When I woke up last night sweating profusely and coughing my lungs up, I thought it was the end. My husband was at the gym. My children sleep like rocks. I had no bottles of water on my nightstand. I couldn’t breathe. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed an unfinished gallon jug of water on the floor (hey, I’m a fitness girl). I turned up in an effort to control myself. It didn’t help. I got up, went to the bathroom, shirt soaking wet, looking for medicine or Jesus. Something was going down. I have been sick all week and the steroids and allergy mess and nose sprays and cough syrups weren’t helping. My chest still hurt. I looked in the mirror and saw no angels, figured I was still alive and climbed back into bed. I guess I fell asleep.
I tossed and turned all night. My mind has been so preoccupied this week. Not only am I doing the Warrior Dash Sunday but BEFORE I can even get on the plane, I have to save face in front of I don’t know how many people and pretend I am not all torn up inside that I am throwing a Zumba party tomorrow for Miles and he won’t be there next to me doing The Dougie. He’s in Heaven. I want him here. Period. I can’t think about anything else. I’ve been battling this for weeks and I believe the stress of that and everything else in my life (son starting high school, daughter getting her first phone call from her “girlfriends” last night, lots of trainings, demands on my time/body, keeping up with my clientele) is the reason why I am so sick. But, nevertheless, I fell asleep.
The shock of the dim light in my bedroom made me leap out of bed. It is a RARE occasion that the world is not pitch black when I get up. I looked at the clock. For the first time in years, I overslept. By an HOUR. I jump out of bed, sending my chest into a pain frenzy, looking for the right meds to take, calling the gym to locate my client and tell her I was coming, digging through the refrigerator, looking for a juice (which I never found. But when I feel better, I WILL found out who drank my goods) and cursing the world at the same time. When I got there, my client was waiting for me. She simply gave me a hug and told me she knew what had happened and she knew it was because I was stressed. Indeed.
But why couldn’t I handle it like Miles? It’s true that he was 16 but that boy ended up in some stuff. :). But, no matter WHAT happened, he always seemed to make it work in his favor. It seemed like he was just charming. He was actually determined. Just like his mother. Just like I am like my mom (Happy Birthday, Jo!) . And so, if I slowed down long enough to remember, I could understand that pressure makes diamonds. This is my week to SHINE like never before. The pressure is on and I will deliver. That’s what I do.
“No One Trains To Be Runner Up”…..Miles loved that shirt. It has become a lifestyle. I am not really competitive (o.k., except on the Michael Jackson Wii game but they had no business trying to beat my Thriller score) but I don’t do ANYTHING to be considered “second rate.”. Everything I have been through is giving me perspective to be a Warrior for LIFE …..and that includes dealing with Miles’ death. I am bigger than my circumstances, my fears, my doubts. I am training to be lifelong Warrior.
It’s the Miles in me.