my secret life

I was miling seven miles each day I set out to mile, when I first made the fact public. Until then, only Robert had known, unavoidable since we are living together. A couple of months ago, I suddenly announced that I am going to run the marathon, and he silently made his peace with my new focus, my sweaty arrivals at our door, my obsession with mileage, and me taking time away from our relationship. Quien sabe? Maybe he was relieved. But that is a cynical statement – he never acted relieved.

With the exception of Robert, I had kept my running life secret. In the second half of April I finally barred everything to my writing circle – the obsession with running, the fixation on a Bill Strickland school, the intent to blog about it all. We meet every two weeks in a Borders’ café, there are five of us, and we thrive on it. They were overwhelmingly supportive. One of them said I was blessed.

Blessed… The blessed among us are those who are called to serve. I could acknowledge that much. I was chafing under the obligations imposed on me (the sweat, the exertion, the time constraints of running, and the seemingly insurmountable obstacles in the path of the school), but I just could not be sure that I was called to serve.

Perhaps I was in a midlife crisis – nothing to do with calling or meaning, more likely with the absence thereof.