Southern Sole Sisters

I was hoping my first post to our new blog would be cool, profound, inspiring – all things for which I’d like to be known. I’m afraid, though; that the only one of these fine adjectives that applies to this installment is the inspiring event that moved me to write. 

My dog died. There. I said it. My friend of eleven and a half years passed away peacefully last Friday. My sole sister in her own way, who has been in my life longer than my own children, longer than I have known my Sisters and as long as I have been married, left me last Friday. Dogs die. I know this, having a dog in my family since I was two years old without even a month lapse. Bella was different. She was my dog. Technically she was the family dog but she loved me best, and this was a fact. 

Bella was my inspiration. She was the “I-love-you-no-matter-what” constant in my life.  She was the bright spot after many dark days at work. She and I were buds. She was up at 430 am with me when no one else was. She was my personal cheerleader. She slept on my side of the bed; rested under my feet and would have gone anywhere with me, including the dreaded vet. I tried to introduce Bella to one of my passions, running, since we were buds and that’s what buds do. However, Bella being a big dog and not so speedy (like her mom) just didn’t share the endurance that her mom has. I’m afraid Bella was introduced to running too late in her life, (again, like her mom) and just couldn’t hang. But it was enough for me to have her waiting at home after those early mornings I just didn’t want to get out of bed or following those super long runs that I wanted to celebrate just finishing.

So Friday morning, on my last long run before my half marathon next weekend, I ventured out with a heavy heart to tackle twelve miles. Ironically, I chose to run these twelve miles on my own to simulate race day, as none of my Sole Sisters are joining me on this race. I was off work, figured I’d be rested and stress-free and best of all, I didn’t have to get up at 430 in the morning for this run. 

I picked one of my favorite routes that doesn’t lend itself to our early morning shorter runs. I had psyched myself up for this one. I had this! Then came the darkness. My dog was sick; I knew the end was soon. I just couldn’t say goodbye. I couldn’t get out the door because I knew she wouldn’t be there to celebrate with me when I got back. But I left. I left because I had to. I had to get this run in. I had to clear my head. I had to will Bella to get better. 

The first five miles went okay, not good not bad. I was slow but that’s not entirely a new phenomenon for me. But as I approached mile six, something just turned off. I couldn’t do it. I was running downhill and couldn’t catch my breath. Of course, I was almost at the furthest point in the route and barely half way through the route that I used to love. Now what? I stopped at a gas station and got an unplanned but much appreciated pep talk by an octogenarian who sold me some blue Gatorade. “Blue was his favorite color,” he said, “So this must be your lucky day.” He went on to tell me how impressed he was that I had run eight miles and that I ‘could do it’ since I was more than half way through.  I left the station and heard the Rocky theme through my pink headphones while blue Gatorade stained my lips and sloshed in my belly.  Unfortunately the will and endurance that Rocky had was not to be mine. 

At mile 9 I had a complete meltdown – crying and everything.  Thank goodness for sunglasses.  The next mile was just a disaster. I walked most of it and thought I might even have to sit down. I kept thinking of those football players who go out and kick ass when they have a fallen teammate or an ailing family member. I tried to find that will inside me. When I started this morning, I imagined having one of the best long runs ever.  The Another Mother Runners always talk about pushing through pain and tragedy – finding your strength and salvation in running. While running has been that foundation for me before, it failed me today. 

I spent all weekend stressing about my upcoming race and fearing those demons that haunted me on Friday will come back next weekend. My Sole Sisters will only be with me in spirit and will that be enough? Running is a solo sport but it really isn’t. The Sole Sisters all run for different reasons, and while we joke that we all run for Starbucks, it is true, but it’s not for the coffee; it’s for the fellowship and camaraderie. Sometimes running is enough; sometimes it isn’t. Running, I learned, is no substitute for companionship.

So I will run my eleventh half marathon, in honor of my friend of eleven years, Bella. I will hold the virtual hugs of my Sole Sisters in my heart and run toward the finish line anxiously awaiting the true hugs from my kids. And I will hope my dear friend is looking down on me, wagging her tail and celebrating one last long run.