through my body. They know how to communicate with arms, to pull myself forward. My body knows how to run, I just need to learn how to let it. Then I think running for an hour will become easier.

going the extra mile

I wanted to turn around and go home. It was 88 degrees at 8 o'clock tonight, with such stifling humidity that I felt like a gnat drowning in a vat of honey. I'd had a lethargic day, and knew that I needed to get in a good long run, but I could barely lift my legs and my back was tied up in knots from the cross-training I had done over the weekend.

Upon leaving the house I found myself heading right towards my 30 minute route, and had to quickly redirect myself, towards the farmer's market it was. If I am going to run a marathon I can't keep being a wuss. I reached my half way point. "I want to go home" were the only words echoing in my mind. Just as I reached the corner I heard another voice say "ok" but it wasn't an "ok, I give you permission to turn around" it was an "ok, I hear you and I acknowledge that going home would be nice... but I also want to keep running." And with that I crossed the street.

Just as I crossed the street a cool breeze blew, the first, and only, of the night. A few yards past that two of the most adorable raccoons imaginable, their bodies no larger than my running shoe, came out across the fence and into the tree. Then there were two bunnies, and a doe. I guess dusk = dinner time. Had I turned around sooner, I wouldn't have been in those places at that time and I would have missed it.

I often dismiss Raleigh for it's lack of grandeur. We're not D.C or NYC. We're not Seattle or Portland. But to live in a city where I can bike to a coffee shop or walk to a bar, and then just a block the other direction experience wildlife and woods is a pretty remarkable balance, one that is worth going the extra mile for.