Raw

Sometimes I feel raw. I'm not talking about WWE or uncooked food raw, I mean the vulnerable, exposed nerve feeling of raw emotion. For example, the feeling you get when your twelve year old daughter texts you that she'd rather spend her thirteenth birthday at the skating rink than with you. Or when she shockingly exclaims, "You were born in the 1900's?" Ouch. There are other kinds of raw, too... Like the way your inner thighs feel after a five mile run in 200% humidity. Or sitting down on the couch following said run before showering because you're too tired to stand; telling yourself, you can always blame the residual odor on the dog. Today, I reflected on the reality of aging. I have never been one who felt beautiful or completely confident in my own skin, but in my twenties there were moments I felt strong or hopeful; like when I ran. Today, while I was running, I thought about how bad it sucked; running, getting older, chafing. I had to take three ibuprofen just to get out the door. Then, around mile two, I had to take a potty break at my parents' house because my bladder hates me. And then, coming back, at around mile 4, instead of avoiding the sewer-stench-sprinklers, I just ran right through them, because I was sticky and hot, and couldn't possibly have smelled any worse. The thing with getting older is you begin to accept things. You accept that there will be aches and pains, that there will be wrinkles and age spots, and that things will jiggle more when you run... You don't grow more confident or learn to love yourself more, you just accept things that can't be helped. And you sit on your couch at your most disgusting in hopes that your husband will accept that we need a new one. Sometimes feeling the most raw, stripped down and exposed, allows moments of renewal and hope to creep in and there lies a blessing; like baby powder on chafed thighs...