The Little Park that Could

The other day, my anxiety rocketed, for no apparent reason, as anxiety does.  I could blame it on any given thing in my life but, the truth is it is everything and it is nothing.  I had to get out of the house and, even though I haven’t run since before getting pregnant with my daughter who is now almost six months old, I needed to run.  

About a ¼ mile in I feel my tight IT band pulling on my knee cap.  I had felt this before, 2 years ago on mile six of a half marathon.  It was the warning (that I did not heed) that if I continued I would end up in 6 months of physical therapy before I could run again, or even walk comfortably.  

This time I listened. I resentfully slowed to a walk, adding weak glutes and hamstrings to the list of faults I find with myself. I continue walking, naming the faults with my body. Fuming at the depression and anxiety that has plagued me for the last several months, the autoimmune disorders that have ruled my life post-pregnancy, the stomach pain, the lack of energy, the lack of muscle tone and strength.  The truth is I have felt like a ghost of my pre-pregnant self. She could move heavy things.  She could function on 6 hours of sleep and a cup of coffee.  She could process stress.  She could.  This new me has a really hard time.  

I know the things I have to do to get healthy again.  But I also know that it may take years of doing these things before I feel healed. And when my anxiety runs, it tells me I don’t have years.  I need to feel better. Right. Now. 

I am in the throes of this lamenting when I turn a corner and see fresh gravel laid on a perfectly manicured path where a week ago there were ruts, rocks and no small amount of fine dust that covered your ankles with every step.  I found it really beautiful, something about its newness.  I was somewhat awed by it, enough to snap out of my self-hatred for a minute. I had a moment of gratitude for my city’s parks department. 

The path led the way down a short cliff to a beautiful park that extended a few acres.  It included a basketball court, a covered picnic area, a bike path, a beautifully fertilized grass field, gorgeous Aspen trees painted with the first whispers of fall, a new play structure, running paths weaved throughout,  and a naturally landscaped area with benches tucked into little bits of natural landscape that made you forget you were in the middle of town.  

I realized that it was a really lovely place, the way you realize your mother’s beauty in the most random moments. And I realized, this park has been a long time in the making. 

I grew up half-mile from where this park sits now.  Then it was a dirt pit, where delinquent children played.  Sometimes I would ride my bike by there, curious about what they were doing, wondering what it would be like to be a delinquent, but then who would hold down the dysfunctional house I lived in?  No, the 7-year-old that I was didn’t have the luxury of being a delinquent.  Eventually, one of The Delinquents lit the lot on fire.  I knew who it was, but the police never did.  It did catch the city’s attention though, and a few months later a poster was put up on fence posts, illustrating the plans for the park. It looked and sounded marvelous. It was clean, peaceful, complete, and it looked really safe.  Everything that my home was not.  I couldn’t wait for it.  I would have a place to go to.  This park, in my mind, would be a safe haven for kids like me, no longer ruled by The Delinquents.  

Then the recession hit good-ol’ Bend, Oregon. Those of us who had been prospering were suddenly floundering and those of us who had barely been keeping our heads above water were now drowned. The city suffered.

 The lot had been cleared, but nothing replaced the juniper trees and sagebrush.  It was just empty.  And the progress halted. For years nothing changed.  But the poster stayed up.  It frustrated me so much. “Yeah right,” I thought after two summers of no progress, “just give up. It’ll never happen.”  I was somewhat used to broken promises at that age. 

I didn’t ride my bike there much through middle school.  I found other ways to fill my time--sports, peers, MySpace, and Neo Pets, to name a few. But when I entered high school I found myself there with my cross-country team.  By that time sod had been laid for a field, and one row of aspen trees existed with a covered picnic area and a bench. We ran around the sod for time and spent a while stretching and doing drills before the mile run back to our high school. 

A few years later I found myself there again when I was home from college. The trail that my cross-country team had worn in around the place was now paved, and the start of a play structure was in process. After I graduated from college and found myself pregnant with my first daughter I walked by again.  This time I noticed the Aspen trees were huge, towering things and I remembered when they were saplings.  “We’ve all come a long way since then,” I thought. 

And now here I am, 12 years after those plans were posted, and those promises are finally fulfilled. This beautiful dream someone had is finally realized, and every time I see it I want to remember these three things: 

      1) Stalled or delayed progress does not mean it’s over. 

My jaded child-self didn’t understand this, but as a young adult, I am learning that things outside our control sometimes throw us off track. If you’ve read any of our family stories so far, you know that I am no stranger to setbacks. There have been times in my journey where certain goals had to be put on hold. When I found out I was pregnant with my daughter, Aspen, there were several major things I had to miss out on. I stepped out of an epic obstacle course race with friends. My career took a very unexpected turn. Even some of my friendships shifted significantly because I was among the first of my friends to have kids. This does not mean I won’t one day be fit enough to run an obstacle course race, or that I will never have the thriving career I so desire. And it definitely doesn’t mean I won’t have fulfilling friendships in motherhood (actually the total opposite!). It’s simply a season of recovery, much like the post-recession recovery that my sweet hometown went through. We didn’t give up then, and I am certainly not giving up now. I don’t have the resources to dedicate to those things now but, that doesn’t mean I won’t tomorrow, or next year, or next month. When things start moving again, my goals will still be there and I will start chasing them again. 

2)  Small (even sporadic) efforts count! 

I don’t know anyone personally on our parks and recreation board, but I always imagine Leslie Knope, from the hit T.V. show Parks and Rec, championing for this park just like she championed for parks in her home town. I imagine her finding extra money in the budget in 2011 and saying, “Hey! We have enough to lay sod and plant some trees! Let’s do it!” I imagine her a few years later noticing that kids are using the park to run and starting a fundraiser to get the trails paved. I imagine the board taking notice of this little park with big aspirations and starting to pour their hearts into it. This is how progress happens in real life. It’s not how I’m used to seeing things happen on Instagram-- ugh, those before and after photos get me in such a comparison trap. Right now, it’s bit by bit for me. It’s the 30-minute workout I sneak-in after grocery shopping when my baby is with her grandma. It’s the walk I take with baby in the back-pack instead of the solo run I was hoping for. It’s the super simple healthy meal that I made for my family instead of picking up take-out last week. And sometimes, if I am being totally real with you, it’s the restorative sleep I allowed myself during baby’s nap time. I am not even close to perfectly consistent, but these little efforts keep me engaged with my goals even if I don’t have the ability to chase them full-throttle right now. As long as I stay engaged, I know I won’t lose sight of where I am headed and when the resources become available for me to pour into those goals I will be ready to.

3)   Good things take time. 

I am a product of this instant-gratification culture I live in. I want what I want as quickly as possible and if it takes too long it might be too late.  Friend, I am here to remind you, and myself, that it may take a while to see progress from your efforts. Especially goals like improved health, mental health, financial security, take consistent efforts over time to see results.  Sometimes the progress is staggeringly slow, but just like a determined city in the middle of a recession, I will not give up. I will focus on what I can do.  I cannot run, yet, but I can walk and get air in my lungs today.  So I will.  I will keep working on this life-long project that is my well-being and maybe one day I will look up at the seeds I am planting today and think “My, we’ve come a long way since then.” That is my prayer for you, too. 

with Love, 

Ally