After the fourteen miles or so I put in between
running/hiking and walking the day before, I felt tired and wondered why. I
figured it was the stress about safety for our youngest flying out, with all
the problems with Newark Airport recently. She’d be flying west to meet me in
two days. My fatigue was perhaps from driving before taking a day to just be—could
factor in as well. Last year at about this time I’d had a day of rest with Nina
and her husband just prior to hitting the 700-mile mark in the trip then. This
time, I’d driven 2,400 miles or so before taking a day off of driving. So,
there was that. Too, the political air weighed on me, even though I knew people
were basically safe for now—the anxiety still hung in the balance.
I slowly rose that morning, eventually getting out for an eight-mile
run. I didn’t drag as much. Aside from praying that all personal events would go
off smoothly, I’d constantly digressed into our country’s shattered schematic.
This was a time, a debate my hippie husband and I would have earlier in our
marriage before children. It went something like this:
“You shouldn’t allow Nazis to march in our streets.” I’d
declared.
“Jody, its freedom of speech.” Norm reacted.
I’d bantered back, “Hatred. Freedom of hatred. Its one of the
very things I went into the Marines to counter.”
He’d replied, “They’re expressing themselves. They’re allowed
to.”
“I get it. But that’s wrong. We are allowing a rallying cry
for hatred against anyone different from them. It’s going to be a problem if we
don’t call it out.”
“Still, it’s their first amendment rights.”
“I know. But someday ours will be violated by them. Our lives
will be at stake.”
“You’re Catholic. It’s never going to happen.”
“Yes, it will.”
“Jody, we have checks and balances in our government.”
“It’s not going to hold. David Duke, a f’ing criminal they
voted for.”
“Jody, he won’t get that far. No one would vote for a guy
like that for president.”
I’d nod to concede some kind of defeat for peace in our
home. When we love someone, many times we concede defeat even when we are adamant
in our righteousness. That type of concession always pained me. It was because
I’d witnessed the worst in people within my own family and beyond. He hadn’t.
We came from different sides of the tracks.
As my morning run ended, I sauntered back to the hotel,
walking 300 meters to cool down before getting to the free breakfast area,
where I’d grab a few free yogurts, free cream, a cup of coffee, and perhaps a
banana if they were in stock there. Yep, those were my morning eats after my
run on the drive out west to our eldest daughter’s graduation. I’d have a hot mushroom
coffee drink in my hotel room after thirty ounces of water with a chlorophyll
supplement before I’d go running. I’d watch the weather station, which usually
had a little snippet of a story of bad weather in the past and how people did
or did not survive. ‘Wicked stuff’. I’d think—standing there in my running
gear, waiting for my body to reject its own hazardous waste.
Later that day, after a shower and breakfast, I put on
PBS-Kids for some quiet time away from the anxieties that await me. I ended up
napping at about noon for nearly three hours, then called Nina. Nina, my
running friend since October 19th, 1992, living in Michigan explained,
“Jody, you’re running at altitude.” I’d replied, “Yeah. I guess. But I’d never
really thought about it. Too, I’d never noticed such effects on me.”
Soon, I was outside before dinner checking the oil in my
car, it seemed on target, but I’d check again in the morning after I’d gotten
gas and ice. I’d be eating Mexican again this night. I was considerably
impressed that this town in Utah had so many Mexican restaurants and so far,
they hadn’t disappointed.---Jody-Lynn Reicher
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