Right. Left.

“Beep! Beep! Beep!” I roll over and hit snooze on the alarm.  Joshua comes in dragging his star blankie.

“Moooom.  Can I sleep with you?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say and roll over to make room for him.

“Beep! Beep! Beep!” The alarm blares again.

“I want to turn it off!” Josh announces and hits the snooze button again.

“Beep! Beep! Beep!” it sounds once more. I roll over and turn it off once and for all but continue to lay there.  I’m exhausted despite the sleeping pill and full 8 hours of sleep I’ve had.  I feel dark and lonely and sad.

Time passes.  I don’t know how much exactly but I feel like we really should be getting up.

“Joshy, it’s time to get ready for school,” I whisper.

“NO!” is his immediate reply.

I roll over.  “I don’t really want to get up either,” I think.

Finally I look at the clock.  Oh yes.  We really must get up or we all will be late.

I roll out of bed and Joshy comes too.  I look out the window.  It’s gray and dismal, just like my mood.

I race around the house trying to get everything ready.  I get Josh dressed.  I dress Wyatt too because he’s taking too long.  All of the bread is in the freezer so it’s cereal for everyone. (Thank goodness because toast takes longer.)  I’m just so stressed about something but I’m not quite sure what it is.

Rush. RUsh. RUSH.  Run. RUn. RUN.  Ugh.  The older two are going to be tardy.  I yell and then I feel horrible.

We all jump in the car. We’re going to make it.  I drive them to school and drop them off.  No time to walk Wyatt to class.  I hate that.  Then we are off to pick up a cousin so they can go to preschool.

Preschool drop-off goes well. No hiccups. I rush back to the car.  Why am I rushing?  It’s that stress.  It makes me feel like I need to hurry but I don’t know why.  I race to Target for a couple of things then head home.

“I need to go for a run,” I think.  It will help.  But I don’t want to run.  I want to curl up in bed and cry.  “That means you need to run!” I think more sternly to myself.  I arrive home and walk straight to my room.  I pull out some leggings, a sports bra, a long sleeve shirt and a fleece headband.  I undress in the cold of my bedroom.  At least my shoes feel sunny.  Over the weekend I went to Big 5 with Pres to get him so Futsal shoes and found the perfect pair of running shoes for me. Bright purple to match my hair.

I lace up and head for the door.  I hesitate for a moment.

“I don’t really want to go.  It’s cold out there,” I think.
“Go,” something whispers from deep within and I know it’s right.  I strap on my armband and go.

“Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left.”  My feet say. I quickly find my rhythm. It’s slow and steady but it is forward.

“Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left,” becomes my mantra.  Just keep going.  Keep moving forward.  Soon I’m warm all over. My purple braids are bouncing, keeping rhythm with a new song playing through my headphones.

Before I know it I’m back home.  Three miles down in the blink of an eye.  I’m sweaty AND I’m stinky but I’m also smiling.  That’s something worth running for.

playlist

Me, my purple shoes and a kick ass playlist

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One thought on “Right. Left.

  1. Pingback: Right. Left. | Rebecca Alene

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