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COVID, week 57 + it keeps on

COVID, week 57 + it keeps on

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Thank you for your kind responses, DMs, texts, messages, everything about John in the past week. It means a lot. 

Grieving is such a weird process. It comes and goes, unpredictably, at times when it’s most unexpected. 

Case in point: I have found myself recalling random memories and conversations with John at the weirdest times since his funeral last Tuesday — like when I bought bananas from Costco recently, some that were super, super green and in no way edible for at least a week.

I usually buy two bunches of bananas at a time, some that are yellow and ready for smoothies right now, and some that aren’t so ripe but will be good in a week’s time or so. We go through a lot of bananas in this household. 

For whatever reason though, when I recently bought bananas, immediately my mind went to a conversation with John and others after what had to have been the Hot Chocolate ‘09 race in Chicago in Grant Park. A conversation with a friend about produce more than a decade ago? Seriously?

almost positive this whole banana debate was after this race

I remember that we were all standing around at the finishers’ chute with all the food the volunteers gave us. It was in early November, on my birthday, and it was kinda frigid outside. We all had our arms full of post-race nosh, and John, others, and I were having a heated, friendly debate over which types of bananas were best: the rock-hard, obviously under-ripe green ones (his favorite) or the ones more yellow and softer (mine). I think I must have been complaining that volunteers were passing out immature, inedible bananas, while John argued the opposite, saying that AT LAST a race finally got it right! 

Clearly, I have bought bananas in the past eleven years — including the nasty green ones — but it wasn’t until John’s death that I thought of him when I found myself buying green bananas. 

Not sure what it means. It’s strange. 

*

I think as humans, we rationally know that the world keeps spinning, and life goes on, no matter the circumstances in our personal lives — including the death of someone we love — but it’s still a startling realization to come to terms with. 

Good stuff continues to happen, even though John’s no longer here to see or experience it — more people are getting COVID vaccines than ever before, fewer people are getting or dying from COVID (at least in these parts), kids are slowly getting back into school — as well as the bad, unfortunately — systemic racism is still killing unarmed black men (Daunte Wright being the latest, in Minnesota, not far from where George Floyd was killed last May), this damn pandemic won’t end, so many people are still subscribing to the alternate realities that many conservative politicians peddle — I mean, take your pick. There’s a lot, always, still.      

Knowing this, that the world keeps spinning, that good and bad alike both keep happening, even though John’s not here to observe and experience and analyze, is simultaneously comforting and maddening. It’s a solemn reminder, kinda like that trite commentary that “to the world, you may be one person, but to one person, you may be the world.” 

I think in this way, grief can be fairly levelling; you don’t have to necessarily know the person to know what the loss feels like. Most people know the sucker-punch feeling, the waves of sadness, the catch in your throat that grieving fosters. 

And this is where running comes in. The ability to process, to experience the whiplash of feelings, to simply have an opportunity to (very uncomfortably) sit and marinate in what is an unfortunate-but-normal part of human existence: running affords time and space to do all of the above. 

I am obviously grateful for the health and capacity to do it and for the outlet, itself. 

COVID, week 53 + looking ahead, based on what’s behind

COVID, week 53 + looking ahead, based on what’s behind

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What do you do after you’ve passed the year mark on living through a respiratory, airborne pandemic that has caused unimaginable suffering (536,000 deaths in the US; 56,700 in California; 1,876 in SCC) and profoundly disrupted everything it has touched (which is to say, everything)? 

Assuming you’ve been doing what you should have been doing all along, I think you just keep going. 

The only way out is through, y’know. 

we had this bizarre thunderstorm-hail storm last week; there has been visible snow on Mount Hamilton on and off for the past two weeks; and I actually slipped (but didn’t fall!) on ice yesterday on my run. strange.

We’re also at the point in recent history when all of our devices are reminding us where we were a year ago, in the nascency of the pandemic. Remember when we all — including the CDC! — were dubious about masks’ efficaciousness? And that we all spent so.much.time meticulously wiping down groceries, hoping that we didn’t inadvertently taint our strawberries with our lemon-scented Clorox wipes? 

For those of us lucky enough to have the choice, a year ago, many of us so sweetly thought that working, or schooling, or everything-ing from home for a couple weeks wouldn’t be so bad and hell, maybe it’d even be fun! Working from home in my underwear? Count me in! 

Immensely awful and shitty that the pandemic may be, though, I think there has been some good that has arisen from the dumpster conflagration that has been the past year. Admittedly I’m a bit torn to even bring up the subject though because I’m not sure if finding some “silver linings” in the midst of the past year, one of such immense, incalculable suffering, is toxic positivity or is, in fact, helpful and perhaps even a little grounding.

Arguably, some (or all) of these developments might have been borne more out of necessity than choice, but I nonetheless hope that these (personal and/or structural) changes will stick around in post-pandemic life. 

Off the top of my head, the banal and the massive include but aren’t limited to:

  • Regular virtual hangouts with friends and family who live far from each other. That I hadn’t thought of doing this sooner is embarrassing and probably qualifies me as a bad friend/relative. 
  • Running, just ‘cuz, not because a race is on the calendar. Prior to the pandemic, I was always training for a race on the horizon, with the exception being training through both pregnancies. When I ran during pregnancy, it amounted to a near-daily reminder of how freeing it is sometimes to just run for the hell of running, simply because I could. The pandemic forced my always-training-for-a-race mentality to training-for-life-because-life-is-always-enough. It’s a seismic shift and one I needed probably more than I realized.  
  • Order-ahead and drive-up grocery pickup options 
  • The same, but for Target. So much of my time is my own again! And I’m probably saving a lot of money! 
  • Less commuting, and consequently less traffic, because more can be (possibly should be) done remotely. See above. 
  • Well-orchestrated virtual opportunities for racing companies/organizations to engage community members who want to be supportive without necessarily participating in a local, large-scale, in-person race. I have zero interest in actually racing-racing the virtual stuff, but if my registration means a local race company survives, I’ll sign up for all of ‘em.
  • More visible and ubiquitous hygiene practices, especially during cold and flu season. There’s nothing wrong with the birthday child blowing out a candle on an individual cupcake instead of spitting all over a massive cake. (!)
  • Increased accessibility and attention paid to free, local outdoor spaces as a means of recreation and community-building. I have never seen as many people in ARP as I have in the past year. There’s growing pains with that for sure — trail etiquette, littering, that sort of thing — but overall, I think at the end of all of this, parks win.  
  • Greater visibility of, and respect toward, mental health concerns. It’s shitty to think that a pandemic that has affected everyone, in some capacity or another, may have been what it took for frank conversations about people’s mental health to transpire. The pandemic has disproportionately affected some folx more than others — BIPOC and mothers come to mind right away — and I hope that the pandemic leaves in its wake better evvvvvvvvverything than we had before. BHAG, I know.  
  • Greater visibility of, and respect and commitment toward, diversity, equity, inclusion, and belonging initiatives at structural and organizational levels. The pandemic woke up huge segments of society who have been asleep at the wheel. It’s another BHAG on all of us, individuals and organizations alike, to be better post-pandemic than before. Ultimately, I think it comes down to this: know better; do better. 
  • Basically everything the library has done for so many. Major kudos. I’m a big fan.

What comes to mind for you?