26.2
I was in North Carolina for a time this summer, trying to get some time to grieve, and reconnect with my family. I went on almost-daily runs up a little mountain road. Usually it was about a three mile run, sometimes further. Before I would go run, though, I would wake up, make coffee, and go sit on a porch to pray, write, read, and get in touch with what I was feeling that day. Less than eight months after Hurricane Harvey, two of my nieces died less than two months apart. It still doesn't seem real, and I've written about them elsewhere--but that's what I carried with me, and my family and I still carry the grief of losing Beatrice and Erin. On my runs in the Smokey Mountains, I would let that emotion out. When I felt anger, I would allow the anger to surge through me as I pushed forward and wore myself out. When I felt sadness, I would take a slower run, and allow the tears to fall when they were ready. When I didn't know what I was feeling, I would allow the confu