Rs and Reminders

A few weeks ago, we explored the immense and gorgeous FDR memorial in DC.  Turns out that the FDR memorial is awesome, in the truest sense of the word: awe-inspiring and extremely powerful. The lovely C suggested that all our representatives in Washington should regularly be made to experience the gardens, the paths and the words planted there.  A homework assignment to remind those in power of what's important.  Which is brilliant, of course.  Somebody legislate that shit el pronto.

The memorial itself is very tactile, and designed so that people of all ranges of physical ability can experience it. Which I also love. There is stone and greenery and water and art aplenty.  But the most striking pieces of the memorial are the words.  Quotes from the 32nd president adorn nearly all of of the erected structures.  Lemme tell you, whoever selected those words did a really amazing job.  I was continually floored by the honesty of those words, and how accurately they seemed to capture a number of very complex human sentiments. Basically I wanted to come back every day and sit in the gardens, read books and do homework with FDR. The hope being that if I surround myself with greatness I too shall be great, or at least produce something great, like say, my my personal statement for internship (now in its 15th iteration). Or a great neuropsych report.  Because who doesn't want to write a great one of those.

Near the end of the memorial, this quote appears large, stretched out on granite against a backdrop of trees.

"The only limit to our realization of tomorrow will be out doubts of today.  Let us move forward with strong and active faith."

I was floored.  I'd never heard this quote before, though the sentiment has been presented to me so often that you'd think I'd get it through my thick skull.  Standing in front of this stone wall, amidst the trees and the Potomac, I felt grace, gratitude, and frankly, God, rip through my heart.  Sometimes even I know when the universe is trying to send me a message. In that moment, all I wanted to do was sit on the stone floor and stare at the wall until all the gravity of the sentiment and its meaning had been absorbed, assured that when I moved from that spot I would go forth into the world free of doubt and forged in faith.

But we had been walking for like, eight hours.  It was time to go home and play Rock Band.

Believe me, I am self-aware enough to know that it would be advantageous to have that quote permanently inked on my arm as daily reminder to get out of my head and over myself. But since visible tattoos are not on the table for moi at the moment, I alone am responsible for reminding myself to let go of doubt in favor of faith, and push forward in the hope that tomorrow will be better than today, despite my inability to predict it or prevent it from happening.

This week I've been doing the same Couch to 5K run over and over again, because it's been killing me every time.  Yesterday, after being bolstered by my ability to make an incredibly arcane and stupid stats program do what I wanted it to, I took to the treadmill and ran it yet again.  And just like before, it got difficult and I got tired.  Usually I find myself trying to anticipate the little voice that tells me it's ok to "slow down and walk." But until it comes, the conversation in my head usually goes something like this:

I can't do this.
It's too much.
Why can't this be easier?
I hate running.
Eff you, skinny biatches for whom this is the "easy" run.
I suck at this.
I can't do it.
I can't do it.
I can't do it.

When it gets tough like this, at least in the workout world, I try to channel my dear friend, the redoubtable R, who recently biked across the entirety of the US of A to get to internship in Tacoma, WA.  I recognize that we are very different people (and that he's just a little bit crazy, which I love about him), but I can't help but think of him when that anti-Thomas-the-Tank-Engine shite comes rolling through my mind.  If R can bike 100 miles a day with a bleeding arse and a busted knee, I can put one foot in front of the other. So I do.  And every time a thought like that came through, I just crossed it out. I can't do it. Nope, not stopping there.  Moving on.

And low and behold, it was the first time all week that I got through the run without needing an extra break and without conviction that I would keel over at any given moment. Thanks, R. ♥ And FDR.