My dancing husband

My husband likes to dance. I guarantee that you will not see him doing the electric slide at a wedding or being the first out on the dance floor at a party. At first I thought he did it as a joke. He would stand up in the middle of our weeknight tv marathon with a beer in one hand while moving his hips in hula hoop fashion. He would giggle like a little kid and then chase Roxie up and down the hall from the kitchen to the living room. Roxie would jump on the furniture; he would jump in place. I, a mere spectator, would laugh.

I know for a fact that his dancing began as a joke but really has become a way for him to release some pent up energy. At first, the nightly dancing was just the two of us practicing our first dance for our wedding. I would be exhausted, content to just lounge in front of the television, while my husband would be jumping up and down begging me to get up and turn and twirl with him to Brad Paisley's "Then." I would, of course, agree, and he would eagerly begin the music. We would perform our practiced dance, sometimes in front of the camera he set up as a video and sometimes in front of the dog, who at that point was just waiting for us to involve her in some twirling. I am convinced that my husband would have practiced that dance twenty times had I not refused after the fifth. Later, he would search youtube for the perfect dance moves that we could incorporate into our choreography.

Like my husband, dancing is also my passion. In fact, on our wedding night I did not leave the dance floor once. I danced to all of the songs. My dancing partners varied and during some songs, it was just me, a glass of champagne and my wedding dress twirling from one end of the dance floor to the other. My husband, of course, refused to dance to any song after our first dance. His friends agreed, nodding, saying that they weren't big dancers either. I just shook my head and laughed, picturing his solo performances in front of the television. In front of his friends, he might be a tough guy. But, Roxie and I knew better. My husband and I both loved to move and shake. But, while I admitted my passion, my husband was a dancer in disguise.

Reflections and Running

I am a firm believer in the importance of reflection. That is the essence of journaling and in modern times, blogging. Thus, I found my experience today at my half marathon quite worthy of reflection. Running has taken many forms in my life. For a long time, it was a drug. I couldn't quite get enough and it seemed to cover or heal any problems in my life. If I had a bad day, a bad breakup, a bad encounter, I would run a few miles, and suddenly I would gather strength as each mile ticked away. Other times, running became that one goal that I could set when I felt like my life had become lacking in goals and the ability to achieve. And so, I would set a distance goal and a time goal and spend my days working to make sure that I would make that goal. Instead of getting A's in classes, I would qualify for Boston. Instead of getting a promotion, which is close to impossible in the field of education, I would PR in my next race. Now, running is different. It is simply a hobby. I no longer need the drug or even the goals. It is instead "what I do on my free time." So, with that said, you can imagine that I have been running fewer miles lately and thus my race times have decreased.

Today, when I was running the Baltimore Half Marathon struggling up the hills at mile 6, when I was walking up the never ending hill at mile 7, I wondered why I couldn't quite make it like I did before. And then, when I was running again as the hills subsided, I realized that running was not the only thing in my life anymore, and that maybe I hadn't trained as I had in previous years. So, I started to have fun. I high-fived a policeman, I shouted at the crowd to yell for the runners, I took a look around at the scenery, and I finished strong. Despite the fact that it was close to my worst race (1:48) and I definitely walked more than I wanted to, I had fun. I was proud of myself for running the race. I was proud of myself for continuing to run even when I was sure I couldn't make it.

Without my reflection of this race, I probably would have thought that the experience was worthless or that I SHOULD HAVE run better. Instead, I looked back at the two hours and realized all of the things I DID do. And I thanked whatever running god is out there for the millions of things that running has done for me.

Picking it back up again

I just read a blog from an old high school friend and it made me want to begin writing again. I suppose I love to write, even if it isn't officially published. I will never shake my passion for the written word. While teaching creative writing helps to scratch that itch, I find that writing myself is most satiating.

My life has changed quite a bit from 2007. I have added a dog and a husband to my family. Both are great companions, and both provide me with so much to "fill me up." I tried to make running fill me up before, and it worked for a short time, but I always felt like something was missing. I tried extra miles, faster runs, additional races, but nothing seemed to work. And so, for my journey into my 30's, for I am no longer in my twenties, I choose marriage...something I have always wanted, but never seemed to find before. And it fits well. I spoke to a friend this summer who describe marriage as "the best and craziest ride of his life." Unfortunately, he got off that ride, but I don't think that he would ever say he regretted it. For me, I find the craziness, but at the same time, I feel stability, and the comfort of knowing that whoever I am and whoever I become will be perfectly and completely accepted. It feels good.