In an alternate world, spirits are given standard-issue bodies in which to reside for their physical life. Spec-ed to perfection, each body's performance falters or thrives in direct and clear correlation to the quality of their care. Commitment to health combined with daily discipline begets obvious and standardized positive results. Misuse or abuse triggers noticeable imbalance. In this alternate world, there is a standard-issue body for men, and another for woman. There is no airbrush to tweak the natural form. The ideal body is a singular image, and achievable by any who follow the care regimen.
But in this alternate world, would I notice the sweetness radiating out from the hazel of my love's eyes? Would I cherish how my head rests perfectly in the crook of his arm when we lay down together at night? Would I so admire the tautness of his belly and contour of his chest that I so admire now? Would he say to me, as he notices the lines that have begun to set around my eyes and mouth, that he can tell I will be beautiful old?
If I so love the specificity of my man, recognize him when I see him in a room of people, celebrate his perfect-because-it-is-his body, why should I not celebrate my own?
Today's run was two steps forward/one step back. For days I have looked at my foam roller, sitting in the corner by the closet. Every day since Sunday I have thought "I should use that on my tight calf." And every day I have not. Tonight I will not forget. My left calf was so tight during today's run that I had to stop several times to stretch it out, then walked a bit, then ran. I took so much time in the stretching that I decided to take an alternate route to get back to my office. I missed passing Pauline, an older woman who sits on the front patio of her house and with whom I sometimes chat, but I did catch someone else...
Despite the starts and stops, it was a pleasant enough run. I will spin tonight, which I've come to really enjoy and find to be great cross-training for speed and endurance, and then go home to my sweet, specifically him, man and my stepkids. He will be working on a new song that he's been writing these past few days, and they will be dancing circles around me while I foam roll my calf muscle (and hey, while I'm at it, my glutes, hamstrings, and IT band as well). After we put them to bed and read another chapter in Anne of Green Gables, I will crawl under our own covers with the cat and a book. Later, when he is tired of working on the song, my man will turn out the lights, place my book on the nightstand, and curl up around my sleeping body.
January 9, 2013.
Los Angeles, CA
Temperature in the low 60's... a little chilly once I started walking
average pace: 12:49 per mile