one foot in front of the other

It is now 1pm and I just ate lunch, cold pork kabob and small purple grapes, yum.

I am heading out to the comfy chair at the Garibaldi cafe to finish the Yeats bio.

Exciting.

The following is from 2 hrs ago, when I was sitting outside Bar Mary: 

(not edited, but wanted to post as today is going by SO FAST)

It is my last full day in Umbertide.  I am sitting outside in the piazza near the house.  There are 4 men sitting at a table and talking seriously, maybe an overthrow of the government…maybe whether or not they can get rx over the internet.

 There is very old but distinguished looking man sitting in a chair with a walking stick made of beautiful wood with a animals head on the handle.  He wears a dark cap.  Next to sit 2 men reading the morning papers.  One of the I notice is the man who helps take car e of setting up the table when there is celebration in the pizza.  He reminds me of an old ww11 veteran, i don't know how else to explain it.

There are a group of people to the left of me. they met here for morning coffee.  3 couples, one with 2 children.  I heard one of the chidden call 'babba'  'babba'  that is what my children call their father.  it brings back warm memories of when they were little. and they would play with their father.  

Now, in the midst of adolecene, they do very little with their father.  do they remember the tenderness he showed them?  Do they remember how he would come home after working a 14 hr day and sit on the floor and play legos with them?  I do.  My children had a european father, not an american one, that is for sure.  here the children are cherished, there is a tenderness i don't see in america, an unabashed openness love.

i remember when the boys were very young saying how iwas glad that my husband didn't mind babysitting.  Billy immediately had a sour reaction, to the term babysitting,  "they're my children'  he said.   He was right.  None of my other friends husband's reacted that way, to them they WERE babysitting.

Anyway, back to here and now.

I had a solid night's sleep.  Even after hurting myself scrubbing the bathtub.  I was having trouble walking last night,  I had trouble getting off the couch.  Shit, I thought, what did I do?  I forgot that I don't scrub my own tub anymore for the same reason.  I take 800mg of motrin and a prilosec for my stomach (she doesn't like meds). I pray that a good night's sleep with take care of it.  I am the hopeful sort.  Even in that pain, after 11pm one of favorite Italian songs comes on the radio, I get up to dance. I can't dance, but I sway the best I can.  It was still fun.

I put all my unpacked things on the kitchen table last night.  My space in the house is getting smaller and smaller.  Towels and clothes dried, so I put them away. 

This morning when I opened the downstairs windows, i could feel the humidity and heat.   I better get going, I thought, i don't want it to be too hot when I run.

So out the door around 9am.  I started my run sooner, right inside the piazza.  I wanted to run across the bridge in the front of la rocca.

The first 5 minutes of the run were a thing of beauty and then…

I struggled like crazy.  As I ran along the Tiber, it seems half the town camped there last night.  Lots of cars, men, almost empty bottles of wine, and lots of fishing gear.   I was sweating already, humidity mades such a difference.   My breathing was hard, I couldn't seem to find a rhythm. 

I kept going anyway.

I was 3-4 minutes from my turn around point, a group of three trees I like near the end of the trail,  I couldn't do it.  My legs were rocks, I had no energy, I felt the effort of every step.

I kept going.

I ran past my trees, putting my arms up to feel their branches, turned around and did it again.  As I returned to the straight path along the water I knew I wouldn't make it.  Break the stride and walk for a bit.

I kept running.

I started to think about people who can't run, maybe me someday.   I didn't want to have my last run be a walk.

Then my sisters came to mind…I totally forgot how Kathy started running a year or so before her cancer diagnosis. (back in 1997)

I didn't pay any attention to it at the time as I was busy with a newborn and a 21 month old.  But when she came to visit us, she went out in the afternoon and did her run.

I remembered how my sister Liz had half of her leg removed due to an infection (and complication from the lupus/tissue disease).

I was running for them.  I had 2 legs that worked.  (tearing up now as I type with all these people around)  I wan't running alone, I wan't running for myself. I was running for them too.  I was running for all the people who can't run.  I was running along the Tiber for all the people who won't' make it to Italy.  

So I kept running.

It didn't get any easier…I was sweating and at one point my left foot dragged along the ground, just like that dog I saw a few days ago.

I thought of him and why I connected to him, I drag myself along a lot more than I let on, I keep it to myself, I don't tell anyone because Idon't want it to take over my life.  As long as I can move, I move.

I told myself I would stop at the bridge, about 1/8 of a mile before I usually do.  The bridge is right after a short steep incline in the road, that would be good.   

I ran. I wiped the sweat off my forehead with an already sweat wet hand.   I ignored the men standing around on the road.

I stared out on the Tiber, willing myself not to break my stride.  I could feel my body want to break into a walk. 

I kept going.

I thought about 'obstacles' I thought about what I wrote a last night about coming across obstacles in our lives.  This was an obstacle for me an dby pushing through it, I was going to help myself get through other obstacles in my life.  

I started saying "I believe, I believe, I believe…."  I's take some quicker breathes and then slow it down again, repeating the mantra.

I got to the stew hill, I dug down and make longer strides to get up it faster. I did it.

I kept running.

Out loud, I said again and again "I believe"  then I was go back to nose breathing.   I was running under the arches of the bridge, less than one minute from my end, I knew then, and only then that I was going to make it.

I reached the end of the pavement, and broke into my walk as I crossed the the wooden threshold in the front of the la rocca. It turns to pebbles.  This is where I normalling stop and walk for a while.

I started walking, hands on hips, sweating, gasping for breath  when a wave of emotion comes up and washes over me.  I start to cry.  I walk over to a corner, so no one can see my face and I cry.  Not quiet tears, my face probably looks as though it were in agony.  I let it come.  

After a short time, I wipe my face and walk, trying to cool off in this humid morning.   "I did it"  says something inside me.  "I did it" I say aloud.

This wasn't just about the run.  This was about everything.  I did it.  I came, I conquered my fears, I prevailed.   

I DID IT!  I DID IT! I DID IT!