100 Words Per Mile: Reflections - 1

5 years later, what do I remember about writing this project?

This week I published the first two entries of 100 Words Per Mile, and given it only covered the first 10 of the 500+ miles I’d eventually run, it doesn’t offer too much to dig into.

The remarkable thing about rereading this log is reconciling what five years ago really means. It’s one thing to say “in 2020” but it’s another to consider the facts of those dates.

In August of 2020, my wife and I had been married for almost four and half years. Now, we’re approaching a decade. In 2020, I’d only just met this fellow named Bill and learned he had a kid on the way. Now, I consider Bill my closest friend and his daughter (one of two!) can make herself breakfast in the morning. In 2020, my wife and I turned one of our spare rooms, one that was unfurnished and filled with boxes, into a makeshift office so she could teach students online. Now … well, more on that as we run through these 500 miles.

I’m both surprised by how easily I can place myself back in the fertility office and how dull the pain and desperation of that meeting feels today. I can tell you we were hopeful, nervous, frustrated, scared, and uncertain—but I can’t replicate those feelings. I can place myself back on that beach street, but it’s really just a memory of a memory that might only exist because I logged it.

One feeling that’s faded, but will always be there as it is now, is not feeling like I am enough for my wife. We can rationalize it all we want, but I will always want to give her more. Back then, understanding I was limited in what I could give her, I felt small. Physically, financially, emotionally. I don’t feel as small as I did then, but I’ll always wish I could give just a little bit more because she deserves everything—and the closer I can get to that the better.

She and I went on a mini-date the other night and in talking about this project, I began to account for the all the moments and events it covers in our life. As I listed them, she could hardly believe we were the same people from only half a decade ago.

We often talk about our life and our relationship in chapters. There are clear beginnings and endings that neatly compartmentalize certain versions of ourselves in specific time frames. As we near 35, we both have this sense that a new chapter is approaching.

I wrote the first two entries (and plenty more) in Brass Tacks Coffee off Southside Boulevard in Jacksonville, Florida. Typing those lines about Kobe are clear to me, but I have this sense they won’t be the only ones. This is one of the more vivid chapters of my life, one made high definition by the shared determination and goal-setting in my marriage.

My brother likes to joke that I “literally run away from” my problems, and he’s not exactly wrong. I jones for a run the way any person might jones to cope. I wrote back then that I was an escape artist. That still rings true, though I’d say I’m inactive. Dormant, even. I know if I’m itching for a run that there’s something else causing that itch, but I’m not nearly as anxious to scratch it these days. I’ve learned to wield that itch for the better, to live with it and accept its companionship.

There are 536 miles to go. There are moments I’m not as interested in revisiting or sharing or reflecting upon. But there is a sense of empowerment, however, knowing those things could never hurt me again.