Well . . . How Did I Get Here?

I run.  

This, my friends, is a somewhat laughable statement.  While my body has the basic ability to run, it does so rarely, begrudgingly, and slowly.  And truth be told, I will never dare classify myself as a runner in light of the man/machine I live with whom logs in excess of 50 miles a week in road running – in the dead of winter – in Maine. 

I run for a couple of reasons.  One reason, is the gear.  I enjoy looking for the more comfy socks, most breathable tank, the right-length shorts (a near impossible feat), less slipable headband (found it! - see below*), and for God’s sake, a pair of running shoes through which my toes will not poke holes.  So ghetto, so embarrassing – always happens.  I refuse to believe that I have a toe problem vs. a shoe problem, so do not dare suggest that.  

A second reason I run is to burn calories and make way for the consumption of a slightly more ambitious meal later in the day.  If I know I am headed out or staying in for big eats, I lace up my hole-ridden shoes and gasp my way through a couple of miles all the while reminding myself that my husband ran 12 miles on ice-chunked road shoulders before I even woke up; I can certainly knock off 3 miles on a treadmill. . . ?  Hmmmm.  

The third, and perhaps most important reason I run is to listen to my ridiculous playlists.  As we all know, making a playlist is serious business.  With rare exception, my music taste and knowledge is stuck in the late 90’s, with some heavy emphasis on 70’s funk, reggae, jam bands, and some good old-fashioned, top 40 cheesy hits.  At best, my playlists are eclectic, but more likely, embarrassing if heard aloud. 

The timing on a running playlist is of the utmost import.  The thought process goes like this – “I’ll likely hit the hill about 8 minutes in, do I need a little Kanye or fast-paced Mumford and Sons?”  God knows I cannot rely on my body alone to get me up that hill – I need the perfect songs, in the perfect order.  Crucial choices.  Side note, my husband never runs with music and finds my preoccupation with the perfect playlist hilarious.  My fixation on the perfect headphones is another tale.      

One of the songs I frequently include on a playlist is The Talking Head’s classic, Once In A Lifetime.  This is not the push-me-up-the-hill song, but just one that really speaks to me.  As I listen to the words, “well . . . how did I get here?” I find myself sometimes echoing the words out loud.  There I am, running through the roads of rural Maine – pick-up trucks everywhere, snow plows attached, wildlife sightings common (often scary), people spread out – way out.  This place is a far cry from Philadelphia (in numbers alone, the population of the entire state of Maine is less than the City of Brotherly Love) – my last and much-beloved home, and even a far cry from Scranton – my first home.  Seriously – how did I get here?!  

This is Middle Maine.  We do not live on the Coast.  You’ve seen it – maybe in a movie like, In The Bedroom, and thought, man, I would love to live there.  Yep, that’s Camden, Maine, and it is awesome.  Breathtaking coastal views, independently-owned boutiques, sophisticated yet simple restaurants, a quaint but bustling town center complete with an Opera House, fabulous B&B’s, and plenty of celeb sightings.  

Camden is a good 2 hours away on two lane roads complete with lots of bottleneck traffic jam-ups.    

We also do not live in Portland, another amazing town (frequently named by Forbes and others as one of the most livable cities).  We do not live in the beautiful Lakes Region.  Nope.  We don’t live up North in ski country (not that I ski or desire to be any closer to life "off the grid," but some people like that.  Look up Eric Goodwin, Maine-born Renaissance man, who knows all things outdoorsy and possesses much knowledge of "off the grid" living.  Legend has it that he might even know a real hillbilly.).  


We live in Central Maine.  Central is good, I suppose.  You can get to all of the really good places – after driving a bit – sometimes a bit more.  We are right smack in the middle – kind of stuck in the middle in a lot of ways. 

Here’s what’s interesting.  We can’t leave – correction, won’t leave.  We can leave at any point, but now find that we don’t want to leave.  How did we get to the point where we don’t want to leave life in Middle Maine?!  Riddle me that (Batman). 

So, perhaps the real question is not “how did I get here,” but “how am I still here?” Almost eight years later, I am still unwrapping the riddle and figuring out just how life in Middle Maine has become tolerable, livable, and even enjoyable.   


*I LOVE Bondi Bands, especially if you have a mass of thick, gnarly hair like mine.  Score!  http://www.bondiband.com/