Looking Winded

I don’t know about you but I’m completely out of breath. I’ve got a stitch in my side and I’m doubled over with my hands clutching my knees as I gulp air. I shouldn’t be surprised. It always happens when I don’t pace myself. This year started off at a dead run. I barely had time to close the door before we were out of the house and on our way to Florida. That was followed by the idea that we should have a sisters only retreat (again in Florida). I was able to hop on a plane and make that trip in record time. In between and woven through the travel was ceramics class, a research study, church meetings and obligations! And magically (or maybe maniacally) I managed to clean house, cook meals, sort and prep for a garage sale and even blog 3 times a week and read & comment on those blogs I follow. That puts us a mere 11 days before National Poetry Month and I’m exhausted.

I was never a track star. In 7th grade the girls were all lined up in the gym and told to race to the other end. The gym teachers (and the track coaches) were all standing around with stop watches. We ran. I finished in the middle of the pack which I thought was pretty good. That was until we were all then lined up single file and had to individually run to the center line and back. I could hear the comments the track coach was making to the gym teacher, “Runs too slow.” “Runs like she is carrying a cup of coffee.” and the most damning “Runs like a girl.” I didn’t hear what they said about me. But then I was shorter than almost everyone so even if I kept up I was working harder to cover the same distance. And it seems to still be the case. I feel that no matter how fast I go I never cover as much ground as I should.

Which brings me back to being winded. The only thing you can do once you get to the point of gasping for air with a sharp pain in your side is to stop. So I’m stopping for a breather. I’m not going to clean any thing. The laundry can wait (we have enough clothes that I could forego laundry for a month and not run out). We have restaurant gift certificates that we need to use. And I’m going to just breathe. I should be ready to jump into National Poetry Month and sprint through April with nary a care in the world…

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