Forward Momentum

It’s been raining a lot in Juneau and I’m approaching what has typically been a crappy time of year for me given my past two falls. I’ve always had mixed feelings about fall in Alaska because it’s cold, wet, windy and getting darker by the second. People start to develop symptoms of SAD and unless they are spending time under a sunlamp or remember to take their daily dose of Vitamin D, the general mood is fairly gloomy and people sit around and bitch about the fact that we really didn’t have much of a summer. On the upside, people are running around like squirrels getting ready for winter be it hunting deer, getting wood or packing the last bits of summer into canning jars.

Yesterday was the first big storm of the season. Trees were falling, buildings were shaking and as my office mate next to me said he thought he was getting seasick from our building swaying, I couldn’t help but think of the storms I’ve been through on my father’s boat the Towego. The Towego is a very seaworthy boat with a broad bow made of steel that hits waves head on with a thud. I remember a particular drive to Cape Fox through Dixon Entrance where I was standing in the wheel house with my dad watching each approaching wave. The muscles in my body would flex as if I were the one going up against the wave. As the wave hit the bow, I would thrust my body forward, pushing against the dash as if my weight would somehow make a difference in slicing through the wave. The Towego didn’t need my psychological willpower. When faced with head on waves, she slammed into them coolly and calmly taking each one head on. Sometimes she shuddered under the pressure and ever so slightly paused, but she always managed to keep moving forward. My dad’s boat, the Trish was a seaworthy boat too. My dad spent late and cold nights at Sunny Point Cannery during the winter months building his dream with his own two hands. It was after a halibut derby opening that dad was headed down Clarence Straits, bucking up against head on waves when a rogue wave came out of nowhere and engulfed the stern. Within seconds the boat rolled and started to sink. Because I have the most kick ass father in the world who swam around like a superhero kicking out windows under water with his bare feet and diving through jungles of tangled ropes, everyone got off the boat alive. But, the boat was never recovered and sits at the bottom of Clarence Straits to this day.

I also couldn’t help but think that I’ve been through my fair share of personal storms over the past two years. Throughout my storms, I’ve tried to channel the strength of the Towego, facing each storm head on and crashing through it. I have to admit, I got pretty good at it. I’ve shuddered a few times, but each time, I’ve managed to keep pushing forward. For the most part, I wasn’t aware of what I was doing because like the Towego, I realize the only possible way to make it anywhere is to keep moving forward.

A few weeks ago, things changed. I had been focusing so hard and long on auto pilot crashing through the storm that when the storm finally broke, I got wrapped up in the calmness of it and let my guard down. The forecast was amazing and it was supposed to hold without an end date in sight. I sat out on the back deck carelessly with no one at the wheel soaking in much needed sunshine after way too much rain. The sun was intoxicating and I was so thankful it was finally shining on me. I was enjoying it so much that I somehow missed the gray clouds creeping overhead, the ripples starting to dance across the glassy water or the clanging of the rigging against the mast. I realize now, I chose to ignore it. I was too afraid to head into another storm and I truly hoped it would go away and not ruin my time in the sun. But the gray clouds didn’t go away and before I knew it, a rogue came out of nowhere and took me out. And it really took me out hard, nearly sinking every ounce of spirit I have left in me. For the first time in two years, I actually felt like I couldn’t move forward; and worse yet, I didn’t care.

As a result, I haven’t felt much like doing anything lately; and running was definitely low on my priority list. I’ve had a wicked cold that’s been lingering and I had a freak run-in with the pavement in the Costco parking lot due to a strange incident which has left my entire left side throbbing. I finally got off my sorry butt and went running in the rain and wind last night. Immediately, I wanted to turn back and crawl in bed to hide under my covers. “A ship is safe in harbor, but that’s not what ships are for.” The wind was blowing hard pressing up against me trying to hold me back. Within a mile I had convinced myself to turn around. I admit that I don’t have proper running gear that protects me from the elements, so I was drenched from the rain and chilled down to the bone which didn’t help the situation. I started to wrestle with my mind, “Turn around. Go back. This is ridiculous. Just what the hell are you trying to prove?” Then a song came on my iPod and my mood changed. The song is Billy Joel’s “Downeaster Alexa.” It’s a song I’ve always found empowering because it reminds me of the strength of my father. He came to Alaska in the mid 60s wanting nothing more than to be a fisherman and having nothing more than his ranch boy dreams. He worked his way up to building his dream boat and a few years later, he watched it sink before his eyes. He was in his mid 40s with a wife and a kid still in elementary school and he had lost his entire livelihood- with no insurance to back him up. Once again, he had to start over from scratch. He moved forward and I needed to as well. I reached the Douglas Bridge and the wind was blowing so hard I had to cover my mouth with my hands to stop the wind from stealing my breath. I remember as a kid hiding behind my mom when it was windy so that the wind couldn’t take my breath away, but my mom wasn’t there to shield me on the bridge. It was just me and I trudged on. People were looking at the crazy girl on the bridge running with her hands cupped over her mouth, practically crawling so that the wind didn’t knock her over. I watched the whitecaps crash below me while I pushed across the bridge and somehow, I made it.

I admit to being tired of maneuvering through storms and I long for sunshine and warmth on my skin. It will come, but in order for it to, I just need to keep moving forward.