Four years ago, I knew I needed to stop working in the way I had been working for over 20 years. It was a combination of burnout and a desire to experience the "more to life" than working myself to death in Corporate America was getting me. I actually recognized that *I* was working myself to death, that was my choice, but I knew there was no way to figure out what drove that choice day after day, job after job, while fully immersing myself in that - I knew I had to step away. I am grateful I had the clarity to see that. I am grateful for the people who supported my leap into scary territory of not working, not taking a salary and benefits and matching 401K contributions and stock options and incentive compensation. Yes, there are many forms of currency, which this time off has allowed me to experience. AND there will never be enough words of thanks to my spouse and everyone who has rallied around me to help me take this time to get back to what's important, including ME.
Am I back? Well, I see me, the version of me that exists without the wounds of the past holding me down. I also see a version of me that is moving forward without letting past trauma interfere with present relationships, situations and experiences. I am striving toward forgiveness for the former me who knew no better. What cannot continue is letting the sharp broken pieces keep showing up and causing harm, to me and to others. I am not 100% there yet, but I am working on it and I am getting better every day. Is this uncomfortable to acknowledge? Truly. But you can't know where you're going if you don't know where you are. And I am here, in that messy space of working on me and giving myself grace as I try to soften those edges. It has been difficult to start, scary to continue but glorious to unfold, so that keeps me going for it.
My body is healthy, save for my current random self-inflicted leg injury from trying to return to running too much too soon. It could also be blood clots. I have no idea, and I digress... A friend of ours died last month, that was a reality check. Our time here is brief, and fleeting, and a GIFT. I know this. I generally live this, but his death forced a hard look in the mirror about what I'm doing with that gift. I got up Pikes Peak in less than 6.5 hours (multiple times, but also on race day when it counted) last year. I will do it again this year. I will run as many miles as I can, safely and without re-injury, next month at the Salt Lake City Half Marathon. I'll be increasing my swim fitness over the next 90 days so that I can give Team BBK an advantage at the Omaha IM 70.3. I'm also working with a therapist to resolve the trauma. Mental health matters, and I have neglected to acknowledge mine for too long. I am doing the best I can, and I'm learning to be OK with not being perfect as I do it.
And there have really been a lot of golden moments, too. I got to spend a lot of time with my Grandma toward the end of her life, I was free to do that. I trained myself up athletically for long distance events and even got on the podium at a local tri, something I never thought I'd see again. Now I know I can. I'm letting myself have fun, meet new people, go towards doing things I love, with people I love. We've had wonderful new experiences these past couple years with racing, training, and the people we've met through that, it even led to our first winter hut trip this year. We have built on existing friendships and ventured into new ones. I took on being the president of the triathlon club we've been part of for over a decade, with a goal to make it fun and accessible to the next generation of racers. We have an awesome board that fully supports this and we're making it happen! And we're looking forward to seeing Andrea Bocelli at Red Rocks this fall. So, life is moving right along with its black eyes and gold medals.
It might be another long minute before I post. I am focusing on The Draft because nothing happens without a first draft. And with that, I begin. The road may look dark, but I can see we're moving toward the light. Joy comes in the morning, every morning.
