Jessica Golden

Keep Going

 

Every time I get to lace up my sneakers and go for a run I know what to expect. I know I’ll be in pain, a few minutes in my scar from knee surgery will start to ache, my back will feel sore from hours of slouching in class during the week. I know I’ll be sweaty and thirsty but sure as anything I know that my run will put me in a better mood than when I started. Somehow, without question, the repetitive stomping of my feet on the ground will free my mind.

 

It is a Tuesday morning and my alarm is going off despite it being the third time I have hit snooze. I am so comfortable in my blanket cocoon that took me the first two hours of the night to build that there is no chance I am jumping out of bed right now. So I start playing a typical mind game with myself. The alarm is ringing in the background and my eyes remain shut. Ugh yesterday was so long and I’m tired and I’ll go tomorrow and I’m kind of sore. A plethora of excuses fill my mind and seem like a rainbow with a pot of gold called the easy way out waiting for me at the end. As always, that one little voice says, get up! It will be worth it. I roll out of bed.

 

It was Christmas Eve morning and my sister turned to me and said, she isn’t doing well, let’s book mom a flight. I had known my aunt was sick for a while, but the only updates I ever received was that she had been trying new aggressive treatments and was still able to go on her walks, on good days. I didn’t know that the good days were shrinking. When my mom stepped out of the family room to talk to her other sister for what seemed to be hours- my heart felt heavy, I could feel it. In the past few years I had lost the mother of my best friend since I had been four years old, along with my grandparents and my friend Ryan, who I had last seen at our high school graduation. I thought for sure the universe would spare my family and I of another difficult loss. Christmas came and went and the next morning my mom flew to California. She made it just in time to say goodbye to her sister. When I saw my dad downstairs the next morning, I already knew. I somehow felt it in my sleep and wanted to spare us both the pain of hearing it out loud, even just for another moment. I was trying to be the strong one and show no tears. I was really just trying to deny that I had another heartbreaking loss to feel.

 

I slip on my running shorts and socks. I am lucky my shirt is facing the right way since I’m pretty positive I didn’t open my eyes while I was getting dressed. It sounds kind of weird, to be half asleep yet be functioning. My hair is taken out of the messy just-out-of-bed ponytail I left it in and put back up into a tight braid. My brain promises my body that it will be a quick run and begins to plan the moments after. Ok: I’ll run this far and shower, then eat breakfast while my hair dries quick, pack my backpack, put on my makeup, grab a coffee, get to class… the day goes on and on in my now alert mind. I have made it a habit to think through every minute of the day on my walk out the door just to check that I have time to do this.

         

I had spent the week of winter break at my boyfriend’s in Ohio. What was a very exciting Christmas gift became difficult at the end, as I realized I spent the week hiding. I was sad. I was angry my aunt passed away and that the world was unfair. I wasn’t feeling up to sitting and grieving for a week.

 

I triple-check I have my house key and do a quick stretch of my quads and with the shine of the sun and whip of the wind my eyes are open. I press the start button on my running app and turn up the volume- off I go.

 

I never run with music. Maybe it is because when I ran track in high school they wouldn’t allow us to train with headphones, since you can’t have them in for the race. But while others whined that the fast paced beats motivated them to move, I enjoyed not having lyrics jumbling up inside my head. There always seems to be enough going on up there to keep me going on my run.

 

The first half a mile of a run is always the hardest. No matter how in shape I am, the mental and physical battle to move is straight uphill. I head towards the local park from my apartment. The high-rise college dorms and apartments left behind as I head into a neighborhood of white picket fences and driveways. I purposely try to find these “happy” streets to run on to find an open field or great view at the end that frees the thoughts running in my mind.

 

My hands break their repetitive motion to wipe the sweat off my face and I get a sudden desire to shake them. Pretty sure I’m trying to shake off the hypothetical thoughts spinning in my mind. If only I had called her more, there wouldn’t be a list of things I never got to say. Did I tell her how lucky I was to have her? How much I loved our talks and how she would tell me about the weather just like grandma used to? Did I ever mention how cool all my friends thought she was for the fun packages she sent? If only I had gone to see her more recently. If only I had a chance to say goodbye and that I love her.

 

I try to push through the “if only” stage I recall feeling the days after loosing Ryan. If only I had texted him a few days earlier he would know I was thinking of him. If only the world was a better place, a 19-year-old boy wouldn’t die from brain cancer. I try to focus. Heel toe breathe, heel toe breathe, heel toe breathe.

 

I had to return to school after break and wait for the funeral. It was planned to be a little later so my sisters and I could all fly in from 3 different states. Since it happened over the holidays, none of my friends knew I lost someone and I tried to keep it that way. An event I had been planning at school for a few months as part of my on campus job had finally arrived. I was able to reach 1,500 students on campus and my boss was very impressed with how it all came together. It was a moment where I felt so proud of my hard work and myself but my only thought was that I should call my aunt. She would love to hear every detail of how it went. She would love to tell me how proud she was of what I was doing at school. I finally sat down and cried. It was the first time I let got of all the built up pain of needing to hear her voice and sense her smile from across the country for one more time. The tears slowly slipped out until becoming a waterfall of emotions.

 

I finally make it to the park. My feet, tightly tucked into my bright pink double knotted running sneakers feel a little swollen but have found a pattern in hitting the concrete sidewalk and propelling my body forward without any thought from my mind. When the ground beneath my feet switches to uncut grass, wet from the melting snow, my body comes to a halt. In the seconds before any pain or soreness or tiredness seeps into my mind, I take a deep breath and look out. I look at the little bit of sparkling snow piles left on the swings and the spongy clouds moving through the sky. While I love that running can keep in my shape and the physical movement alleviates my daily stress, this is my favorite part by far. Making it to somewhere else, somewhere free and beautiful and like a little escape-vacation just for me and just for a minute. Running to these places has this ability to show me that every time I’ll eventually get there, I’ll push through and find some cool spot to take in for a little.

 

I take another moment and turn back towards my apartment. No matter how therapeutic the run may be, my minute-by-minute schedule is in the back of my mind. Got to keep moving. Got to keep going.

 

The funeral for my aunt was a simple service in Dallas Texas. We sat in the front row and my sisters and I held hands with tears streaming down our faces as we listened to our aunt say how much her sister loved us. How much she tried to stay on earth as long as she could to watch us grow up. The three of us locked arms as we watched our uncle put his wife’s remains and a note, he had only just finished that morning, into a box in the church for a final goodbye. Tears filled my eyes as my broken heart filled with love as family surrounded me, nobody needed to say anything, we felt more than could ever be said. The final church bells ran and it was time to go.

 

I took another moment and turned back to walk towards the parking lot. It was time to heel now and keep going.