Mind, body, spirit

My shins have a very dull almost unnoticeable ache as I begin the ascent. From Phillips road until the intersection of Blairstone and Miccosukee the hill reaches up and up until my calves and the backs of my thighs burn in a way that is both exhausting and rewarding and almost exhilarating. I push onward because I know that once the burn sets in, the fat is melting away. I can already tell a difference in my hips; I have only been running for three weeks.


The single minute after I first wake to the day is covered in a sleep deprived fog. I can see Ash shuffling about our room in the dim morning light but the sounds are muted and my brain cannot rouse itself. A small portion of my mind compels me to get up, take care of business. But a larger part begs, pleads, coerces my body to keep sleeping, keep relaxing, grasp at the few moments of rest I have all to myself. Then I hear Elliot’s little voice, wondering where I am and then Isaac’s soft crying. I’m up, zombie-ing my way down the hall and beginning a day that has little to do with myself but more with what I can give to my family.


I have never been “addicted” to anything. I drank in college – a lot – but knew when to stop. I used to smoke clove cigarettes but only when I drank or was in mixed company. I am a coffee drinker. Not until I had two children – one only two months old – did I first feel that overwhelming addiction. The first pull from the venti iced vanilla nonfat latte is like pure gold on my tongue and sunshine sliding down my throat. My synapses start firing and my eyes can see for the first time all morning. Never before had I been acutely aware of how my body was reacting to the stimulation, how thankful it was for the get up and go. It needs this; I need this.

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