Just Where Do You Think You’re Going? Lessons in Anger {& Running}

Foggy damp morning on the island. I do love the pavement here–it’s the first year my feet have pounded it alongside my husband’s…

My love for running came from a great capacity to feel anger. In the days before I could drive, and then in the days when I could drive but my car was confiscated, I spent hours pounding the pavement on country roads. When the summer air was thick and wet, when honeysuckle filled my lungs and teased my tongue, I ran, stretching my stride in this small freedom.

During our hard years of marriage, when I couldn’t face my man because his face reminded me I was in this for life, I ran. I learned to love the numbness gifted by bitter South Dakota mornings as cold permeated bone. Once home, I’d slip back in under the covers, secretly using my husband’s body heat to thaw from the outside in. I don’t know how many runs it took, but slowly our marriage thawed as well; slowly warmth returned–this time from the inside out.

Which Way to Ethiopia?

Three days ago, my daughter started kicking me when I put her in time out. She thursts her legs and I hold her ankles. I look at her, tell her I love her, and ask, “Are you finished kicking me?”

“No.” She kicks again but my hands stop her.

She tries to pull herself up and swats a hand at me. It’s a gentle swat and I know she doesn’t want to do what she is doing.

“Are you finished kicking me?” I ask again.

“No.” Her body contorts as she tries to free herself from me.

I feel frustration rising, kiss my favorite spot on her nose, just between her eyes, and leave. She slides to the floor and mumbles. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to go back to Ethiopia.”