A Christmas Message to my Ultrarunner Widow
Well, I've done it. It's Christmas Eve, which means I've managed to go a whole year without killing myself out on the trail again. That's 50 years in a row! Wow. if I keep this up, I'll live forever!
Anywhoos, it's high time, with the help of the Bard, that I apologize to my wife, Martha, for being the idiot husband for the past year and the poor decisions I'm sure to make in the coming year, and to give thanks to her for tolerating, and if I dare say, loving this old fool.
It isn't me. I like to think I married up. After all, I'm an immigrant living the immigrant dream. I'm not talking about becoming a citizen, going to college and building a solid middle class life. I got me a white girl. Ha ha. No seriously, folks, my wife adds magic to what would otherwise be my pedestrian life. It goes without saying that she is beautiful, but she magically gets more beautiful as the years go on. She has a warm heart and a sense of humor necessary to put up with me. In short, she's really a Spaceball. She brings life to all around her with her infectious smile and effervescent spirit and charm.
And what does she get in return? Disgusting toenails. Talk about poop and farts. A workaholic. Someone who bounces from one obsession to another. A cynic who can't battle depression when he misses his workouts two days in a row. A sarcastic pedantic sophomore. Somehow, she manages to find something worthy to love. Men fear that they only deserve love for their actions, for what they do. I guess I've always felt that way, and that I haven't done enough to deserve being loved. But over time, I've come to appreciate that she loves me for who I am not what I do. Just me.
Anywhoos, it's high time, with the help of the Bard, that I apologize to my wife, Martha, for being the idiot husband for the past year and the poor decisions I'm sure to make in the coming year, and to give thanks to her for tolerating, and if I dare say, loving this old fool.
Much to the chagrin of my poor abused wife who has to put up with my stupid hobby, passion, obsession, disorder, or whatever you want to call my infatuation with ultrarunning, we're still together. Some of you other ultrarunners have managed somehow, so far, to keep your spouses, but let me tell you the ways in which mine is special and why I'm extra thankful to be the lucky bastard with her in my life.
First and most obvious reason is that not only does she tolerate my ultrarunning, but she also supports it, albeit grudgingly at times. She doesn't beat me with a cricket bat if I sign up for a race, even when she finds out on Facebook. I've since learned to talk to her before I sign up, usually after she's had at least two glasses of wine. Hey, I need to lube up before I run, she needs to lube up, too. But as I said, she does more than tolerate my running, she supports it, by volunteering with me, crewing me, sending me off to run when I'm having a bad day, and even going to parties with my running friends. It's almost like she enjoys this stuff.
O, Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou, Romeo? Check my Strava, it'll show you where I was.
Martha has gotten used to the seeing an empty bed in the morning. I'm not saying she's gotten used to being alone or enjoys it, but she know it's going to happen, kinda like how we all know that we have to pay our taxes in April. I ruin every weekend morning like the IRS ruins every spring. And if it isn't one thing, it's another druthers. If I'm not out running, I'm out surfing. And when I get back, I want to go out and do the other thing. And yet, she still loves me.
Love me or hate me, both are in my favor. If you love me, I'll always be in your heart. If you hate me, I'll always be in your mind.
Sure, it's a "healthy" habit. I'm no Harvey Weinstein, but I do have "trail girlfriends". And when I'm out with my friends at the track, I'm not betting on horses but doing 400 meter intervals. And I'm constantly watching porn - running porn, surfing porn, biking porn... I make poor decisions. I run far longer than it is healthy. I put myself in dangerous situations. I make myself suffer for no good reason. I like to talk about poop. I can't help it. It's who I am. But she chose to marry me, so who's the real idiot?
It isn't me. I like to think I married up. After all, I'm an immigrant living the immigrant dream. I'm not talking about becoming a citizen, going to college and building a solid middle class life. I got me a white girl. Ha ha. No seriously, folks, my wife adds magic to what would otherwise be my pedestrian life. It goes without saying that she is beautiful, but she magically gets more beautiful as the years go on. She has a warm heart and a sense of humor necessary to put up with me. In short, she's really a Spaceball. She brings life to all around her with her infectious smile and effervescent spirit and charm.
And what does she get in return? Disgusting toenails. Talk about poop and farts. A workaholic. Someone who bounces from one obsession to another. A cynic who can't battle depression when he misses his workouts two days in a row. A sarcastic pedantic sophomore. Somehow, she manages to find something worthy to love. Men fear that they only deserve love for their actions, for what they do. I guess I've always felt that way, and that I haven't done enough to deserve being loved. But over time, I've come to appreciate that she loves me for who I am not what I do. Just me.
Doubt thou the stars are fire. Doubt that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar. But never doubt I love.Without her support, I would not have finished my first 100 mile race. While she may not understand what I do nor agree with it, she does understand that it is important to me. She will stay up through the night, feeding me oatmeal like an invalid, pushing me when I need it. She knows what I need better than I do. And I know it's not just with running. Whatever trials life may throw at me or at us, I know that she will be there, and that no matter what I do or don't do, she will love me either way. And I will do the same for her. She loves me for just me. Just me. And I love her for just her. Just her. And so it will always be.
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