I lost my mojo a while ago. It wasn’t any one thing – it was a bunch that piled up until the proverbial straw broke Carole Jean’s back! Friends were getting sick, friends were dying of natural causes that come with old age, friends were losing it, and I was helpless to do anything about any of it. I didn’t want to get out of bed in the morning. I didn’t want to go outside. I forced myself and pasted a smile on my face. Friends didn’t question my absence or lack of blogs for months. They figured I was off on an adventure somewhere. Or I met a new man.
Both of those things were true. Once again, I got caught up in the vortex of a new romance. Once again, I plunged blindly into the fantasy of “happily ever after.” But the good news is this time I didn’t get married! So when reality came screaming in, I was able to walk away unscathed. I allowed myself a full forty-eight hours of grieving and depression. And then two things happened; my Firecracker 10K number came in the mail, and two of my dear fly-sisters invited me to see Andrea Bocelli perform in San Jose.
We climbed the steep steps to our nosebleed seats, which cost a fortune. They were dead center and the acoustics at the SAP center were marvelous so we had nothing to complain about. The performance was exquisite! I closed my eyes a few times to experience the world as Bocelli, the blind tenor, does every day. The smile and joy that emanated from him had a profound effect on me. I snapped out of my funk and left the concert feeling exhilarated, renewed and ready to embrace my new outlook. I woke up the next morning and made a to-do list.
Holy Cow! I have to run up the mountain of the Fourth of July, which is like ten days away. The annual race’s slogan is “The Thrill of The Hill” and they are not kidding. Time’s up for moping; time’s in for training! So I dug out the American flag shorts and tried them on. Oh, no! I’ve got ten pounds of potatoes in a five-pound sack! I hung the medals from the previous two years on the fridge, hopped on the scale, and got to work. I made a chart and set a goal.
I wonder how many will show up this year in my age category. Last year there were three of us. I came in second and was happy with that. I vowed to beat my time the following year, which is now. Whoops, I forgot to train. Okay, my new goal is to not come in dead last like that time in Hawaii when I ran the Hash House Harriers’ 10k with the military guys. Hash House Harriers is a drinking club with a running problem! In contemplating running the 10K with them, I voiced my fear to my friend Geni’s husband, Marc, who was stationed there. “I’ll do the run, but I really don’t wanna be dead last.”
He laughed and said, “Oh, you will be!” And he was right.
I might have to adjust my goal to just crossing the finish line under my own power. I shall refuse to get in the golf cart that sweeps the stragglers even if I have to duck into the bushes and crawl to the finish line after it passes.
So, I got my mojo workin’ and I will get this thing done!
Meanwhile, I promise to write. Thanks to all of you dear readers who reached out to say you miss my blogs. Carole Jean’s Capers is alive and well. More to come! Thanks for noticing.
Life goes on and we must find joy in each and every day. I got through my bad patch with a little help from my friends. And now, I’m back! Look out.