endorphins

There’s this hill. I’ve mentioned it in my previous posts about running. It’s at the very end of my early morning run. The neighborhood is full of little hills, dips, tilts and slopes. But this is the last one, so it’s always the toughest. Climbing it is a bit like a recurring nightmare. The one where you show up late for an Algebra exam you forgot to study for. Painful doesn’t even begin to describe it.

I have a love-hate relationship with this hill. It’s complicated. Dense with onionskin layers of complexity. I’m attracted to connections of this nature because they are the most profound teachers. They force me to expand and extend. Stretch beyond my comfort zones. Push limits. Smash down walls. Break through closed doors. Grow my physical, spiritual, emotional and intellectual muscles. Their lessons take me above and beyond and back.

In no particular order, here are 15 things I’ve learned while running up the hill:

1. It’s rock solid. Dependable. Not going anywhere. I can count on it being there. Every day, whether I like it or not. I want to be that unshakeable, that steady.
2. Some days it’s easy. Some days it’s not. I don’t know why. That’s the paradox. The enigma. The mystery. So I soar with the easy times. I struggle through the hard times. One baby-step at a time. Either way, I keep going.
3. It takes guts. Especially on the difficult days when just getting out of bed is an act of courage. The bravest thing I do.
4. It’s okay to stop. Take a moment to catch my breath. To regroup. Consider my options. In the end there’s only one. Carry on.
5. It’s easier when I don’t look up. At the very the bottom it’s daunting. Overwhelming. Fucking intimidating. So I keep my eyes on the piece of sidewalk directly in front of me. And take it piece by piece. Suddenly it’s not so big. Little bits are doable. Far less formidable.
6. Don’t look down once I reach the top. It’s a dizzying perspective. A mixture of pride in today’s accomplishment and dread for tomorrow’s harrowing task. So I resist peeking over my shoulder. I simply turn the corner and keep going.
7. Honor my body and where it’s at today. It’s changing. Aging. Nowhere is this more apparent than on the hill. I listen to the subtle messages it sends. I’m respectful of my limitations. And grateful for what I can do.
8. Maintain my runner’s form despite the slower pace. This is part of the art of running and hard to articulate with words. It’s about the shape. Structure. Configuration. Contours. I keep the stance no matter how downtempo the present beat or cadence.
9. It’s not a competition. There’s no one else in this race so the pressure’s off. I don’t rate myself. Think about time. Check my pulse or heart rate. There’s no personal best. No need to push harder. I don’t give a shit about that. I’m not an athlete. I’m not going to Sochi. The beauty of this stage in my life? There’s absolutely nothing to prove.
10. It’s not about conquering. Nothing to beat. Vanquish. Quell. Quash. Clobber. Nor crush. I greet the hill with the peace of a Pacifist. In my heart I’m confident I’ll reach the top. But I’ll inflict no harm along the way.
11. It’s okay to be afraid. Some days the hill scares the living shit out me. It’s just too much. Especially on the dark and eerily quiet mornings. My imagination takes hold. The hill becomes my enemy. Then my legs turn to rubber. Shaky like jelly. That’s when I exhale deeply. And keep moving. Even shaky legs can get you there.
12. It hurts. It’s so fucking painful at times that I think, ‘This is it. I’m gonna die on this stupid hill.’ But I don’t. I make it home in one piece. And the truly priceless part? It’s like the miracle of childbirth. I forget the pain when it’s over.
13. The weather doesn’t matter. Rain or shine, snow or sleet, the hill is still there. Waiting for me. So I dress accordingly. I never worry about getting wet. Or cold. Or sweating like a pig. The wind can howl like a wolf. I call its bluff and howl right back.
14. Every day is a sweet little victory. I celebrate that. Not in a big glittery New Year’s Eve kind of way. But I do have this little happy endorphin dance going on in my head when I’m done. This is a beautiful reminder to take joy in all the wondrous things life holds. Every day I’m here is a win.
15. The hill will be here long after I’m gone. Reliable. Solid. Stone-steady. Some things endure. Others, like me are ephemeral. But know this, the hill recognizes my footstep. It is imprinted in the soul of the earth. And that’s pretty fucking awesome.

We loved to sit on our front porch in pedal pushers.

I like countdowns. Especially ones that lead up to a happy event or special occasion. Like Christmas. The birth of a child. A wedding. On New Year’s Eve I like to watch the ball drop in Times Square. All that glittery optimism and brilliant expectations for the year ahead. A fresh new start in ten New York seconds. Which could be 11 or 12 in the rest of the world given the speed with which a New York second passes. Regardless, it’s out with the old. In with the new. A reason to celebrate.

Even though it’s been decades since I was in school, one of my favorite countdowns still remains that to the start of summer vacation. There’s nothing else quite like it. For me, it even trumps counting the days until Christmas. Despite all the caroling and egg nog drinking. There’s no strings attached. Just easy breezy eagerness. And the joy of looking forward to lingering carefree days and laid-back leisure time.

Gretchen Rubin in her marvelous book “The Happiness Project” talks about the four stages of happiness, with the first one being anticipation. This notion really resonates with me. Because it goes hand in glove with countdowns. As I am counting down, I am also anticipating and picturing that some kind of wonderful about to take place. This in turn releases a bucketful of endorphins. And those make me grin like a five year old coveting an ice cream cone covered in sprinkles.

Little back story. The last month of school was both terrific and torturous. By June in Northwestern Ontario, summer had fully arrived. No longer lurking around the corner. It’s presence was fully felt. From the early morning dew to the humidity that blanketed everything long after the sun had set. The heat was relentless. Refusing to retreat. Even in the darkest hours under a cheddar colored moon. It was ever present. And after a long cold winter, we welcomed it with open windows and screens on our doors.

This time was torturous because no one wanted to be there. Not even the teachers. Everything you really needed to know was already behind you. If a teacher was bold enough to introduce something new, no one was listening. We were a clowder of cats. Completely disinterested. We may have seen her lips moving but we heard nothing. Attention spans were short. And the intake valve to our brains even shorter. There was no way anything education related was crossing the threshold to our brains. Being inside was unbearable. Being inside a classroom even worse. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. The flowers were blooming. We were all itching to get outdoors and be a part of it.

The fantastic part of that last month was the relaxed easy-going attitude of everyone. The teachers did their part. Classroom windows were flung open wide to allow summer in. The sweet smell of heat infused with intense humidity, the divine scent of freshly mowed lawns and ubiquitous odor of freshly tarred roads settled over our desks, the blackboard, the books, the collection of potted pea plants on the windowsill. It was a potent elixir that made us all positively giddy with happiness.

I like to see the world upside down and with a split.

In elementary school it was also the month of outdoor gym classes. Track and field events. Baseball games. Red white and blue hard rubber balls bounced and boinged off sun drenched brick walls. Hula hoops in neon colors sashayed around tiny waists. White chalk hopscotch art filled the sidewalks. Cartwheels. Headstands. Skipping ropes and Double Dutch. Play of all sorts was extended. And clothes were lessened. Bare legs and bare arms showing off the beginnings of suntans. Sandals and rubber flip flops. Pony tales and new summer haircuts.

In high school every opportunity to be outside was embraced. It was a time to start working on the tan. The goal was to be beach-ready when the final bell tolled. Lazy lunches and spare classes were spent languishing on the grass. P.E. classes were all about the outdoors. It was track and field season and whether you liked it or not you were out there. Running or dragging your butt around the track. Horse laughing with your friends. Good nature teasing. Disgusted by the sweating. Complaining at every turn. But secretly loving every moment.

Breakfast at one of the campsites on our Circle Route trip.

I don’t think Ma and The Old Man counted down the days until my school year ended. But they too welcomed the lazy hazy crazy days of summer. Relished the longer days and warm evenings. This meant more time for The Old Man to tend to his vegetable garden. Or umpire Little League games after supper. More time for Ma to pause and relax with a cup of tea. Go for walks or simply watch us kids play from our front porch stoop.

We weren’t big travelers. Especially going anywhere that required a plane, train or boat. But we did have an automobile. A Ford. This was all we needed to get away. The Old Man got two weeks off in the summer which was a big deal back then. During that time we’d often go camping or drive down to Duluth for a few days of shopping and sightseeing. One time we went as far as Minneapolis. And another time we drove and tented our way around Lake Superior. Doing the Circle Route was considered quite the adventure to our family. I’ll never forget the thrill of traveling the Soo Locks. Another favorite summer pastime was driving to Sibley Park, Boulevard Lake or Chippewa for a Sunday afternoon picnic and swim. Oh the picnics. How we loved those. Some planned and some spontaneous. On muggy evenings, Ma would pack up a basket of food and we would drive to Boulevard to cool down and have dinner. Who needed a pool or a summer cottage when one of the best places to swim and hang out was just twenty minutes from our house. We were blessed.

It’s been said that the family that prays together stays together. That could very well be true. But I also think that the family that plays together stays together. At least that seemed to be the case for ours. Especially in the summertime. Everyone just seemed to get along better. A bit like the way we were around Christmas time. Only the rosy glow lingered. For two solid months our spirits were raised and uplifted. Happiness hovered in the clear blue skies over Lake Superior. Washed over us in Boulevard Lake. Splashed us from behind at Sibley. Shone over the Sleeping Giant with a big yellow smile. Echoed across Ouimet Canyon. Shouted from the top of Mount McKay. And giggled inside a tent pitched in the backyard at 204.

It’s June and summer beckons. Calls me back to that place. I count down.

My Thing About God

Diaries of The Breadman's Daughter.

Diaries of The Breadman’s Daughter: Lessons from the Hill.

Diaries of The Breadman’s Daughter: Countdown to Summer Vacation.