The ever living Ghost of Once was

Its taken me a few days of retracing and dissecting what I learned about myself, from my 20 mile run last Saturday. Happily, and reverently I am thankful I ran out on Vashon Island. This island, as you all know by now, is one of my heart places in this world. Its a safe place for me. A retreat. My sanctuary. I ran from the Northend ferry south alongside the Westside highway, ending my run around a loop that is called the Burton loop. Since I was 17, I have ran that loop off and on, it is three miles from my favorite little coffee stand.

The first ten miles were met by spring's multi-hued palettes of green. Buds pushing out into bright fushcia Salmonberry blossoms. I past a creek that years ago, I had reached after hours of crawling through various tight brambles and walking fallen trees in a ravine miles upstream. Remembering how happy I was to reach the Puget Sound after such an adventurous trek, by myself. I ran past the memories of friends homes, of parties, of stories, of births, of dreams that have morphed into the stories I now tell. I ran past the house I rented last summer to celebrate my one year anniversary. I wrote poems in my head of all these things.

As I run, I break up the long miles into quarters, so every 5 miles I got closer to being done. The closer to my own private victory.

As I reached the little town of Burton, I raised my arms in victory, being that I only had four miles left. I started to cry a little, but had to stop because my lungs hurt with the irregular gasps from crying, when I am already pushing them hard. I stopped for a moment, and looked out at the view of Maury Island (Vashon is connected by a little isthmus to Maury Island) and said, "You did it, Heather."

Running is just for me. It brings me deeper into me. I get to learn how my mind works, how it would like to trick me into stopping. How in the pain (and I am in pain as I run these longer runs) the mind can tell me different stories, all stories that are from past experiences/stories about how I should stop. I travel with these stories, and then imprint new stories. Stories of, "Remember, when you were sick? Remember how bad you felt? If you got through that, you can push through for a few more miles."

Running allows me to heal further. To regain parts of me that were defeated. So, in that moment(s) of raising my arms in victory, I shook my fists..I did it. Victory is so sweet. Growth as a human, is so sweet. This victory is no ones, but mine.

A few of my nearest and dearest will be at the finish line. The symbolism of their support is huge for me. Before cancer, it was nearly impossible to allow myself to receive this kind of support. I was always trying to prove to myself, how I could do everything on my own. How strong I was. Cancer broke this down. I learned how to be vulnerable. I learned how to be soft AND strong. I learned to risk asking for what I needed, and then being okay with whatever answer I got. As I run through the finish line, and celebrate that night with my beloveds, we will be celebrating Life.

I am ready for the marathon now. I am glad I have a few weeks to rest up, and heal from the 20 miles.

A wee side note...I wanted to thank two of my Mom's in this life. Debbie and Kathy, for meeting me after my run. They drove me back to my car at the Northend. But not before retracing my entire run, and filling me up with so much love, celebration, praise, and encouragement. Those hills sure did seem bigger in the car! Your love brings tears to my eyes as I write this. I sure am lucky, to be loved as I am. I will remember this part of the celebration for ever. Hugs.