Day 9: Atlantic Beach, Part 2

Today is my mother Janet's birthday. Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you to the moon and back.

So y'all know that I'm Erin. I'm a brown-eyed lady from the Midwest, of mixed Northern European heritage, and thus fair skinned. Time in sun = pink-cheeked lady.

Day 9: Atlantic Beach, Part I

Friday, my ninth day at the beach started bright and early, at dawn. My eyes opened into total darkness at 6 and I slipped past my sleeping parents and into the clothes I had laid out the night before. 

#19: Feeling Groovy

On marches the summer of #crazyclouds...and with it the return of cooler, rainy weather.

(Seriously. Strangest. Summer. Ever.)

Tonight under the threat of another thunderstorm I scooted out the door.

And I busted out my first negative split 5K in....what for all intents and purposes has felt like forever.

Much like that first sweet kiss of the absence of pain, this first strong run is a heady, powerful thing.

And the promise of fall - and cooler weather yet - makes me fairly tingle with joy.

But first, I'm heading to the beach a few more times. First, with my folks this Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. And while the forecast has been dicey thus far, I'm still holding out for lots of sun.

I've got a sunrise to catch....

#19: Week 3

From Sunday to Sunday, I ran four times.

Pain-free. 

The runs were not without their unpleasant moments. Last Sunday, swarms of flying ants plagued every turn. Tuesday, I struggled to breathe through the damp cotton of pre-thunderstorm humidity. Today, my gut churned and my head ached from last night's endless celebration sangria. 

But oh, my heart soared after every run. Kind of like that moment at 3:40.

I ran 4 miles today. 

#19: Days 4 and 5

“Run when you can, walk if you have to, crawl if you must; just never give up.” ― Dean Karnazes

Last Monday morning dawned cool, the grass heavy with dew, the air quiet with the arrival of the new week. Driving to work, I followed the clouds and then the sun, as it shined through.

I hoped these happy rays promised good things for that night's run.

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Later, I stood on the driveway, hands on my hips, and did some walking lunges, trying to shake off my nerves, trying to just focus on my strides and not anticipate the possibility of pain.

Over the years, as my yoga practice has deepened, I've been able to hone in on spots that are tight or sore. To breathe into those spaces, coaxing them to broaden as I exhale. As I set out, I turned my inward gaze to the outside of my knee, scanning it for any changes as my feet took me over the pavement.

One mile. One mile and a quarter. One and a half miles.

There, it flared. I felt the tendons and muscles spasm, protesting. I breathed. Without stopping, I gently rotated my leg externally, thinking about pressing the entirety of the pad of my right foot into the ground.

I breathed and the pain was gone.

In the space where the pain had been was a strange tenderness. Light warning bells continue to sound, but I just kept breathing. One and three quarter miles. Two miles.

I walked it out.

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Wednesday I brought Morgan up to speed as she worked over my leg, yet again teasing out knots and adhesions in my IT band, my quad, and my hamstring. I had initially emailed her the previous week, panicked about the state of my leg, wondering if I should schedule an MRI.

"Sometimes, Erin, the good things take a little longer to come around. Normally you control your knee, but this time, it's got the reins."

I left bruised. "Are you running tonight?"

I looked down at the bloom along my thigh.

"I guess I'll wait until tomorrow."

She nodded in quiet approval.

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Thursday when I set out, I tried not to be overly optimistic. But, there it was: the feeling that the tide was receding, draining away the last two months of frustration. I ran two miles and stopped.

No pain.

In that moment, as I walked the rest of the way home, I looked around in a bit of a daze. I laughed at myself.

Sometimes the good things take a little longer to come around.

But come around they do.

Day 8: Wilmington & Wrightsville

It's Friday night in a coastal town in August. Warm enough for short dresses that flutter around thighs and cold beer that sweats into hands.

A perfect evening for wandering, following the music of pop-up street bands. 

Feet tapping until dancing is no longer an option but a requirement.

Sweating profusely in a windless alley to a band with a tuba. 

Buying pizza from a tiny joint at 2:30 am to soak up the assortment of beers consumed over the balmy evening. 

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The beach is an oven the next day. It's a hazy, lazy day; but the ocean is cold and clears my heads as I swim back and forth along the shore and I grin into the salty waves. 

Wish You Were Here

Though tinged with the toiled remnants of a thunderstorm, the waves lapping Surf City's shores were calm yesterday morning under cloud-dappled skies.

Two weeks had slipped by since my last visit; in that span, July turned to August. August, the month when summer slows, each day's minutes rolling past slowly in the thick summer heat. The dog days of summer, when the slow bake of the South has usually dried everything to a husk. This year, though, the trees, the fields, the grass are all still green. Still lush. Still giving off the smell of verdant life.

I dug my toes into the sand and looked out at the lazy waves. I would not use my board this day; I lolled in the sweet breeze, chatting with my friend Jessica. Later we bobbed in the storm-chilled water, and later still wandered far south down Topsail.

Normally I wander north, towards the pier. But yesterday we trod south, towards and past this little gem.

I wondered what it would be like to drink coffee on that deck in the damp summer morning light. Wondered more what it would be like in winter, with the tang of salt carried on the chill.

A slow day at the beach but still passing all too swiftly, Jess and I agreed.

We headed back north to the sandflats, driving through rain.
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We both did not want the day to end; so we stretched it into the evening, headed back south to Kinston. Enjoying some beer at Mother Earth Brewing with pizza from Chef and the Farmer. We made a friend and, when the MEB's tap room lights turned out for the night, headed over to The Red Room. Paid our $1 to become a member and settled into a wooden booth under a wall of album art.

The rain came and went. The smokers huddling under an umbrella fit for an elephant.

And we drank from mason jars and over-sized wine glasses and conversated. Golden from the beach, pink cheeked from the laughter.

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Some days are heart-breakingly wonderful in their simplicity; in the midst of it, the thought constantly runs across my mind:

I wish you were here.

Wherein

... I dance in my car on the way home from work when I see the post go up on The Wilder Coast. I, along with eight others, had our Instagram photos selected for the first #wildercoast round-up. Scroll to the bottom of Melina's most recent post to find me there (@erinwouldratherwalk).

Tomorrow I head back to the beach featured in my photo to soak up some more sun and dig my toes into the sand.

Day 7 of 10 for Summer 2013.

It's #25 on the List.

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Speaking of which.

2013, the year in which I turned 30, has spawned this:

Heading into this year, I had a number of things which I required to occur, one way or another. Things that, perhaps, you would think did not need to be on any list because they were going - they needed - to happen.

So would I have said before the year turned over.

But, heading into January, something strange happened. I felt compelled to start this list as a way of sending it out into the universe that these things were going to happen and by the very act of writing them down, I was writing my own prophecy. And the universe saw fit to help me cross those items off the list.

As you can see, there have been adjustments. So, perhaps you think I am cheating. But, in much the same way as the original idea surfaced, my editing has been deliberate.

Maybe it seems silly to write "Eat from a food truck in Raleigh." Something so simple. But how many times do we get distracted by the everyday tedium of what we normally do and forget that, just around the corner, is something startlingly fresh that we can try, that will make us laugh with childlike joy?

Some of the other items are bold. "Run (which became Walk/Run with the onset of my summer challenges) 1000 miles." This will be my second attempt at covering 1000 miles in a year. In 2011, I came up quite short at 600. Last year, I managed to set and achieve the moderately increased goal of 750.

I didn't write this all in one sitting; I've been adding to it all year.

#30 is still blank.

Thoughts, my friends?

#19: Days 2 and 3

Lord knows I'm trying. 

Both Tuesday and tonight I set out to run my paltry two miles called for by my ramp up plan.

Tuesday, I made it to 1.65 before I stopped. Tonight I ran all the way through.

But.

Not without pain.

I described what I was feeling to a close friend, who had to have a meniscal tear repaired, and asked what he would do. 

I would want to know exactly what's wrong. And, then how to fix it. 

Yes....

The only way to know exactly what's wrong is an MRI. 

I have another PT appointment scheduled for next Wednesday. I'll be slated to run this Saturday and Monday; if the pain doesn't subside, I suppose I'll have to start moving toward a more comprehensive diagnosis. 

But I'm really hoping, wishing, praying that I won't have to. That Saturday morning when I head out that door my right knee will feel exactly like my left knee.

And I can get back to the business of running without distraction.