What is Hope?  I know it is something we do in order to make it through tough times.  We hope for better days, a dress to go on sale, or great weather for the beach.  One painful lesson I have had to come to grips with is that “Hope” is a worthless running partner.

I am a mother, a student, a wife; these roles dominate my time and my brain.  At the end of most days I feel like the weird, sticky funk found on the bottom of a middle school desk…more than just tired, but drained.  This became especially true on August 10, 2009 when the realities of life and death struck my family.

I had just finished a school term and was free to relax.  I was training for my first half-iron triathlon since my daughter’s birth.  I went out that morning for an easy 25 mile ride and with my daughter at school I did what sane mother of a toddler would do…I took a nap.  A few minutes later I got a call that changed my world, a call that I still haven’t recovered from. My Mom was crying telling me that my hero was gone.

I packed clothes for Rhiannon, made arrangements for someone to pick-up my husband who was now on a flight back from Korea and I headed west on I-10.  My bike was still on top of my car and it hasn’t been taken for a ride since that day.  Why?  Hope.

When I came home I was still a wife, a mom, a student, but now I was trying to survive the suicide of someone I worshiped.  Emotionally, spiritually, and physically drained I just made it through each day hoping that the next day I would get out and start living again.

It was easy to tell John, “After Rhiannon’s dentist appointment, I’m hoping to go for a ride,” or “I hope I get home in time to make it swimming.”  Despite my best intentions, my planning, my hoping, my swims, rides, and runs never materialized. Instead I entered deeper into the vicious cycle of no exercise, weight gain, and falling energy levels.  With each evil pound I packed on, my energy dropped and my apathy increased until I gave up hoping every day.  It now became a far distant thing, “Once the weather is nicer I’ll get my bike down.”  Gone was the slightly psychotic (overwhelmingly stupid) gal who ran 10 miles on 100 degree days.  The same foolish gal thatbonked during a ride and spent the next two-hours at a sketchy gas station laughing at my stupidity while inhaling yo-hoos, snickers, and Gatorades so I could make it the twenty miles home.  As I kept hoping to find her, she kept slipping further away.

So, how did it change?  In many ways it hasn’t, because I’m still not able to go it alone.  Instead of being someone who loved quiet runs and thrived on long solo rides, I have to make exercise a social event.  I have to have someone who expects me to show up for a one o’clock Timed Exercise session or an eight-thirty bridges run. Then hope isn’t involved, but friends who have happily (some selflessly) kicked me in the tail to make me move forward.

Slowly but surely it is working. The awful weight I gained is beginning to go away, I look forward to running, and the Acosta no longer makes me want to hurl…so definite progress.  I’m still not fast and I have a long way to go before I feel in shape, but I am no longer hoping for things to happen…instead I’m doing them a little at a time and fortunately I am doing them with wonderful people.

Just because I’ve kicked hope to the curb doesn’t mean I’m a pessimist.  I am still joyful and hopeful about my future, my life, and my adventures…I’m just a little more realistic about what it takes to motivate me.  I’ve found that I can no longer just hope for time, but I have to rigorously schedule my day around my workouts….not the other way around.  I’m also coming to grips with the fact that sometimes life hands you a speed-bump that will quite literally knock you off of your bike for a while.  Trust me, hope is still very much a part of my life (especially when it comes to a fabulous pair of jade green Frye boots), but when it comes to working out I’ve moved on to better running partners than just Hope.