Like many of you, I spent the weekend trying to process the devastating events of Friday. I hugged my kids a little tighter, I found myself with tears running down my face more than once, I did my best to unplug and soak up these moments with my family.
And on Sunday afternoon, when I really needed to clear my mind, I decided to take a run.
If you know me at all or have been reading my blog for awhile, then you know that it was serious.
I exercise. But I do. not. run.
When I told Even Steven what I was doing, he looked nervous.
“This is more serious than I thought”, he said.
He forced me to take my driver’s license and wear a flashing light (even though it was 2 in the afternoon.) And he made me carry my cell phone so that when I collapsed in a pathetic heap on the side of the road I could call him for help. (And he says I’m dramatic…)
So I started running.
And my head started clearing. I was able to really think about what happened on Friday. Absorb it a little more. I cried a little and prayed a little. And kept on running.
I didn’t have any profound insight or words of inspiration, but with every step I felt a little more courage to raise my kids in this new world.
And about 30 minutes into my run, I remembered something very important:
Running gives me the runs.
Several years ago – before I’d given birth or really experienced sleep deprivation. Back when I was still years away from owning my first minivan, I went for a jog in a neighborhood near our house.
I was a few miles from home, when I was overcome with the urge to go “#2″.
I couldn’t even run anymore for fear of something running down my leg (if you know what I mean.)
I was on the verge of tears, when I saw the sweetest little old lady in her front yard. I walked up to her and asked her if there was any way I could use her bathroom.
It was as though she had been hoping a sweaty stranger with diarrhea would ask to use her bathroom. She gave me the biggest smile and led me through her amazing house to her bright yellow bathroom.
Where I proceeded to DESTROY her toilet.
Seriously – It was a scene straight out of Ace Ventura. I had to hold on to steady myself.
After my 4th courtesy flush, the sweet little lady tapped on the door to make sure I was okay.
Then she proceeded to pass out from the fumes.
Okay – not really – but I almost did.
After about 30 minutes worth of damage (and a total weight loss of nearly 18 pounds) I was able to finally leave that sweet little old lady’s house.
And I somehow managed to forget that entire incident until my run yesterday.
Luckily I was able to make it home yesterday before I exploded. But that memory made me smile. And that felt great.
The world needs more sweet little old ladies with yellow bathrooms, don’t you think?
To the families, friends, survivors and first-responders of Sandy Hook Elementary – to the entire town of Newtown – I’m thinking of you and praying for you.