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Home is where

My coffee is set at night, freshly brewed and waiting for me at 6am.  A back-up bottle of my favorite French Vanilla creamer is always in the fridge, and I still drink from the Van Gogh Sunflowers mug that my husband gave me 18 years ago

My running clothes take up their own multiple designated drawers; skorts, sports bras, shorts, and shirts in a rainbow of colors.  My running shoes are waiting in the closet to see which one of them gets taken out next

I can navigate in the pitch dark based on feel, and not miss the absence of the most treasured of my 5 senses

I can run out my door without a Garmin and know my distance based on landmarks I’ve passed hundreds of times

I can feel my children still asleep in their beds, recognizing each one by the pattern of their breathing.  I know which one is coming down by the sound of each one’s footsteps on the hardwood stairs

A bottle of my favorite white and rose are always chilled in the fridge, my favorite reds are in the bar patiently waiting for Fall

I know how many minutes and seconds it will take before the shower water is warm, and can rely on the water pressure to be just perfect

I pass the same early risers at the coffee shop and juice bar.  I see the same dog-walkers on each run, knowing which ones will courteously usher their pet out of my way

If I am running later at 9 am, I’m sure to pass Lady In Red, and we now regularly give each other a smile and a wave

I know I can quench my thirst at the water fountain at mile 3.67, or if I’m taking the longer route, fill my water bottle at mile 8.67

My laptop is charged and ready with my morning coffee, with new posts from bloggers I follow waiting like unopened letters in my inbox

I know where the sprinklers have created puddles overnight, and I can jump over or through them depending on my mood

I can run my favorite route and completely lose myself in it without worrying about actually getting lost.  Even if I’m put in a bag like a stray cat and swung around a few times and tossed a few streets over, I’ll find my way back,….not needing to rely on google maps…. or an exhausted hypoglycemic teary phone call to my husband telling him to stay on the phone and navigate me back turn by turn

Where I’ve had my first rain run, my first good cry run, my first mental orgasm, trained for my first race, conquered my first hills, and found myself on the run

Where despite having run through fog in San Francisco’s Presidio, humidity on the Brooklyn Bridge, drizzle in Hyde Park, and over cobblestone and bridges in Rome, Florence, and Venice; every cell in my body does its favorite happy dance on each home run

Where I feel the most peaceful, secure, content, ….the most grateful, both on and off my run

sunflowers

About Paria

Runner, mother, pediatrician, blogger

10 comments on “Home

  1. Welcome back home from Italy!! Love this post. Just last night after a grueling work day while sick with a nasty virus, I was so grateful to be home and thought to myself, ‘there’s no place like home’

    I love the part about your knowing your familiar home running path so well you could never get lost. And you love it like a friend who has witnessed you endure and grow.

    This is how I feel about Lake Waramaug where years ago I trained for my first marathon. I ran round and round her 1, 2, or 3 7-mile loops (the longest practice run before marathon day) through the late summer then Fall as the foliage was changing and the squirrels gathering their nuts for the winter. I felt she and a the creatures were my witness. And she looked different and beautiful every single day. And is forever my friebd having shared this growing and in some ways spiritual and meditative time together.

    I love how you can tell your children by the rhythms of their breathing while asleep or by the sounds of their footsteps….that is so beautiful. How you drink out of your sunflower mug to this day (I noticed while visiting and smiled inside!) and choose based on your mood to run through or over puddles.

    I love that your familiar running path is your witness and you can never get lost on it. You can run it blindfolded.

    What a beautiful post about home and family, about love, gratitude, and peace.

    Thank you for sharing!!

  2. Welcome HOME, beautiful!

    As I wrote that phrase, it had more meaning behind it knowing what home means to you now. Reading this reminded me that for a long time, I thought home was your house. But a home is so much more than that. Hard to describe… and yet, you described it. Parts of this home definition resonated that home feeling for me.

    You mentioned getting lost on a run and calling for help to get back. I have to share a funny story about me getting lost back east (in the olden days – you know, pre-GPS) … Our home at the time was in a great location in terms of highway access, but bad for me because I always got confused as to which highway I needed to get on, and which direction I need to go (north/south/east/west – it all seems the same to me). I actually talked myself out of the direction I was going just because the other side of the highway had no traffic, got to that side of the highway and drove for a few miles, then talked myself back into the traffic on the other side of the highway, so drove back to the other side of the highway, then called Ryan shouting “Where am I?”. Of course, he had no idea (I knew this), he asked what do the signs say, I say there are no signs (because I got myself confused after traveling down both sides of the highway), I tell him I’m stuck in traffic (I’m still getting used to driving with a clutch, and now in traffic), he says you’re probably going the right way then (secretly I agreed), I get mad because he can’t tell me where I am and whether I was going the right way (I know it’s completely irrational), he says he’ll stay on the line until I see signs of where I’m at and then tell me how to get to my conference (and I love him for that), I tell him to hold while I put the phone down to cut someone off because I was at a merger where 3-4 lanes are down to 1 to get on the highway (and there I go back to my MO). Short story: I was going in the right direction. 🙂

  3. I can so relate to this! There truly is no place like home! beautifully written Paria. Glad to have you back 🙂

    • Glad you enjoyed!! I’ve got a kickass runner, swimmer, biker, spinner, aqua-jogger, and who knows what else you can do… who can read my posts and still relate to them…that’s pretty amazing:)))

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