Oil Can

Rapid heart beat, sweaty palms - the thud of heavy feet hitting the treadmill; step after step moving forward while standing still. The perfect description for “how I am doing” in any given moment.  Treading water: working hard to stay afloat.

Out on the trail the golden leaves crunch beneath my feet as I shuffle across the trail, bear spray in hand, while our dogs Petzl and Honey pace around me darting after squirrels, birds and other scents that catch their attention while I do my best to keep my body in motion.  The distinct fear of standing still has been with me for the past few years, as if standing still, pausing for a moment, would result in total self-destruction.  

The depression I have been in has left me out of words and out of energy to do most anything that would normally bring me joy.  As a result I haven’t been very active.  My return to running by way of hiking, walking and shuffling has left me feeling rusty.  Like the Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz, muttering “oil can” from rusted lips. Oil can.  This process of recovery is teaching me several profound lessons, the lessons are the oil, the juice I so desperately crave.

Today I ran, it was slow, in spurts, but I did it. I took those steps and moved forward while standing still, muttering "oil can" in my brain, feeling all the feelings that come with being rusty from spending time sitting absolutely still learning how to balance stillness and motion.  Oil can, please.  

"A determined soul will do more with a rusty monkey wrench than a loafer will accomplish with all the tools in a machine shop." - Robert Hughes