Thanksgiving Day dawned a nasty gray in our area. It was windy, cold, and rainy. Growing up in New England this was nothing new, but here in the southern states it is usually sunny and to me unseasonably warm.
After sitting around the breakfast table with H’s family for a good portion of the morning, I had been up with T.D. since the birds peeped their eyes open, I couldn’t sit and let my breakfast burrito turn to a rock in my stomach. I had a whole day of eating ahead of me. I felt like a doughnut. I needed movement. When the collective group still in their pj’s declared, it was naptime I almost screamed. NAP TIME? NAPTIME? It’s 10:30 people! I can’t nap if I’m going to be eating all day in this overheated, full of people house! I need to move! I looked at H and said, "I’m going for a run.” My MIL said with wonder, "But it’s rainy and cold out there.” H unsurprised just asked, "Did you bring cold weather stuff?” Oh yes I did. I had checked the weather and knew that at some point a run/solitude would be necessary. I didn’t think it would be a mere 12 hours after our arrival but I needed that run. I didn’t care if there was ice on the ground I was getting out there.
Bundled up, weatherproofed and with my trusty iPod strapped on I set off. It’s country out there and on the water. It was a rather nice combination. The wind was high and in some unprotected areas the rain, wind and sea was blowing me around quite a bit. I didn’t care. I didn’t feel the cold. I just pressed on until my lungs hurt and my chest felt like it was being stabbed. It was a good feeling really. I was working up a nice sweat and had good tunes blaring. The scenery was steel gray, misty, and all together perfect. It felt like those winters growing up on the beaches of the New England coastline. I needed a feeling of familiarity that day I guess. While I love my husband’s family, they just can’t replace the sense of emptiness I still feel each holiday without out my own family and their collective messes. Being close to the water with its spray hitting my face and the seashell-covered roads, I felt just a little bit closer to my people and a bit more understood. My mood lifted and my heart opened a little bit more that day. I felt myself smiling for the first time in a week.
At the end of the run, I found myself on a truly deserted road. It was just me and the pine trees. ‘Canned Heat’ by Jamiroqaui suddenly blasted onto my iPod and if anything is going to get me to run, it’s a song like that. Energized once again I looked around me and realized, I’m completely alone out here. DANCE! Just Dance! It’s what the song told me to do so it’s what I did. On some country road, I ran up and down doing Broadway-style moves, jazz steps I hadn’t remembered since I was eight, and whatever else I felt like throwing in there. It was a funk-disco marathon and it was exhilarating! I could not remember the last time I had danced in the rain like that, probably my early twenties, and I realized I just can’t stop doing that type of stuff. I have to remember to keep it up no matter how grown up and old I get. It’s what makes me, me.
Completely out of breath, smiling broader than I had in a long time, I literally danced and strutted back to my Mother in law’s house no longer caring if anyone saw me do a little jig and two-step or two in the road or driveway.
Vicky is a writer and WAHM is currently not running but walking to train for the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. You can learn more about the walk, Vicky and her other adventures on her site, The Mummy Chronicles.
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