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Sunday, August 26, 2012

An idle ironmans wife....

Time stands still, only every second counts. How can counting occur if time froze in its tracks? One two buckle my shoe.... And I sit here in wait. Like a Neanderthal for the next lightening strike to cook my supper. Like a classic bronte character for the spring thaw.

Oh sure, there's technology to help me keep track. Or maybe track my brain cell loss? Or trace my decomposing patience with every refresh click. Three four shut the door. And I sit here in wait. I can't run you in. I can't tie your shoe, check you pulse, feed you... No all I can do is curse you. In such a loving way from so far away. This idle ironmans wife ... Sits in wait, like a spider who walked in fresh paint.

Real life is unforgiving. People want food, attention, things ... Time and love from me. And that's complicated as I am as scattered as stardust on a kentucky wind. I'm neither here, nor there. Five six pick up sticks. And I sit in wait. Or don't sit, as the case may be. I shuffle, I move, I act all engaged. But this thing you chose to do, to accomplish, is disengaging my core. Even if I pushed you to test yourself. To try to be the better you. To try to hope you escaped your youth unscathed and unscattered and committed. Leaving me so scattered wondering if there are pieces to pick up.

You don't come from privilege. You haven't the best toys and gadgets and gizmos. You have drive and love and the will to keep going past the point where we all would stop, us idle ironmens wives. We'd stop and say that's enough for today. And make tea and fold laundry in quiet contempt of the clock that steals away our dusk. Seven eight Lay them straight. And I sit in wait. So uncomfortable and in such longing to know... Are you ok?

And you on that road, shuffling your feet... To a beat with the giggle of the goonies in your head. To the smell of that tim hortons coffee in your dreams. To the swagger of your 4yo sons singing to somebody that I used to know. And me here, so far away, an idle ironmans wife... Nothing but time and space. Nine ten lets do it again. And I sit in wait. Humming along to the thought of you persevering, to the hope of you hoping, to the need of you moving forward. One foot then the other... So far away from here.

Soon your race will be done and you will rest and recover and drive the long 12 hrs to see me, us, again. Soon you'll realize you've accomplished you've won this deep inner battle with the demons you didn't know. Soon you'll be here sitting beside me, holding my hand saying thank you for the support and kindness and love... And this idle ironmans wife, with every ounce of love and respect, will smack you upside the head and shout "why couldn't you just be an ultra runner???!?!?!"

Until then from this idle ironmans wife.... A million X's and O's...

1 comment:

Ines said...

Absolutely in love with this post. You are such a poet. A genuine one, speaks straight from the heart, core and soles of it all. XO