Lap #3


One of our junior high PE activities was to run a timed mile on the track.  Four laps.  Mr Wallace, one of the best teachers I've ever had, explained the four laps like this (I paraphrase because junior high was long ago, but the point of the story is still valid): Lap 1, whhheeeeeeee, no problem!  Lap 2, feeling warmed up, found my groove.  Lap 3, UGGGGGH.  Lap 4, wheeeeee, almost done!

Lately, I've been on lap 3.  A patience game, a mental game, a game of trust.  Three months isn't that long, but neither is 3 laps.  But when you're in it this far, but also not nearing the end either, it can be a perfect recipe for letting thoughts wander.  Can I do it?  Is anything happening?  Are the right things happening?  Am I capable of doing this thing that is by many measures "impossible?"

(Dear self: the answer is always yes.)

Transitioning from having active treatment and therapies to then being left to percolate was complete BLISS in the beginning.  My veins were tired of being poked and were starting to misbehave, I was getting fidgety from having to spend so much time sitting for infusions and not being able to freely exercise, and going back and forth to Mexico kept me out of rhythm with everything at home.  

My oncologist at home was nice enough to order a CT for me for February, so I don't have to return to Mexico just for a scan.  Meanwhile, it's an opportunity to go deeper into myself, my thoughts, and how to change them and turn them around, if they're starting to get a little doomy.  A junior high mile came to mind last night, and just the thought that this is my lap #3 made everything make a lot more sense.  I could take a deep breath.  I have my rhythm, have plenty of energy, and found my groove.  I'll put on some music and trust that the path is good going and lap 4 is near.



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