My Awakening

The beep beep of a runner’s GPS watch a few steps ahead of me interrupted the repetitive thud thud of my feet around mile 17. I lifted my gaze from the gray and purple gravel, sand floor of the Mojave desert and noticed we were about to enter the canyon. My stomach was in knots. I was dehydrated. I was not going to give up.

But the mind is a powerful thing. And as I ran, I thought.

This has not been an easy year for you, Molly.This just isn’t you, is it Molly?? This marathon thing can’t be good for you. You like riding your bike, you like yoga. You wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for HIM.  And no one will even be there at the end of this race waiting for you…you know, you could have been so much better, you could have done so much more, but instead you’re alone. Alone and just running…running to nowhere.

 And my mind started to run in circles and my feet started to throb with every step and my gut gurgled and twisted and burned. I was in pain. So much pain.

Why am I doing this to myself? Who am I? Who am I??? Over and over again…Who am I?? Why am I doing this??

And then, I entered the canyon and at first it was beautiful. But I was reminded of how I was alone and running and in pain. Suddenly endorphins started to rush through me as if a dam broke and water was flooding a thirst-starved meadow. And simultaneously, I started to cry. I cried because I was alone. I cried because I felt like no one cared. Because I was abandoned and no one loved me. I cried because I ran marathons and that still didn’t make me good enough for him to love me…

My tears dried and I kept running. I passed no one in the canyon and no one passed me. Every turn was deceiving; I felt like I had been swallowed up and I would be stuck behind these cold, gray, rock walls forever. I started to think again.

How long have I been running? My watch was back in my tent. I just want to go back to sleep. I need to sleep. I need my stomach to stop hurting. I’m sick.

I stopped at the next aid station with my hands on my knees, I paced, I walked back and forth. The volunteers just stared. And I thought, Do I get a ride back from here? Do I keep going? Who am I?? Why am I doing this?? And then standing still with my hands behind my head, I took a breath and I started running.

Four painful miles later, the canyon opened to the deep purples, reds, oranges and pale grays and lavenders of the Mojave desert. The sun peaked through wispy grey clouds and beams of light spot lighted the only green in the entire desert. Creosote and pencil cholla looked like ocean coral on an alien landscape.  And three miles away, I saw the finish line. My joints ached after running 12 miles continuously down hill and my mind reeled from self torment after being alone in death valley for hours.

I crossed the finish line and stopped running. My body knew this was it, I was done. And I swore I was done running forever. I swore this marathon thing wasn’t for me.

I clambered on the bus and we drove back to Furnace Creek. Although I survived, that tour through death valley proved to be the worst race I had ever run and I had never felt so alone. “Molly!” A group of strangers I met early on the course yelled my name. “Three cheers for Molly!!”  ”Hip Hip Hooray!” The bus cheered. More endorphins rushed to calm my aching body. I left a part of myself, still running, 282 feet below sea level. I hit rock bottom, I thought, wiping the salt and grime that stained my face from tears, sweat and dirt. I collapsed on the nearest open seat, my head was spinning as other runners on the bus cheered and laughed. I was light headed and I felt like I was waking up from a foggy dream as I looked out the window and we drove away from the canyon, away from the finish line and up hill through the mountains.

 

My Coffee Shop

“Hug me,” was all he said. And my confidence melted away, I could feel it whither away like a tree losing its leaves in winter and I became silent. I stood there dumb at the bar of the coffee shop and I hugged him and I smiled and I blushed and I wanted more.

He was the polar opposite of me. Physically, he was dark: his skin, his hair, his eyes. His personality even juxtaposed mine. He was sardonic, he laughed sometime and he was brutally honest. He called himself an artist, which was true.  I called myself a scientist. We looked odd together. We didn’t match.

“Come talk.” he said. I knew he would be here today. I thought, despite being overwhelmed with work, I couldn’t wait to waste my time across the street at the coffee shop.  …my coffee shop, where he worked, where I had made so many friends over the years and where I went to escape mundane everyday mores that went along with academia. I admit freely I hid who I was there and knowing I could go there, not as a scientist, even for just 10 minutes a day, often motivated me to go to work at all some days.

So, I walked across the street with my blonde hair down and my sunglasses on and I walked into the coffee shop. People walked in and out and he waved at me, “Hug me,” he stated flatly. He leaned against the bar. He was on break.  I wanted to stay 5, 10 minutes, but he had a way of dragging me away from reality and bringing me into a universe where real-life didn’t matter. And I sipped my coffee and he ate his lunch while we talked through his break outside in the sun.

Forgiveness

I try to write you, but honestly, I just don’t care anymore. It still sucks seeing you, I’m reminded of what happened when I see your face. And those feelings, those feelings that would fester in my gut and make me want to rot away still oddly, uncomfortably creep up the back of my throat when I pass you on the street or see you on campus. (Ironic how emotions can change so drastically isn’t it? How when I saw your face a year ago, less than a year ago even, my heart would swell with an excitement, with a pleasure I just couldn’t describe…but life goes on, people reveal themselves, and feelings change). To hold on to those emotions is so exhausting…and really, I’m over it, J. I forgive you. Things will not ever be the same between us, and I fear we will never be more than friends that just say “hello,” in passing, but I forgive you.

For all the secrets you kept from me, for taking advantage of my emotions and not treating me honestly, I forgive you. And let me make one thing clear: this is not for you, but for me (I’m not trying to be conceited, I say this honestly, wholly). Because Love is the only freedom from attachment and holding on to this, holding on to you is not love, not love for you, for me…for anything.

Keep it real

Molly

Coffee Shop

I sat on the leather couch cradling my white ceramic coffee cup in my hands. I leaned forward with my elbows between my knees, my legs slightly apart and I looked directly in his eyes as he spoke…then at his lips, then at his eyes. My long hair draped to one side of my neck. His gaze shot through me like an arrow. His dark eyes locked with mine, his jet black hair fell into his eyes and across his forehead and it gleamed in the morning sun that shone eagerly through the partially curtained window. I stared back into his dark brown eyes.  I leaned in closer as we talked, I could see the specs of red-brown in his iris now and I thought: I have been here before. I remember it, vividly. I remember the excitement, the thrill, the expectation…I remember the heart break too. My teal scarf fell loosely around my neck and I tugged at it carelessly. I crossed my legs and leaned back against the couch, I took a breath. I was warm and still flushed after riding my bike to meet him for coffee. One hour passed, then two. My coffee cup sat empty on the end-table between us. We walked outside and I unlocked my bike, “Let’s do this again soon,” he smiled. “Yea, yea, this was fun.” I smirked and rode away.

Dream a Little Dream for Me…

I walked into my dark apartment after a night out in the city. My dog, jumped off my bed and stretched before she trotted into the kitchen to greet me, wagging her tail and yawning. I threw my keys on the kitchen table and took off my coat. I kicked off my shoes and walked into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. I sat on my bed after I changed into leggings and a t-shirt and I turned on my side and saw you.

Derek sat with me in the back seat, he wore that ridiculous top hat he bought for that New Years eve party years ago. He smiled, contentedly. His beer gut had grown since we hung out last and it moved, it bounced. And you, you, sat in front of me, as we drove to nowhere, anywhere. Your hair was shorter since we ran into each other last and your beard was longer. Derek looked at me and laughed. You had turned, twisted in your seat so you could look back at us… and I looked at you straight in the eyes and stated simply, quietly, “you’re bleeding.” You calmly reached for your side, still turning, twisting in my direction. Then, looking at your blood covered fingers at eye level, letting blood drip on the fake leather upholstery, you looked at me and said calmly, “how did you know this thing about me.” Your eye gleamed. And the driver’s seat remained unoccupied.

I turned. It was quiet and there was my  dog, my desk, my books, my lamp; my dark apartment.

A Toast to 2012

A toast to 2012 – the year that knocked us off our feet and took our breath right out of our lungs, only letting us gulp for air when we were completely upside down, our heads still reeling from the blow.

To Friends, to Family, to Change.

2012

To the people that kicked us when we were down, to the boyfriends and girlfriends that broke our hearts and robbed us of our trust, we forgive them and thank them for the teachers they are, because although a bit weathered, we are better people for the New Year. What doesn’t kill us, 2012, only makes us stronger.

To the friends we barely knew that lent a smile, a kind word and maybe a drink and conversation during our darkest hour, thank you. You made us see how good people can be and encouraged us to do the same, to share our smile and reach out to a friend we may not otherwise visit.  Because 2012 was the year of compassion.

To the new acquaintances that were like old pals by the end of the week, we wouldn’t have made it through this year without you. Without the new adventures, the interesting conversation, you helped make 2012 and those old familiar places that make Reno what it is so much more exciting. 2012, you were the year of friendship.

To those dear friends, we know like family, and to family, we cherish, but often neglect, we have not forgotten you this year (or ever), because you were there for us in our worst moments, when our minds were spinning out of control.  You, after seeing us completely vulnerable, naked to the world, you accepted us as we are, dusted us off and showed us we were headed in the right direction after all, that everything would be o.k., that we were loved. We remember, 2012, that friends and family are something to always revere and to never disregard.

To the friends and family we lost, we will never forget you. And we are learning to look through the haze of painful mourning and see the beautiful memories you left behind. At first, 2012, we thought you cruel and full of hate for tearing people so close to us from our lives…but where there is death, so there is life and where there is suffering so there is hope.

We filled you with memories, 2012, good and bad. We filled you with heartbreak and joy. Friends moved, graduated, got jobs, married, divorced, some died, and some celebrated births. This year was anything but static. All of us have changed; we have all been etched slightly upon by our experiences this year, 2012.

So I toast, to change, to turmoil, to growth. To 2012 and all the adventures and all the friendships, new and old, and all the successes and all the failures, it was a great year, it was a hard year, but we are all better for the wear. We are stronger, if not more aware, we’ll take our experiences and we’ll bring them with us to the New Year, the year of opportunity of chances yet to be taken, to 2013 to a year I can’t wait to start, an adventure I can’t wait to begin.

Happy New Year.

Cheers.

Memories, Moving on and Reno

I locked my bike outside Imperial Bar and Lounge. It was winter in Reno and the wind blew my hair in front of my eyes. I took my gloves off as I pushed it aside. I wore thermals underneath my jeans and a down vest underneath my winter jacket. My life felt like it was getting back to normal. “Hey Molly.” I turned to see Ryan walk around the side of the brick building.  ”Hey!” I was excited to see him. It had been a couple months since I had last seen him at a friend’s house and he was leaving soon for a six month stint in the Dominican with his girlfriend. I was going to miss him. “Where’s Veronica?” “She’s busy, dinner with friends…girls night or some shit.” “Oh…You didn’t ride here,” I observed.  He walked over and put a long, lanky arm around me. Ryan was tall with dark hair and blue eyes. He wore thick framed glasses and a beard and a black hoodie with straight legged jeans and Vans tennis shoes. Until recently he didn’t own a car, his bike was his sole means of transportation. He was the definition of ‘hipster.’ Not to mention, PBR was his life blood.

“No, I didn’t. It’s fuckin’ cold. Also I was thinking I’d have be riding home at 2am…I have to close tonight.” “I didn’t know you were working trivia. That sucks.” He bar tended at a local bar that sat right on the river and hosted a trivia night every Wednesday. Trivia nights were usually crowded and sometimes got rowdy. He complained about the people it attracted, although Ryan complained about most things. We walked into the bar together. I held my helmet and clipped my keys to my belt. He put his hand on my shoulder and I followed him to a seat at the corner of the bar.

My mind was flooded with memories. A couple summers ago we ended the night here after riding all over Reno. I wanted so badly to see an art exhibit that happened annually down town that night called Nada Da Da. But by the time I dragged everyone to the venue there was a sign on the door that said “Nada Da Da not opening tonight.” Everyone just stood at the door of the art exhibit and glared at me, even more unhappy to have been uprooted from their spot at the bar. Then Ryan took a picture of the sign and said, “Hey, there’s Imperial, let’s go there.” Looking back, that was one of the best summers of my life. I acted like a teenager, like a kid. I felt like I was in high school. When, in reality I had just started working on lab analyses for my Master’s degree after almost two years of straight field work. Although, this didn’t stop me from leaving school early to hang out in downtown Reno with Ryan, Nick and Matt.   I would ride my bike where Ryan used to live with Jake and Jesse at the base of Peavine mountain to meet Nick where we would bar-b-q. Other times we would meet at the tap house and eat and drink, often staying out past 1:00 in the morning, trolling Reno for things to do. Now that I think about it, everything we did was so incredibly juvenile, but I loved every minute of it.

Now, as I walked with Ryan to our seats in the corner of the bar this cold December evening, I realized things had changed so much since then. Twenty twelve was a tumultuous year. Although, a bit weathered, I have grown, I think I’m a better person. I no longer expected a long night riding bikes around Reno with Ryan, nor did I want it. I had work to do and so did he. He was a different person too. Not the same guy I remember running out of a bar with just as we were about to get kicked out or the guy I had to talk back to consciousness because he almost made himself faint after telling a story about needles. He was more mature and grounded today. He left after he finished his PBR and drove to work, but not before he hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. “I’ll see you before I leave for the Dominican, Moll.” I stood up next him and he towered over me, the casino lights glittered as they reflected against the large windows that were the backdrop of the bar.  I smiled, happy that our friendship remained constant even though so many things had changed in our lives.

I walked outside. I put on my helmet and all my layers and unlocked my bike. The wind cut threw me as I rode up the hill towards my house. I would be leaving Reno this next year, and I wondered, who would remember me when I left. Who would remember those nights of riding bikes aimlessly through the streets, eating pub food, going to see local bands and art shows, or sitting on a street curb telling each other our life stories. Will these memories be left like ghosts to roam the streets of Reno like so many transients that have come and so readily left the town I have grown to love. Or will we remember, will we be together again next summer or the summer after that, sitting outside by the river talking about our lives and remembering our past.