Mile Seventeen

I have heard from many a marathon runner that mile seventeen and eighteen are the hardest. It is when runners hit what feels like a wall both physically and emotionally. They have come so far, yet still have miles to go. At this time finishing can seem impossible and the whole race feels like one of the stupidest ideas anybody has ever had.

However, once they make it through and move on to mile nineteen, twenty and twenty-one, although still exhausted and emotionally depleted, they realize that they are probably going to make it, and that hope, that increase in confidence, gives them the fight to finish.

Last week, I hit mile seventeen. Life bowled me over. It seemed like there was no way to meet everyone’s needs, let alone my own. I couldn’t find the time to get food in the house, talk with friends, attend to my family’s needs, or parent well. I thought, Why did I open Lighthouse Bikes? What is the point of working so hard as a parent when there are days when it doesn’t even seem to make a difference? What if I never find balance in my life? Can I do this? Will all this business make me sick? I sagged and slumped. I forgot the whys and just wanted a break.

As a cure, I decided to go into the shop a little late one morning and take the time to go for a run and bring my dogs on a long ramble in the woods by my home. The morning was crisp and the bright fall leaves lit up against the blue sky. My feet crunched, the dogs wrestled and I took some much needed deep breaths. That is when it came to me. I just passed through mile seventeen and eighteen!

The bike shop has been open for eighteen weeks, and there are only a few weeks more to go before the tour season ends. Not only that, but my son Oakley is also eighteen and I won’t be the parent of a teenager much longer. Bitter sweet to be honest. My book Changing Gears, is in it’s final editing stage and I will have the manuscript in my hands by the end of the week. Another mile eighteen so to speak.

The end of this race is near, and a rest will come in due time if I just stay the course. As I realized this, I also realized that I do have some fight left-in fact quite a bit and I remembered the answer to the reasons why I am doing this.

I am doing it because I love running a bicycle business and seeing the happiness on people’s faces as the pedal along the coast of Maine. I get to make friends with people everyday and help them access the beauty of the outdoors, and hopefully inspire them to keep looking around every corner. It is fantastically fun.

Just yesterday, I got to lead a Lighthouse tour to four intrepid folks in the pouring rain. The wind was howling and the rain was spitting down from the onset of our first Maine Nor’Easter. I handed out my families old rain pants and jackets, found some spare mittens and off we went. The waves crashed, the lighthouses blinked and I shouted out my historical facts using my diaphragm like a bellows. Ruddy cheeks and grins and fantasies of hot clam chowder for lunch were all around. How fun is that?

And last week, I got to sell two adult tricycles to two remarkable women. Both had not been on a bike in years due to physical limitations and when I watched them pedal down the street, we all felt triumphant. Since then, I have seen them several times speeding by the shop, ringing their bells, waving and exclaiming how wonderful it is to finally ride again.

And I am doing this because I love parenting. It is very hard sometimes, and the metaphorical mile seventeen and eighteen with a child can bring a strong woman to her knees, but I will fight with my son and for my son until I don’t have to anymore.

He drives me wild, yet so does our educational system which lacks the resources to reach all the children and their varied needs. So does social media, and the way it needles its way into everything he does. And so do the companies that manufacture products that are just bad for people, but are available everywhere and have marketing tactics made to tantalize the teenage brain. It is a hard world to navigate, so I will keep being Oakley’s champion through these final years of childhood and most likely beyond.

Later in the evening, I take the time to nurture this new calm and acceptance I am feeling by making bread from the acorn squash that have been growing in our garden. Our home is warm and smells sweet. Oakley comes in from school with a friend and plunks himself down on the couch with our cat. “Smells good in here.” he proclaims. “Are you catching your breath?”

Yes, I am Oaks. And then I will keep on running, I promise.