There are two things I am really bad at: confrontation and goodbyes. Unfortunately for me, one usually precedes the other and creates the perfect storm of awfulness. However, I've had to say 2 goodbyes in as many weeks, and oddly, there was no confrontation at all. Hell, there wasn't even a conversation.
Don't worry, nobody died. There was enough of that last year to last a lifetime. But saying goodbye to someone always represents the death of something. Something that made you smile. Someone who got you to trust again just by being themselves. Someone who held your hand as you trudged through the ugliest of divorces. Someone who always said the silliest of things that could make you laugh even when all you wanted to do was cry. Someone who strolled into your life in the most unexpected way, at the most random time and place, and showed you it was entirely possible to begin again.
The truth is, it doesn't matter what their role was in your life; even the briefest presence can leave a hole you have to figure how to sew up and move on. And I'll admit it, the sewing up part is difficult for me. I tend to run, both literally and figuratively, when I get scared or uncomfortable. And the finality of situations always makes me strap on my running shoes.
It's been months and months since I threw on my sneakers and followed the same path I ran almost every single day for 2 years. I don't know what exactly draws me to the same spot, but I know I used to end up there a lot. Today was no different. I ran 5.54 miles in 41 minutes (Why doesn't this crap ever happen right before a race?), and halfway through, found myself standing here:
So, I'm sure I'll be running like crazy for awhile and that's fine. I've been kind of slack lately anyway. And like the sign I saw while running today says:
There will be more bumps in the road in the future. And apparently, some chickens at play.
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