Author: mykitchentable2017

I’m scared. And I know that I have to just sit with it. Feel it. Be in it. My being scared is justified. What I am doing now is scary. I’m making a huge life change that has been looming over me for a long time. I don’t doubt that it’s the right thing to do but it alters everything. And not just for me but for those who I love the most.

I’ve struggled with it for a long time. Whether my need to move into another part of my life is just pure selfishness at its core. Or whether I am – as I believe on most days – just trying to live my life in the most authentic way I can.

Authentic is such a “hipster” word these days and some people scoff when I use it to refer to myself.  I almost hate to use it. But it is the perfect description of what I feel I have lost sight of. Make no mistake, I have loved my life – all of it – and wouldn’t change a thing. I regret nothing I’ve ever done because I truly believe that it was all necessary for me to be where I am today. All of my actions – and some of them have not been great or something I should be particularly proud of – were taken with the best of intentions and with the belief that they were exactly where I was supposed to be at that moment.  And now I am certain it is time to move into another space.

Nonetheless, I am scared. I sit at my friend’s house as I take care of her pets while she’s away and try to feel what it’ll be like when it is my turn to be alone. It doesn’t seem too desolate right now. But I clearly see how it might be.

It will be quiet. It will be light at times. But it will also be dark. There will not be much movement. There will not be many dishes or much laundry to do. I will not be watching silly cartoons. I might listen to more music. I will write more. I will feel more – both good feelings and some not so much.

In this particular moment, it seems like it will be ok. I will be ok. I will be more myself during the alone times.  And I am hopeful that that will carry over to the rest of the time.

I haven’t lived alone for about 21 years. But I remember it well. I remember being lonely when all my friends were busy with spouses and family. Now I revisit this and know that I am a different person than I was then. I am more capable. More likely to reach out to people. More apt to do things alone. Hopefully a stronger person. One who can be alone with herself and maybe like what she sees just a little bit.

But all that remains to be seen. I am still scared. Scared in an exciting way as well as in an apprehensive way. It is a lot to digest. To accept. I am hopeful that I am enough. Enough for me. And with that, I can be enough for the ones I love as well. I’d like to think that I can show them that tough decisions help make you strong and live purely.

More than anything I want to be at peace with myself.  I want to show them that it isn’t always easy but that to live a full and genuine life it is sometimes necessary to make change even when it might cause pain. We have such limited time here. I want to live it right. And I want to be a good example to them. It’s that simple. I guess we’ll see.

Meanwhile, back at the Kitchen Table, a lively discussion of whether or not to apply to law school has begun.  (See, She’s a Runner, to remember what the “Kitchen Table” is all about).  Almost everyone around the table thinks it’s a good idea.  Even little Karen1, who doesn’t really know what law school is but sees how happy everyone is about it.   And if they are happy so is she.  There is, however, one exception.  It’s not as if you would know that she even exists but one of these women is firmly against the idea of going back to school, never mind law school.  She is profoundly uncomfortable when doing anything that requires being noticed.  Introducing . . . Karen4.  

This version of the woman represented by the Kitchen Table is probably the one I know best.  She has been around almost as long as the littlest Karen.  She doesn’t talk much or look around.  She plays with her hands and stares at anything but the others.  Her eyes are usually downcast as she tries to stay under the radar hoping to be unnoticed.    She is so translucent that she is almost invisible.  To say that she is shy is quite an understatement.  She is unassuming to a fault wearing her “uniform” of ripped jeans and a plain white t-shirt.  Her hair hangs long and often covers her face.  There is no doubt that she is hiding from something and certainly does not want to be found.

From a young age, Karen4 was fondly referred to by her mother as “her shrinking violet”.  She was painfully shy, had a few good friends to play with but mostly preferred to be at home with a good book, or actually any book.  In school, Karen4 absolutely HATED speaking in front of people – even if they were her friends.  She felt as if anything she said would be wrong.  She was deathly afraid of looking stupid.  When she became uncomfortable with any situation that might point to her or when attention turned her way she would shrink into herself hoping to become almost invisible.  In those moments she wished fervently that she could reduce her size to an inch tall so she could scurry away and hide in a corner of the room until the risk of being noticed passed.  This is the need to be invisible in full throttle.  It is clear that the best way to avoid shyness and the fear that underlies it is simply to put on your invisibility cloak.

Returning to the law school decision for a minute, picture this.  The women around the Kitchen Table are deep in conversation about this costly and long-term life decision.   In large part, the decision to go back to school is simple.  Karen5, who we haven’t officially met yet but will most certainly cause you to nod and say “Oh yes.  That one I’ve seen before . . . .”, leads the group and sums up what most of them are thinking.  “For God’s sake ladies, we need to get our shit together.  It’s time to grow the hell up.  Plus I think we all agree that we need to do something that will ensure that we get the hell out of bed every day and have super cool shit to wear”.  At this everyone is nodding furiously and picturing the newest pair of Rag and Bone jeans they have been coveting.

Then suddenly Karen4 pipes up from beneath her curtain of hair and says in her soft, quivering voice, “Who does that?  Who puts themselves in a situation that will shock their very core?  I’m not going.  No.  Forget it.  Figure something else out.”  The rest are all stunned into silence.  At first, they think – who the hell is that?  Then realizing that she does, in fact, belong there in her transparent seat at the Kitchen Table, they agree that it might be time for Karen4 to go.  The fear and self-doubt that she brings to the table just don’t really serve the “greater good” of the Kitchen Table.  They realize that law school might be the best way to overcome the extreme shyness and insecurity that plagues them.  Understanding that they are considering her elimination, Karen4 slinks back into her chair and immediately blends in with the wallpaper.

Fast forward about 20 years, including those fun-filled years at law school, and you will find that Karen4 was not eliminated and does, indeed, still sit at the Kitchen Table.  It would appear then that having an invisibility cloak may have some value after all.  The question troubling the Kitchen Table is what on earth could that value be?  I have pondered this question for many years finally realizing that being shy is not an easy thing to extinguish.  Apparently shyness and its evil twin, fear, are amazingly resilient – for good reason.

Here’s the thing, being invisible does serve a purpose much larger than mere protection from your fears or introverted nature.  When you are invisible you can blend into a crowd and watch all that is happening right in front of you without having to engage.  In doing so, you can take time to digest what’s happening and carefully choose how you will participate, or not.  Eventually, of course, you will be seen and heard and if you are smart about this you will be seen and heard in whatever way you choose at that time.  Karen4 is actually someone who can reinvent who she is each time she is seen in every new light or circumstance simply by waiting in the wings until she decides how to engage.  I understand now that if you hide in the shadows you are actually controlling when you are noticed.  You are choosing how people will see you – if they will see you.  It appears that being shy is a many-faceted characteristic.  How’s that for being tricky??

So, I guess I have come to the conclusion that Karen4 who certainly is hiding, might actually be doing so simply to give herself time to decide who she is at that moment – and how that choice will best suit her needs.  There may be a method to her madness after all.

People who know me today, even a little bit, claim to have never seen this particular Karen.  The person they see and think they know is an open book.  She speaks loudly, cracks a lot of jokes – most of them self-deprecating, and isn’t afraid to say what she thinks.  She writes letters to the editor expressing her opinions and openly flashes her resting bitch face when necessary.  But what these people don’t see is, of course, intentional by Karen4.  How could they see someone who fades in and out of sight?  Karen4 has the distinct ability to be seen and heard only when it suits her.  Granted, her very existence means that it almost never suits her.  However, I am inclined to think that the notion of hiding and deciding when to be visible, regardless of the fear that might be behind it, is a meaningful and important characteristic.  One that I am beginning to appreciate and embrace.

Karen4 isn’t going anywhere.  She is not to be “snuffed out”.  She is actually an integral part of what makes the Kitchen Table function.  She will let you know when she is ready to be seen – on her own terms.

She should not be underestimated.

 

 

 

I started writing this post a few weeks ago but it wasn’t until today that I finished it.

Here is how I began . . . . . .

Today is March 14.  Exactly one month from the Parkland school shooting where 17 people, mostly high school students, were shot and killed by the violent actions of a young man who was able to obtain an assault weapon, despite his age and the several warning signs that were manifested prior to the shooting.  This most recent horror in our schools is indicative of the state of our Country, our legislators, and our current moral code.  It is infuriating, horrific, embarrassing, and fully represents the sad state of our nation.  

Then I stopped writing.  I just couldn’t find any words to adequately describe how I was feeling.  All I could do was reiterate the foul and unspeakable nature of events of that day at the Stonemen Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida.  Then, of course, I was immediately reminded of Sandy Hook and all the other senseless and evil shootings of the past few years.  I began to, almost obsessively, follow all of the unbelievable politics and fierce activism arising from this most recent school shooting.  But mostly I have spent every day marveling at the intensity of the most powerful organized movement I have ever seen.  The movement that arose from this newest tragedy and that is led by these high school kids, pictured above on the cover of Time.  Nicely done Time Magazine.  👊

This is the rest of my post . . . . .

For the past month, I have watched with admiration as these young adult survivors have taken an unthinkable and horrific experience and created the most profound and inspiring movement our Country has seen in a very long time.  And they have done this during a time that has been nothing short of embarrassing, confusing, hateful, scandalous, idiotic, and violent.  I have watched as these amazing young adults have stepped forward and taken control of their future – and indeed the future of our Country.  To say that they are inspiring is an understatement.  The poise, strength, honor, and intellect they exhibit is amazing.  They have shown more substance, morality, and strength than any legislator, State or Federal.

Their young faces exhibit so much.  All at once they express deep sadness, strength, intelligence, anger, shock and most importantly resolve.  Their eloquent words verbalize all this each time they speak.  They have not only brought the violence that exists in our schools to the forefront of the many issues our Country is faced with but have gone even further to encompass the continued racial bias that we, as humans, cannot seem to eradicate.  They have opened their bleeding arms to embrace the other children and young adults who suffer daily from violent acts while merely living in their schools and backyards.  They have scooped up these other victims of violence and offered a place beside them on their platform so they too can be heard.  This inclusiveness is stunning and something we all should try to emulate.

One of the more disturbing thoughts I have about this is that so far these children – yes, hear clearly that word – children, who are the victims of this senseless violence, have been unable to garner any attention or help from us – the adults who are in charge.  That last phrase is laughable.  “Adults who are in charge”.  I am embarrassed to be swept into that category because I am, of course, an adult in charge as well.  I am in charge of my family and our moral compass.  I am in charge of my own actions.  I am in charge of my ability to speak out, to be involved and try to make a difference.  I am in charge of listening.  And admittedly (and somewhat shamefully) I have not done much of any of that in any real or meaningful way.  I am embarrassed and ashamed that because we – the adults – have been unable to keep them safe, these children are compelled through tragedy to step up and take control.  They are instigating change and it is nothing less than inspiring.

Make no mistake.  These young adults are our present and our future.  They are standing at the gates.  They will not be ignored.  They are not going away and we need to listen carefully to them.  They are making history right now.  As usual, I heard a song the other day – 🙄 – and since then have not been able to stop listening to it.  It almost seems to have been written for these young activists.  Listen to it here:  Legendary, by Welshley Arms.  I think you might agree with me that this should be their theme song.

These young adults are by far the strongest leaders of our time.  They are not tethered to any interest group.  They are smart.  They are passionate.  They are honest.  They are brave.  They are legendary and they are my heroes.  I stand with them.

 

 

Where you are supposed to be.  So then, Be.  Here.  Now.

I have heard this little gem of wisdom a lot lately.  From friends, acquaintances, and even in the music I’ve been listening to.  And, while I completely understand the message behind this, it is almost impossible for me to let go of my anticipation of what I’m supposed to be doing next and just “live in the now,” as they say.  It’s not as if I necessarily want to speed through life always preparing for the future – that just means you are jetting your way to old age and I’m certainly not up for that. But I do tend to want to focus on the next moment and how to get there in one piece and in short order, rather than appreciating what’s right in front of me.  I know that this is certainly not uncommon.   I have spoken to many people who like me just can’t sit still for very long and certainly can’t do something like say, meditate.  I hate to be gender specific but they are often women and typically multi-taskers.  Big surprise there……

On the other hand, I know that there are some people who can be very “zen-like” in their approach to life.  No matter the size of the wrench that happens to get thrown in their way, they gracefully leap over it and keep right on going – without panic or fear.  They consider the wrench to be a temporary circumstance one that will pass and some even relish this moment.  They approach it from a place of gratitude, close their eyes and feel the import or significance of it.  Then move on.  These people take something positive from every single moment no matter the doom that might be associated with it.

I so admire these people and wish I could be more like them.  But the truth is it just isn’t in me, not 100% anyway.  That is not to say that I have never felt that kind of personal harmony. There are rare times when I can sit with myself and feel completely tranquil, knowing that I am in the exact right space. Many years ago, probably when I was a young adult, I coined such an instance “the perfect moment”.  Truthfully, they occur most often when I am at the beach.  The ocean holds something very powerful for me – it always has.  So, it makes sense that this is where I would feel the most peace and serenity.  Still.  Zen-like as a rule?  Nope.  Not in my genetic makeup.

For years – and I mean YEARS – I have tried to figure out why this is so difficult for me.  Not being able to accept the moment you are in and just be there can be very frustrating.  Some who know me might say that my inability to stay in the moment arises from anxiety.

Not THAT again . . . . .  Will we ever exhaust that excuse?

As tired of this explanation as I am, I admit that people with anxiety typically like to keep running toward something more comfortable.  Something safer.   Some Kitchen Table followers know that I have written about this before.  Being still can be very scary for those with anxiety.  I wholeheartedly agree with this reasoning – to a certain extent.  But what about the moments that are truly good.  Even those are sometimes hard to sit with.

Recently I think I might have discovered the reason.  And oddly, it came to me through the words of a song.  The song is “Have You Forgotten” by the Red House Painters.  You can hear it here:   Have You Forgotten.  It’s a beautiful song – the underlying texture of it is just a bonus.  The lyrics most significant in this context are, “have you forgotten how to love yourself“.   I think that everyone is born with an innate love of who they are.  It is our environment and experience that can dampen this and cause us to doubt our value to the world.  The simple question “have you forgotten how to love yourself” really clicked when I first heard it and certainly resonated when I thought about my inability to “be. here. now.”.

For me, I think the elemental belief that I am never quite good enough is at the root of it.  It’s hard to love who you are if you never really feel adequate.  To put it more accurately, it is hard to be with yourself in almost any space when you don’t think that you are measuring up to a certain self-imposed standard.  Better to start running somewhere else.  Somewhere you won’t have to see who you really are or be faced with your own . . . . . well, face.  Of course, this is completely counterproductive for someone who claims to want to live an authentic life.  I am totally aware of all this and am trying to clear out the muck that undermines my ability to be more “zen” and sit with myself, right where I am.  I’ll admit that it’s not an easy or quick process.  Particularly when you have lived your entire life shrouded in this mask of self-doubt.

But as they say, acknowledging an idiosyncrasy is the first step to ridding yourself of it, if that is, it doesn’t serve you anymore.  So, with any luck and some tough self-examination, I’m hoping that one day I will be able to sit with myself and “be. here. now.” more often than not.  And maybe someday you will even see me doing this:

and not this:

 

 

 

 

About 4 years ago I was running on an early, misty February morning to an island called Newcastle, which is just off of the coast of Portsmouth, where I live.  Earlier that morning I had thought about going to yoga instead of running.  After all, it was February.  It was cold, wet and very dreary even by New Hampshire winter standards.  But a friend wanted to go and really so did I.

New Hampshire winters can last until May.  Yes, I said May.  I have seen early spring snow more times than I’d like to count.  I am by nature a warm weather person who would give anything to sit on a beach 365 days a year and sweat.  These frozen winters can be extremely trying on my soul.  And I tend to want to speed through them and get to the other side, doing what I typically do – running outside – as much as possible. So, on this dreary winter morning, I decided that running was the thing I most needed to stay sane.  At least for that day.

I confirmed with my friend and off we went.  It actually wasn’t all that frigid, not like it could have been in February and we were feeling good about our choice.  The ground was most definitely damp and there was a steady misty rain.  But we had warmed up pretty quickly and were well on our way around the island.

We are usually deep in conversation about the things, both big and small, happening in our lives by the end of the first few miles.  That is where we were when all of a sudden I hit a patch of black ice.  You know.  The kind of ice that comes from warmer temperatures following too quickly on the heels of a more common frigid February day.  The ice is so dark that you think it’s just another puddle.  I took a quick step right on the ice and wham, down I went.  As I fell I heard the unthinkable sound of a bone breaking.  The snap that says “Holy shit, what was that crack?  Thunder?” right before you feel the sharp pain begin to radiate through your skin.  As is typical for me, I tried to jump up and keep going.  No stopping, just plow right through.  

But as soon as I tried to take a step I knew that this was no simple muscle pull but was a fairly serious ankle break.  My first thought after screaming “Nooooooo” was “What an idiot.  I should have gone to yoga”.  But no, that would have been far too slow and peaceful for me.

I have always been a somewhat clumsy person.  The kind of person that trips over her own feet while going upstairs or falls out of a chair while reaching for the clicker.  Unfortunately for my children, they have inherited this gene from me.  While sometimes it is embarrassing when it happens in public, we have learned to laugh at ourselves.  Here’s a fun example.  A few weeks ago my daughter and I were in Ulta buying cosmetics.  I had my typical oversized bag with me.  As I turned around in the middle of the aisle my bag hit a display of hairspray bottled and down they all went, rolling around the aisles.  We looked at each other, as every other customer in the store looked at me, and simply cracked up.  I’m pretty sure those watching us found our clean up of the hairspray – crawling around on our hands and knees to grab as many bottles as we could – just as funny as the initial clumsy move.  I must say that lacking grace is so much a part of our daily lives that my 15-year-old daughter wasn’t even embarrassed.  Score one for klutz moms everywhere.

But, I digress, back to the ankle.  Needless to say,  the bad choice to forego yoga and instead use my consummate klutz gene on the road caused substantial pain.  Both physical and almost more importantly emotional.  I had been running for about 20 years.  It really had become my savior during many a difficult time.  For me, there is nothing like breathing fresh air into my lungs, hearing my footsteps pound the pavement and feeling my heart begin to beat just a bit faster.  It makes me feel alive and clears my head of all the muck we gather every day.  I have worked numerous things out while on a run.  After the ankle break, nothing was clear.  I was exhausted all the time and honestly just plain pissed off.   All the things I had hoped to accomplish that winter stayed right where they were . . . . nowhere.

Then as if this wasn’t painful enough, several acquaintances told me that they thought the break was probably good for me because it forced me to SLOW DOWN for a change and stop trying to do everything.  It did, in fact, make me slow down and let other people step in to help when needed.  So, I guess there’s that.  But the idea of slowing down just didn’t appeal to me.  I didn’t buy it.

Now let’s fast forward to this past Monday.  Although there are many instances of my lack of grace over the years, this particular event stands out like a floodlight during a blackout.  I was helping to set our cycling studio up for the next ride, delivering fresh towels to each bike.  The studio is set up like a stadium, with stadium stairs.  As I came down I was looking at the pile of dirty towels I had yet to clean up rather than where I was going and, yes you guessed it, missed the step and fell to the ground.

And let me say I fell HARD.  In fact, as I watched it happen in the mirrored wall across from me it felt as if it was a slow-motion commercial for how not to come down steps.  I could even see my mouth form the only reasonable response . . . . . “Nooooooo”.   As if that would stop anything.  When I finally looked up I thought “Wow how the hell did I do that?  I’ve done this a million times”.  Then I started to cry, realizing the damage inflicted by this fall and what I’d have to stop doing.  This time I didn’t break anything but I certainly have a nice swollen, black and blue sprained ankle and a fabulous skinned knee as well.  Grace strikes again.

So what is the moral of these stories of my lack of grace?  They both could have been avoided, one by deciding on a peaceful yoga class and the other by actually looking where I was going instead of racing to see how many sweaty towels were in the bin.  Well, I have pondered this to a great degree and I think that the symbolism of these incidents is this . . . .

I realize that I tend to move through life at a quick clip.  It’s not that I necessarily DO a lot of things each and every day or that what I do is done at breakneck speed.  But rather when decisions are made, I often want things to happen quickly and I get impatient and cranky when they don’t.  Perhaps these injuries caused most definitely by my clumsiness, are intended to SLOW ME DOWN.  I obviously have little choice in the matter since getting around with a broken or sprained ankle isn’t a swift endeavor.  I am forced by virtue of my injury to be still.  To wait before moving and when I do move it has to be slow and steady.  Being still naturally breeds more thought about what you are doing.  This is a very good exercise in patience for me and one that I am going to try to embrace – even after I can move around freely and without pain.

So, while my middle name is never going to be Grace (it’s Ann by the way) and frankly I’m pretty sure that I’ll keep right on tripping along, today I am starting to be more mindful of every move I make and step more carefully into the path before me.

Before I launch into the psyche of Karen3, I will hit the pause button and remind readers of what My Kitchen Table really means.  Although the image most definitely centers around a kitchen table, it is so much more than that.  

The story of My Kitchen Table takes place in a house in a small suburban neighborhood in Central New Jersey.  Which Exit, you ask?  Well, 8A will get you there.  In this house, there is a room.  In this room, there is a table.  And yes, it is a kitchen table.  This room has a couple of windows.  Even so, the light in the room is always the same.  White.  Not bright, not dull, never dark.  Just white.

It is very still in this room.  Sometimes there is a breeze that gently blows the window drapes.  And sometimes there is music playing from somewhere outside the room.  The sound is like music that would play from a 45 vinyl on a turntable.   A small plastic one that has a handle for easy transport.  But neither of these things alter the stillness in the room.

The kitchen table is from the 1960’s.  It is beige and round.  There are spots of dried model glue on the table.  These spots are permanent and are from the dad making car models while he sat at the table and listened to his police band radio perched on a shelf behind his chair.  

The chairs around the table are also beige. They are vinyl kitchen chairs that make a nail-biting sound when you push back from the table and the legs scrape the linoleum floor.  

In this image, six females sit at the kitchen table.  I would say six women but they are of varying ages, ranging from 5 to somewhere in their 40’s.  They are, at once, all different and are all the same.   My Kitchen Table is a story about these women and how they each came to sit at this kitchen table.  

Now for the runner, Karen3.  Watch out.  She moves quickly and if you blink she might be gone.

Meet Karen3

Karen3 is otherwise known as “the runner”.  You will see that being a “runner” can actually be descriptive of several different characteristics.  She has had a seat at the kitchen table since the late 1970’s when she was a teenager.  You might say that one of her theme songs is the 80’s song “Somebody’s Watching Me“, by Rockwell.

Although this song is not on anyone’s radar these days, here is the link:  Somebody’s Watching Me https://g.co/kgs/ce9M51, just in case you are longing for a trip down 1983 with Rockwell.

Karen3, as she is seen at the kitchen table, is probably in her late teens or early 20’s and is wearing 1970’s gym shorts with tube socks and sneakers.  While everyone else is sitting at the table, she continuously runs around the room, circling the table, never sitting down.  She is sometimes carrying Karen1, the youngest Karen who can’t walk, either piggy-back or like a monkey.  She is fiercely protective of this one, as are some – but not all – of the others.

Karen3 spends most of her time furtively glancing around the room, watching for something or someone.  She is always poised to run away at the first sign of trouble or difficulty.  Running away is her superpower.  👊🏻

The thing about Karen3 is that, although she is always ready to run, she is steadfastly committed to keeping everyone around the table safe.  Despite her being known as the one to run away, this is also her greatest strength and gift to the table.  In fact, her running is likely her most effective way to avoid the unpleasant, scary and sad things that life presents.  In her own way, this is how she stays safe and keeps the other Karens safe, as well.

Karen3 is a product of the fear and discomfort she experienced growing up.  It wasn’t fear or discomfort from being physically hurt.  But, instead, was the discomfort that comes from knowing that her parents didn’t really like each other but were together nonetheless.  A fact that she understood from a very young age.  In order to deal with this discomfort, Karen3 spent a lot of time in her room listening to music or reading, avoiding the presence of her parents.  Both were fairly adequate distractions for a time.  But eventually,  Karen3 needed something else.  When this occurred to her is foggy but the something else was simple . . . .  movement.

She found that when she was running she gained a comforting sense of peace.  The pounding of her feet on the pavement, the sweat, and the feeling of her rapidly beating heart made her feel alive and powerful.  She gained a sense of clarity that she couldn’t otherwise find as she took in the fresh salt air, felt and heard the sound of the seagulls gliding around her.  On these runs, Karen3 could slowly sort through her confusing thoughts.  She began to rely on running as a way to calm herself down when nothing else could.  In this way, Karen3 provides everyone around the kitchen table with a sense of peace and understanding that they might not have in certain more stressful circumstances.

So as you can see, despite the truth about Karen3, that she is likely to “run away” from uncomfortable situations, she also uses this same technique as a way to survive and maybe even thrive during the hard stuff of life.

Being a “runner” can have its perks.