Perseverance and a Swear Word

A few years ago, I trained for and ran a half-marathon. Now I know, that for a lot of people, a race consisting of 13.1 miles is small beans. But for me, this was a HUGE deal.

HUGE, I tell you.

I remember that on race day, I was really enjoying myself, right up until about the 10th mile.

As I rounded the corner at the 10-mile marker, all I wanted was to see the finish line. I knew that if I could just see where I was headed, I would be able to make it.

So I increased my speed a little bit, rounded that corner with hope in my heart, and found myself staring straight ahead at

another

corner.

I. Felt. Defeated.

And I lifted my eyes to the heavens and cried out,

"DAAAAMMMNNIIIITT."

Real mature. I know.

But I did, I said it loud and clear, and I'm pretty sure that the 77-year-old who was passing me at this point messed his Depends. (I know he was 77 because the back of his shirt said so. If my memory serves me right, I think that the fact that he was 77 and running past me made me use another word that was not so becoming of a lady either.)

People often say to me that adoption is "just like being pregnant." I can tell you what I think about that analogy on another day, but for now I'll tell you that I think that adopting is less like being pregnant and more like running.

Running for a very.long.time.

As we continue to persevere in this adoption process, I feel like I've reached my "mile 10." I've completed 75% of the race, I know that the end is soon-to-be in sight, and I just want to lay down and go to sleep for a very long time.

And I desperately, desperately want to see the finish line.

It's been a month since we appeared in court to adopt our little guy and we have no better answer to the question of "When does he get to come home?" than we did on that day.

We've rounded the corner at mile 10, only to be met with the sight of another corner.

But do you know how I finished that race? I finished one corner at a time. I kept telling myself, "Just run to the next turn, and then you can decide if you want to lay down and die." Corner by corner I finished the next 2.5 miles until I could actually see the finish line and then it was a cake-walk. A painful, sweaty, grumpy cake-walk.

Likewise, I'm doing my best to take my days one moment at a time. I tell myself, "Okay, just get one bowl into the dishwasher and you can go back to bed," or "If you get dinner made you can drink a whole bottle of wine while you eat it."

Okay, I'm exaggerating, it's not THAT bad. But the cheesy one-day-at-a-time strategy is indeed working out quite nicely for me.

And do you know what I've found to be the best stress-relieving-attidude-adjusting activity?

Running.

Yesterday, I ran 4.65 miles.

And I did it without using even one swear word.