Backstretches

As any of my former track coaches could attest to, the longer distance races were not my specialty. My high school coach often joked that he would need to pull out a calendar to time my quarter mile. As I progressed to the 800m “dash” in college, I did so with trepidation because it hurt. Whether I ran it in 3:03 or 2:23, the pain always met me along the way. The fear subsided as I grew in confidence that a) I wouldn’t die. b) I could improve each time. c) I only had to run it 2-3 times a year. d) The 800 is way easier than the 400. (It’s not logical and highly disputed by those who run the shorter race, but let them enjoy pools of lactic acid in their butts.)

There is one stretch of the 800 that required a certain amount of extra focus, desire, and guts. At the 500 mark, with just 300 to go, one is faced with a seemingly endless straight backstretch. Due to track construction methods, this stretch is often into the wind and lacking any sort of stadium area for cheering. It is here that one realizes how much more is left. It’s as if the 800 has started over. For me, a curve girl, the straight track simply felt like a desert without an oasis. But of course, once I made it to the corner, I had but 175 meters to go and an end literally in sight.

Why bring up this now, you might ask? A valid question especially since I’m no longer training for such short races but instead want to tackle 26.2 miles. A marathon is just slow, endless and somehow thrilling in its own insane way, but not a proper analogy at this point in time. No, the 800 race reminds me of my current life.

Mac and I have worked out a system so that we’re both as productive as possible (he is succeeding way more than I am) and still attentive to each other despite living in different cities. Every other weekend we visit each other, enjoy a nice dinner or go to a show, and catch up on SEEING each other as we share stories and make plans.

Well, as I’ve come to notice, this is like running an 800 with that middle weekend posing as the looming backstretch. The two weeks fly by when we’re both busy, running the curves I might say, and living for the moment. But the lactic acid build-up and long straight stretch always greet me on the weekend. I know that I’m half way there, but tell that to my heart. Finally on Sunday night, I realize how close we are to reuniting. I’ve hit the curve, see the end in sight, and can’t wait to collapse into his arms.

Like the 800 races I ran, I know I will survive these relationship races. I find way too much joy in a heptathlon and in Mac to let this one little portion of the event keep me down. So instead of looking at my calendar to cross off the days, I’m going to hit the gym and my knees in prayer so the backstretches become a strong part of my race.

Today took shape...

A couple days ago I decided to run a marathon in Casper at the being in June. Yeah, IN shape is what I need to be. So when the first couple miles started to hurt, I tried to think about the yoga I did the day before and its mantra to shape your energies around a clear mind and relaxed breath. I know that LONG DISTANCE running shape will come, but as a sprinter, I have a tendency to want to rush these processes.

Since my new engagement ring is a little too big, I found a jeweler to make it perfect. Now that’s a tall order. Oh, the education one needs for all the decisions one makes is a bit mind-boggling. I love the look of my ring; G-Gpa Quire had great taste, but after 100 years even perfect metals wear down. So now I’m left to decide if I keep the ring with a different size, start all over, do an in between option or just stare at it, hoping the diamond will tell me what it was made for. The flow and size and color will all be wonderful in the end, and small changes for structural purposes will only enhance my pleasure in wearing it.

While I was in the wedding mood (which is practically constant these days (I’m only 2 weeks in) my maid of honor and I stopped at the neighboring bridal shop to try on dresses. Talk about a reality check. This spontaneous shopping excursion brought two things really into focus: 1) horizontal tapering is not flattering and 2) I’m the one behind this dress, getting married. Mermaid cut, cupcake poof and princess bigness is not my shape. But there’s a dress out there for me, just the right shape.

Finally, in reflecting about all these “shaping” moments, I thought about how the engagement and the marriage are really meant for shaping me. Not like whittling me away to a servant or even molding me on a high pedestal. Instead, my shape in personality, emotions, aptitudes and passions compliment Mac’s shape. Every shape has a purpose, round to roll and square to stack, so I know that my shape, Mac’s shape, and our shape as a couple will have a purpose. I’m sure any wise, married person could tell me how much I say is true and completely incomprehensible right now. But so are pyramids to toddlers playing with triangle blocks. So in ignorant bliss and humility, I’ll claim I can calculate when I’m in running form, touch my smooth ring, and see my body in a white dress, but know the shape of my future only when its revealed over time, corner by corner, side by side.

smarken: soon to be vintage

SJM is not a thing of the past but smarken will be. I’m getting married! Meet the soon to be smerchant. It’s kinda like the Smurfs but less blue. Mac Merchant, my fiancé, proposed on Christmas Eve with a fabulous song and a beautiful ring.

Before getting on one knee, Mac sang “Marry Me a Little” from the show Company with music by Stephen Sondheim. This show has carried great sentimentality for us since one of our first dates when we watched the revival via Netflix. Mac transposed and sang “Being Alive” last year for my birthday, and I wrote a poem also based on this song. A 1971 Tony winner captures the joys, nerves, hopes, disappointments, and grateful aspects of marriage in a way that’s timeless. Perhaps this show started a theme for us…oldie but goodie.

The engagement ring also falls into that category though under a much more elegant a title. Something like “class and style never fade.” Mr. Quire, Mac’s great-grandfather and namesake, gave his wife two gorgeous gifts: a marriage of 55 years and her ring. While elegant and sheik, it bursts with light, life, love and celebration that seemed to characterize their marriage, the life of Mac’s paternal grandmother, Nana, who received the ring after her mother’s passing, and now us. Even after over 100 years the ring is in great shape…though a little big. I am ever grateful to be a part of this special legacy of long and joy-filled marriages.

So if vintage is the new trend, I’m ready. I’ve got my show, my ring, and most important, my man.