This blog post will DESTROY you. If you’re not into feeling feelings, turn back now. For real, today’s guest blog is incredible, it will make you feel thankful, #blessed, and possibly cry a little. THANK YOU Jenny Collins for writing it, you are a national treasure.
My dad loved to move. I remember watching the way his muscles fully extended when he walked or ran, as if they were savoring every moment. To this day, I’ve never seen anyone else’s muscles move as his did, with that same level of bliss and near astonishment.
My dad was positively awestruck at what the human body could do. He was deeply grateful for his ability to move and feel free in his body. He cared about his own abilities, but he appreciated the abilities of others even more. He hardly missed a second of my soccer games and never once missed a pep talk. He loved speed and crafty skill and talent, but he loved scrappiness above all. He believed fiercely in impenetrable perseverance. He cared about tireless effort, joy in the sweat, and the satisfaction of pouring your heart into a game and knowing you left absolutely everything out there.
I learned every sport I know from him, never on a surface that made any sense (our “baseball field” was piles of woodchips), no excuses allowed, often with some level of frustration, always including laughter and endless encouragement. To my dad, movement was gratitude in motion. It was a literal exercise in appreciation, of the ground beneath our feet, of gaining perspective through different angles, of the simple fact that we were granted this freedom.
A few years ago, I watched the man I loved most in the world lose all that he cared for. I watched stage after stage of brain cancer continue to take my dad away from me, from all of us. I had a hard time picking my feet up off the floor or breathing fully. I struggled to maintain a sense of gratitude for all that remained. It started with a car accident on the way to a baseball game, learning of an enormous brain tumor, and ended with an unimaginable effort to let go of a person I didn’t think I could live without. I could write a novel about just this, but instead, I’ll offer a simple yet important lesson I learned: that gratitude is often the only way out.
After watching the heartbreaking process of movement slipping away from the person in your life who without question loved and appreciated it the most, you can choose to give up on movement entirely or work to adopt their inspired sense of gratitude. I’m not sure I could have done it alone, but fortunately, I didn’t have to. I have communities like November Project. I have people who believe in me and show it. Through this community, I’ve rediscovered pride in my own movement. Even if tenacity comes out as neon-colored bile vomit at the end of the NYC half marathon, I am grateful for it because that vomit means I gave everything I had. It means I regained my scrappy.
This past October, I ran more miles at one time than I ever had before. I didn’t set out to do this. My only goal was to accompany my friend, Mel Fineman, on her Marine Corps Marathon journey. It was the first time I’d ever experienced a long run where I loved every minute of it. I loved it because I was living someone else’s goal alongside them. I loved it because my own legs were allowing that to happen. I loved it because my muscles were fueled by pride in my passionate friend. This is the kind of movement my dad was made of. Movement filled with awe, not for its own sake, but for and with others. The kind of movement that feels whole body grateful.
I have plenty of runs that are painful, uncomfortable, or not ideal in some way. Still, I always make time to pause. I name at least one thing that I appreciate. As ridiculous as this may sound, I whisper a “thank you” every single time I’m on a trail. I choose a tree, or a particularly colorful patch of ground, or the light between the trees, and I show it gratitude. My dad found the actions of his body to be beautiful. He stretched up his arms slowly when practicing Qigong, easing his body into the day. He tunneled down trail paths, amazed at how fast his legs could turn over, wild curls clinging to his face. He found the can, no matter the pace. He lived for the spirit of the experience. He laughed, despite it all.
I no longer take my own movements for granted. I climb out of bed and consider how I did it. I feel lucky for my steps because I can imagine how I’d feel without them. I don’t just enjoy showing up to November Project. I appreciate it. To go even further, I am honored by it. Showing up means that I get this awesome chance to use my body, to feel it in space, to share my movements with people who make me feel scrappy and bold. My dad would love that I show up. He would be proud of the fact that I move with heart. He would likely use a favorite word and call this community magnificent. He would trust in its support. And if he could be here with me now, I know he would be excited to share his movements with all of you.
There you have it, folks. Happy Wednesday, go be in awe of your own power, and appreciate the beauty in movement.
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Jenny, you are a STAR