The ache

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November 19, 2015 by scratchtype1

I’ve been having some bad dreams ever since getting grazed by a pickup and that breaking the tip of the right thumb. I’ve had a couple of dreams where I’m running and I see cars coming at me. In one of them, I jumped aside but off a bridge and then felt myself falling. And I woke up from that, cold from having kicked off the blankets. And then it was that bad time of the night, darkness behind me and  more darkness in front of me. I retrieved the blankets and tried to make myself a warm cocoon, tried to feel some reassurance in their weight over me. But it was a long and lonely road back to sleep.

The running streak has reached 221 days in spite of the reluctance I sometimes feel. My heart still jumps sometimes when I see cars appear or when I first hear them behind me. The thumb still aches some as a reminder.

I’m not new to aching. For whatever reason, it’s always been part of me, even when I was young and had little reason to ache.  Of course this time of year doesn’t help, the lack of sunlight can seem to put a hard squeeze on the aching parts — the thumb, the heart, the ribs, the hands. Why do we ache?

It is memory. The pain reminds us of things. The truck breaking a thumb. The few sets of arms that have wrapped around my ribs. The eyes that remember the few faces that I felt comfortable to put my eyes to and look into the eyes of those faces. If there were no memories, there’d be no aches. If there were no aches, there’d be no memories.

I think I’m ready to run another half-marathon on Sunday. And if it all goes well, it’ll leave an ache.


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