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Over the years, I’ve given myself a thousand reasons to keep running, but it always comes back to where it started. It comes down to self-satisfaction and a sense of achievement.
— Steve Prefontaine

Because of all the house stuff, I never did tell you about the five 5ks I ran in April.  I’m really glad I challenged myself that way.  Here’s how the weekly Friday 5ks went:

April 6: 45:00 – I was so psyched when I finished – I told David the over/under was 46 minutes, and I beat it!

April 13: 46:10 – not as good as week one, but I had just as much fun!

April 20: 47:44 – it was hot, I was sick, and I was trying to save my energy for another 5k two days later (more on that in a bit), so I walked a LOT.

April 27: 48:41 – I don’t remember what happened this week, but I clearly walked nearly the whole thing.

The course was flat and the same each week.  It ran all through my neighborhood, which meant David could come cheer me on each time.  I loved seeing his smiling face as I crossed the finish line.

A LOT of people finished ahead  of me.  In fact, every week, about 5 to 7 minutes and less than 1/2-mile in for me, the leaders would come running past me in the opposite direction on their way to mile marker 2.  All kinds of people beat me: 10-year-olds.  People way thinner than me.  People way older than me.  Bigger people.  Tiny ladies pushing double jogging strollers.  A golden retriever and her human.  Guys in wheelchairs.

But, I finished ahead of all kinds of people, too – older, younger, thinner, heavier, a bloodhound and his human, moms walking behind strollers.  No guys in wheelchairs, though; they were all super-speedy.

So here’s what I learned over the course of 4 races:

• Running is for everyone.

• No one but me cares what I look like when I’m running.

• Runners love to cheer each other on – I can’t tell you how many people waited at the finish long after they were done just so those of us in the back of the pack would have a cheering section.

• You can’t look at someone and tell just by weight or body type whether they’re an athlete or how fit they are.

My fifth race was actually the fourth in the month.  The George Washington Parkway Classic. Karen and I did this race two years ago, but it didn’t turn out the way we hoped.  I had been forbidden by my doctor and physical therapist to run, and Karen’s planned running training program did not go as planned, so we agreed to walk it.  The whole time, I was champing at the bit to run, and about halfway through, I said, “Screw it,” and took off.  Not fast, of course, because I’m a pokey runner by nature, but still.  So we both finished, but overall, it was a disappointing experience.

So this year, when I started Couch to 5k on January 1, I set my sights on this race again, and Karen agreed to tackle it with me.  I finished C25k in March and signed up for the weekly races in April to keep myself running until this race.  Race day dawned dreary and rainy, just as it had two years ago.  We headed to the starting line full of nerves.  At the horn, we turned up our iPods and away we went.

My plan had been to run 10/walk 2, since I hadn’t managed to run all of any of my previous three races.  But 10 minutes came and I felt great, so I kept running.  When I hit the one-mile marker 4 minutes later, I knew two things: I was on pace for a personal best time, and I would be able to run the whole thing.

At mile 2, I checked my watch and realized I’d slowed my pace a bit, and I worried my PR was slipping away.  I told myself, “Just don’t stop, just keep going.”  Around the 3-mile mark, a course volunteer hollered, “Five more blocks!”  I checked my watch and knew it was going to be close.  Those were the longest five blocks of my life.  I counted them down in my head as I ran them: “Four-and-a-half blocks . . . four blocks to go . . . three-and-a-half . . .” checking my watch every few seconds.

Because I’m terrible and judging distance and how long it takes to traverse that distance, I thought I was out of luck, that 44:56 (my time in my first 5k in Boston) would come and go before I crossed the finish line, but I kept chugging along.  My face was red, I was breathing hard, my legs were burning, but I kept willing myself to go faster and not quit.  Finally, about 100 feet from the finish line, I looked at my watch and knew I was going to do it. People lined both sides of the street leading to the finish line and they were all cheering.  The red seconds on the official clock were ticking by.  There’s video of me about 50 feet from the finish – I put my head down, put my hands on my head, and shook my head in disbelief, and when I looked up and crossed the finish – tears.

I did it.  44:07.  I beat my best-ever time by49 seconds.  I had no idea when I started the race that a PR was even possible, but once I realized it was, I fought so hard to hold on to it.

And that’s why I run.  Because I love setting a challenging goal for myself and then trying to reach it.  I do not like the act of running itself, but it turns out that I love to race.  And to race, you have to train. Otherwise, you don’t get to feel the way I did that morning.

It always amazes me to think that every house on every street is full of so many stories; so many triumphs and tragedies, and all we see are yards and driveways.
— Glen Close

Well, gosh.  I did not mean to post Ten and then disappear for six weeks.  My apologies.

April 29, the last day I posted, just happened to be National Open House Day, according to our realtor, so we went to check out 5 or 6 houses.  One we just loved, and so we got right into the process of going back to be sure, making an offer, considering counter-offers, securing financing, home inspections, appraisals, etc. That’s where my time has gone since that day.  Well, that, and curating a Pinterest board For Our Real House!

You guys, they’re really going to let us buy a house!  Wanna see it?

Isn’t it perfect?  That’s a tulip magnolia tree in the front yard; they are my favorite tree, hands down.  I always thought, “Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a house with one of those in the yard?”  And now I will!

It has some upgrades – an 800-square-foot addition, a big deck, fancy master bath – but it also needs some work, most particularly paint and some guest bath updates.  But this is going to be our house for the next 20 or 25 years, so I suppose there’s no rush.  It has exposed brick in the kitchen and a fully finished basement (with a pool table – we’re buying it from the sellers for a steal because they’d rather not have to move it).  The back yard is fully fenced and the local school district is literally one of the very best in the nation.  We don’t have nearly enough furniture to fill this house, but they’re also selling us their solid wood, North Carolina-built 10-piece dining room set for another steal, so that helps a lot.  It’s a block to the community pool and the brand new playground is around the corner.

One thing it’s not, though, is close to work.  We’re trading a 15-20-minute commute for a 45-60-minute one, which is also going to cost us more because we’ll have to pay to park at the Metro every day, but in the end, that was the only drawback of the location, so we decided everything else made the longer commute worth it.

We close June 28th, but the sellers are renting back for a to-be-determined amount of time, we hope ultimately until September 1.  That’s perfect, because our lease on our apartment runs through the end of September, and rent is paid prospectively while mortgages are paid retrospectively.  So, if they move out on September 1, they will have paid the mortgage for August and we’ll pay our rent for September.  On October 1, we’ll pay the mortgage for September but won’t have to pay any more rent.  Here’s hoping we don’t have to double up.

The rent-back is great, time-wise, for us, but it tempers my excitement a bit.  Closing isn’t going to be us signing our lives over to our lender and getting the keys and doing a walk-through.  It’s going to be us signing our lives over to our lender and becoming temporary landlords.  But all I want to do is BUY ALL THE THINGS (see Pinterest board) and pick all the paint colors and where everything’s going to go and plan our housewarming party and family Christmas, etc.  All in good time, I know.

So, yay!  You’re all invited to our new house any time after September !

When you come to the edge of all the light you have and must take a step into the darkness of the unknown, believe that one of two things will happen to you: Either there will be something solid for you to stand on, or you will be taught how to fly.
— Patrick Overton

Ten years have passed since this terrible day.  In my sadness and anger, I could not see this far down the road, could not even imagine that a life existed for me this far in the future.

These ten years seem both the blink of an eye and a lifetime, and in some ways, I think both are true.  Whenever anyone asks me what happened and I tell the story of that terrifying morning, my face, my eyes, my voice reveal that it’s always with me, right under the surface. But so much has happened in that time, and I am so different from the person I was that day, that it sometimes almost seems like it happened to someone else and I only heard the story.

It didn’t, of course.  It happened to me.  And it was, as I’ve said, heartbreaking and terrifying.  And I was so angry and so sad for such a long time.  I spent literal years in counseling, dealing with the aftermath and accepting my new reality.  Mostly I’m ok with it now.  There aren’t whole days where all I do is cry and feel sorry for myself anymore.  I don’t melt down anymore when someone reacts rudely or ignorantly when I reveal my hearing impairment.  I don’t often get frustrated when I can’t understand someone.  In fact, I rarely cry about it at all anymore.  Not because it’s ok, and not because I’m not still sad about it – there are aspects of my life that will break my heart forever – but because, really, what good does it do?  This is just the way I go through life now.

Truth be told, it’s not that hard anymore.  I “pass” as hearing for at least 90% of my day, thanks to my cochlear implant.  David’s gotten used to communicating with me late at night or in the morning when I don’t have my processor on – we would kick ass at charades.  I’m surrounded, both with family and friends and at work, with people who know about my hearing loss and accept me without reservation and who don’t blink when I ask them to repeat themselves or turn the captions on.  I’m lucky that way.

Ten years ago, I thought the world was over.  Now, though, I can see that it was really just a kind of beginning.

Letting go doesn’t mean giving up, but rather accepting that there are things that cannot be.
— Unknown

When I first lost my hearing, I used to say, “There’s almost nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice if someone told me it would get me my hearing back.”  I thought, “Want a leg?  Take it.”  “Never get married?  Ok.” “Work at McDonald’s forever?  Yes.”

Ten years on, though, that’s no longer true.  Not because I’m glad it happened – I still can’t bring myself to say that – but because it’s no longer the tragedy it was in the first two years.  Don’t misunderstand me: It is the great sadness of my life.  But having lived my life these last ten years and achieved a modicum of success – personally, educationally, and professionally – it’s clear to me that my early imagined sacrifices were born out of fear and uncertainty about what kind of life I could lead with a hearing impairment.

When my dad came down the day after I lost my hearing, I remember sitting across the table from him in a Taco Bell in Richmond, saying, “How will I ever get anyone to marry me now?”  I already knew that my loss would be permanent, and I really did believe that I was broken, that everyone would always see me that way, and that it probably meant no one would be willing to make the effort to get to know me.  I also thought I’d never be comfortable enough with myself again to let anyone get to know me.  As my world shrunk when friends disappeared or stopped trying, it only convinced me I was right.

Luckily, it turned out I was wrong. And I’m not just talking about David; I mean friends I made in law school and after, too.

So when the Genie comes and says, “You can have it all back – music, the rain, babies talking, singing, all of it – if you only give up David (or your law degree, or your leg, or anything else you value),” the answer will be no.  Because, as hard as it sometimes is, as sad as it sometimes makes me, this is who I am, this is my life, and it’s pretty great, all things considered.

The Greek word for “return” is nostos.  Algos means “suffering.”  So nostalgia is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return.
— from Ignorance, by Milan Kundera

We’re coming up on the tenth anniversary of my hearing loss at the end of this month, and I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how my life has changed as a result.  I expect a series of posts on the topic over the next couple of weeks.

Things I miss:

falling asleep to the sound of the rain on the roof

the sound of my arms sluicing through the water when I swim

listening to the radio on a long night car trip, hearing it slowly start to fade out as you head out of range

being able to tell whether a baby is laughing or crying just from the noise (without seeing the baby)

audiobooks

watching TV while doing anything else at the same time (needing captions means I have to be looking at the TV to follow what’s going on)

hearing and differentiating between many different languages while walking in a diverse area

listening to ball games on the radio

talking on the phone for hours

eavesdropping – not in any nefarious way, but just on the Metro or walking down the street

easily understanding children, who never want to look you in the face when they talk, and who do some of their best talking from the backseat