Falling

I keep falling.  Literally, onto my face, onto my hands, and onto my knees while on the trail running.  Or should I say, trying to fucking run.

At first, I thought a rock got me.  It was the worst fall of them all and I was with people, so it was also demoralizing because I was not by myself.  After 8 concussions in my little lifespan so far, I have programmed myself to keep my head (and face) above ground no matter what, so I am grateful to say I hobbled away with minimal injury.  The second fall was by myself, a few weeks or a month later.  I assumed my legs just weren’t warmed up and I took a second too long to take in the scenery and missed the giant rock in the middle of the path.  The third fall was a few weekends ago, the day after we returned from St. John and I think I was looking at my heart monitor and I jammed my finger.  WAKE UP ALISON!  Was the internal message flashing red across my screen.

Then I fell again last weekend.  I think I was definitely staring at my HR monitor and OK, I get it – pay attention.  Then today, just a few short days later, I tripped over a root near the end of our run and fell.  This time, I stayed down there.  Because I wasn’t looking at anything.  Bam licked me and sat with me while wondering what was wrong with me, and I just sat.  I didn’t cry.  I knew I wasn’t hurt. My ego was already deflated from the falls I had already taken, and so I stayed there, asking my body what she needed and asking God to show me what was going on.

I got it.  Not only am I tired – my legs, my body, my mind, but I am not here.  I am not present.  I keep drifting forward to the weekend, wondering how I am going to manage my training schedule, get enough sleep, show up for my friends that I don’t get to see much anymore and be on time for a fancy dinner date.  Mind you, it’s Tuesday.  This is all going down on Saturday, and I have ample evidence proving that the schedule always rights itself, I always get my training in, I always show up for the friends God wants me around and I am typically not late to dinner, even fancy ones with reservations.

I’m distracted.  I have some heart piercing agony over someone I can’t help at all right now, who doesn’t want my help either.  I have some lingering stress over what I endure on an almost daily basis from chosen sports I’m pursuing, this blog I am maintaining, a book we are editing, and the grind that is an abundant life – and it’s just all coming to a head now.  And this is how the Universe wants to get my attention.

It used to take a lot more to get me to slow down and listen.  I have cracked my head and been sidelined – literally.  I have pinched nerves and lost the ability to get dressed and open doors – literally.  I have torn my hip and my shoulder and had to stop doing what I enjoy most – literally.  And it would go on for months, and years and endless cycles because I wasn’t willing to hear the message, loud as it was. 

But not today.  Today, I am aware enough to know when it’s time to stop.  I am aware enough that OK yes, my legs are tired and I need to work on the balance of running all of the miles and biking some others, lifting all of the weights and putting them down, going slowly without fucking up my natural rhythm, trusting myself and my body instead of machines, etc.  But it’s a lot.  And this is how I pay attention.  It’s not any different than something happening at work that makes you think twice.  It’s not any different than somebody telling you that you hurt their feelings, and making you notice your behavior.

This is just how God gets me – through my body.  And that is the title of my book.  “How I met Myself (and God) Through My Body”.  I apparently still need to be met where I am, physically.  So I am.  Bruises and all – I am paying attention now.

Are you?