Being Em
My knee started hurting today 0.3 miles into my scheduled 21-mile training run and did not subside until I gave in at mile 4. I think I need to listen to my body. My fear of not being able to finish the Boston Marathon outweighs my desire to run it.
The following parable is my friend Ryan's response to my news. Suddenly, everything else I wanted to say seems irrelevant.
(From the Huai Nan Tzu, as related by Steven Mitchell
in his translation of the Tao Te Ching)
"A poor farmer's horse ran off into the country of the
barbarians. All his neighbors offered their
condolences, but his father said, "How do you know
that this isn't good fortune?" After a few months the
horse returned with a barbarian horse of excellent
stock. All his neighbors offered their
congratulations, but his father said, "How do you know
that this isn't a disaster?" The two horses bred, and
the family became rich in fine horses. The farmer's
son spent much of his time riding them; one day he
fell off and broke his hipbone. All his neighbors
offered the farmer their condolences, but his father
said, "How do you know that this isn't good fortune?"
Another year passed, and the barbarians invaded the
frontier. All the able-bodied youg men were
conscripted, and nine-tenths of them died in the war.
Thus good fortune can be disaster and vice versa. Who
can tell how events will be transformed?"
A few nights ago my friend David called. It had been months since we last spoke. When I told him about my blog, he responded by saying: 'So Emily, I didn't know you're an exhibitionist!'
Yesterday morning when I stopped at a light and waited to run across a busy street, an older gentleman approached me. "Did you run up in the park?" he asked. He was referring to Druid Hill Park where I run during the week from my home in Bolton Hill. When I nodded, he revealed the twinkle in his eye, doubled over with joy, and gently touched my arm as he exclaimed: "I live in the high rise building next to the park. From my window I see you trotting around that park!" We giggled together and I turned to match my stride with my grin. So often we aren't conscious of our exhibitionist behavior. We aren't aware that others notice, and often appreciate, our presence.
I believe a part of daring to be oneself lends itself to exhibitionism. When we choose to reveal our differences, when we refuse to morph ourselves into molds that do not fit, the result is that we draw attention to ourselves. I was reminded of this concept every single day that I lived in Nepal. By plopping myself into another culture I was not able to hide. There were days that I tried to delude myself; however, I eventually returned to the ring to face the world. Now that I am back in the United States, I find myself continuing to make choices that put me outside my comfort zone. Periodically, I find that I have an intense desire to retreat into my shell to revitalize my energy and restore my sense of grounding and centeredness. This week I went so far as to question my perch on the edge of the limb. I no longer felt capable of continuing to stand where I was. With respect to several different areas in my life, I contemplated climbing down the trunk to rest in the shade. Three times I actually turned to go. I was checked by the appearance of a new friendship, support from my colleagues, and an off-handed comment made by a stranger I met on the street. It feels as if I have been given a balancing pole to allow me to inch out a little further.
I regularly experience unbridled ecstasy while running. The moments are fleeting; however, they are present. During a good week I experience the feeling at least once. Last week it happened twice. Running grounds me in a way that nothing else does, not even meditation.
Four weeks from today, on April 19th, the Boston Marathon will be held in Boston, Massachusetts. I qualified last October while running the Chicago Marathon with Margs and Charles. Although my siblings and I ran separately, being out on the course together with Mom watching was enough to spur each of us to achieve our individual goals. Mine was to break the Boston Marathon qualifying time of 3 hours and 40 minutes for my age group, which I did with ample room to spare. My biggest pre-race challenge was putting together a gluten-free training diet after discovering I have a gluten intolerance (Celiac Disease). Fortunately, I had two months to experiment.
Since Chicago my biggest challenge has been working around a strange assortment of injuries I do not fully understand. Beginning in late October I experienced a deep bone pain that manifested first in my right and then my left foot. The logical explanation was a stress fracture; however, none of the medical tests I had were able to validate this theory. The final diagnosis was something called Tailor's bunion or a bunionette, a bony protrusion on the fifth metatarsal that could have resulted from my experience in Nepal where I applied pressure to the outside of my feet by wearing sandals with a strap that hit this area and sitting cross-legged while working and traveling in our project vehicle as a means of supporting my body in the absence of a back rest. In hindsight, I think the pain was indirectly related to some gastro-intestinal issues I was having after returning from Nepal, of which bone pain is a symptom. Nevertheless, I stopped running for 2.5 months to give my feet a chance to heal. While I managed to stay in shape using a variety of cross-training techniques, the walking aids that I utilized served to weaken my leg muscles and eventually led to an IT band injury. In the past five months I have spent a lot of time adjusting my course and applying everything I know about body mechanics to heal. I am still healing. If I have learned anything from the process, it is to believe in the possible and the positive.
I just received word that the Maoists have taken control of my former home and office in Ishwarpur, my fieldsite in Nepal. The Pink Palace, our affectionate name for the space, is no longer safe. About 9 PM on March 8th (International Women's Day), a band of Maoists called for my landlord's wife to leave her home. Apparently, they threw a bomb that destroyed her two-story concrete home as her husband disappeared out a back door into a neighboring field. It doesn't sound like anyone was injured. I assume her grandson and cook, the kind, middle-aged woman who is considered ineligible for marriage because of her club foot, were given time to leave with the landlord's wife. The young men who rent the downstairs room and families that rent rooms adjacent to the house must have been okay. The compound that contains the Pink Palace, a former barn that we rent for our ongoing project work, our landlord's house and adjacent rental rooms is now under Maoist control.
It isn't just the Maoists who are responsible for the present violence in Nepal. Yesterday, I received word from a friend that someone she knows was picked up by security forces in Kathmandu and taken to army barracks. Reports indicate that the army systematically tortures its detainees. She is trying desperately to appeal to international agencies to intervene.
I feel grateful to be back in the US and relieved to hear that the other student Luke will return in two weeks. I am still stunned by the news.
"Trust those things that you can never see. Keep on believing that tomorrow brings another day."
-- Johnny Clegg and Savuka, 'Cruel, Crazy, Beautiful World'
Yesterday, I located my next home. I will move from Baltimore, MD to Ithaca, NY in June. All the familiar feelings that I felt last year at this time when I was preparing to leave Nepal and return to the US have resurfaced. People are beginning to make plans for events that will take place after I go. This used to happen when I was in Kathmandu preparing to return to my fieldsite, in my fieldsite ready to return to Kathmandu, in Nepal ready to return to the US, and in the US ready to return to Nepal. Between March 2001 and May 2003, I did not spend more than 10 consecutive nights in a single place. Although I often returned to the same places each week, I was constantly shifting from one location to another. When I returned to Baltimore in June, I envisioned being able to remain in this city for a long time. The universe has other plans for me. If there is anything that I know how to do, it is to create a home for myself. I will make my new space in Ithaca warm. I will make new friends. I will continue to grow. Nevertheless, moving takes an emotional toll every time I have to do it. I trust that the outcome of this movement will be beneficial; however, I feel tired at the moment.
The angels appeared two nights after I returned from Nepal. I was at Mom's sleeping in her spare bedroom surrounded by the huge duffel bags I brought with me. I awoke to find my cook, Kanchi's granddaughter dressed in her pink dress sitting at my feet. Shishir, Menuka, Ram Narayan and others were there sprawled on my bags watching and sitting with me while I slept. It was 3 AM. While I have felt the presence of angels before, particularly while I have been traveling alone, I had never seen them. These angels took the form of my friends and colleagues that I had just left in Nepal. I believe they revealed their presence so I would know that they were there to help me with my transition to life in the US from both urban and rural Nepal. Their warmth and love lulled me back to sleep.
Last week I felt the angels' presence again. The sensation was similar to what I have experienced while traveling. Again, work people provided the vehicle. The timing was associated with another transition I will make this summer from Baltimore, MD to Ithaca, NY. As much as I hate the idea of leaving Baltimore, especially the friends I have made in this city, I sense that I will be okay. When I returned to my apartment on Lanvale Street on Friday night after searching for an apartment in Ithaca, it struck me for the first time that in only nine months I have already managed to create the space that I dreamed of creating prior to moving to Baltimore. It is open, peaceful, and warm.
Life has felt chaotic in the past few weeks. Part of me has felt like a bullet train speeding ahead at top speed, recognizing that this isn't the time to question whether I am going in the right direction, but rather that I need to streamline my focus in order to make the trip as efficient as possible. In an effort to stay on track, I have let meditation slip by the wayside, making room for negative thoughts to enter my head. I am continuing to set boundaries and work on putting myself first; however, the process has felt uncomfortable and difficult. Maybe I was in need of perspective. As I sit here and write, I am struck by the thought that my space might be a reflection of the person I am becoming. Could it be that all this work I have put into healing and getting to know myself could actually be bearing fruit? Bullet trains must have a meditation room. Visiting this room while continuing with my journey seems like it might be an invaluable way for me to maintain my sanity while the scenery races past and I hurl towards the next stop.
