My runs, or jogs, have been my salvation. They have been my bit of fresh air. My foray into the world to remind myself that it still stands. My proof of life. Yet, this morning I felt short of breath. Not my normal bust my ass at the end short of breath. Anxiety-driven shortness of breath. I feel guilty even writing those words given the infirmity and illness that pervades this country, this world right now. That said, this IS my truth and I’ve always promised to speak my truth here.
My unease comes in waves. It has become a part-time occupation to manage these feelings. The fear, sadness, frustration. It has become a Herculean effort to still my thoughts and keep things in perspective. I have a mantra whereas I tell myself I am doing everything that I can, my parents are doing everything they can, and my sister and her family are doing everything they can. Most of my friends are doing everything they can. That is really all that we can do. That is all anyone can do. We can be compliant, smart, and compassionate.
That reassurance is not always enough. It just isn’t. There are times, like this, when I feel utterly hopeless. I watch a montage of the healthcare workers and first responders. I read grim statistics about the growing number of infected folks. I hear the pleas of the hospitals, existing and newly constructed. I feel like we are all so out of our depth and I fear that we don’t have the tools or wherewithal to navigate out of this.
Don’t get me wrong, I know that there are experts at the front line. I know that our President (sorry, but yes, I have to go there—we are beyond niceties at this point) doesn’t rely on or trust these folks and tends to contradict what they have to say. Despite that high-profile denial and nonsense, I hear what they are shouting at us. I recognize their offerings, their wisdom and patience and support. Yes, I wrote patience. Patience? Yes. They endure despite those who are not experts speaking in the most condescending fashion to them and disputing the FACTS that they share with us. They persist despite those who fail to comply. They carry on in the face of despairing odds. Their jobs are mostly thankless right now. Even when we move through this and arrive on the other side, few will remember how we got there and why we got there. Few will take a moment and comment them for their intelligence, hard work, and humanity. I am but one person but I recognize all of these qualities and traits. I applaud them.
Yet, I feel scared.
I am scared for all the ways in which they are discredited on a daily basis. I am terrified that people are listening to bigger, louder, more uninformed voices. I am horrified that there are people that still think of themselves as invincible. Surely we are smarter than that as a whole? As a community? As a sea of humanity.
Whenever I hear someone wanting to pop into the office for just a little while, out to the store because they are bored, or over to a friend’s house for a 6’ apart happy hour on one driveway, I feel shook. I feel like we just aren’t getting this. Not at all. I feel so anxious that I am one person. How can one person affect change? How can ten people or thirty people? Can 1,000 people really move the metrics here? What is enough? How many of us need to get it in order for this to work?
So yeah, I felt this grief and fear choking me as I run this morning. I felt all the things that I haven’t felt profoundly in ages. I felt soreness in my knees and heaviness in my quads. I felt twinges in my lower back and a tightening in my chest. Every step felt like a yeoman’s effort, like a chore. I felt pained. This release of mine, this escape, felt this morning like a chore. It felt like something I am being forced to do, and thus, it is terrible. Awful. No good.
I run to keep my body fit but more than that, I run to keep my mind intact. I run to keep my mind manageable. I run to keep myself grounded.
Today I found myself incapable of doing just that. My mind is a whirling dervish such that I am having difficulty keeping up. It is spinning out of control and it is just out of reach so nothing I can do will still it or stop it. All of my normal techniques seem to be unavailable to me at this moment. I am having difficulty putting into words all that I feel in order to get it out. I feel like I’ve cried out so many of my tears such that my tear ducts are desert like today. My physical exertion seems to be upping the ante, not reducing the front load.
I am having a morning. I might even be having a day. That’s okay. We are all entitled. You are entitled to have a day where you curl into a fetal position and stay there. You are entitled to cry in the shower or yell at kids hanging out one foot apart on a street corner. You are entitled to overreact or underreact. You are entitled to feel tired. Not normal fatigue, but bone weary exhaustion. You are able to feel scared for people you know and people you do not know. You can have moments of hopelessness and darkness. You can have a morning and you can even have a day.
I know tomorrow will be better. Not because anything material is going to change. Not because there is going to be this amazing shift in the universe, in the world, in the country, in New York, in my county, on my street, or in my building. Something WILL shift in my heart. I will make that happen. I will give myself a morning. A few hours and maybe a few hours more. And then I will regroup and start over. Nothing magical will happen between now and then. I just know that the shift is critical. I know that I have to be good for me, my family, my job, and my friends. I have to celebrate my health and the wellness of many of my loved ones. I have to rally. I cannot take this life for granted.
But for now, I’ll have a shitty run and a gloomy morning. And then after, is after.
Have a morning. Have an afternoon. Have a night. Have a day. Reach out if you need to share the shit of it all.
And then, celebrate your life. In whatever way you can. And then, move forward.
Talk to you tomorrow.
L.
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