Ode to Leonard
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Not to worry -- he's fine. Just at "summer camp" -- splitting his time between Green Bay summer camp (with my sister and brother-in-law) and UP summer camp (with my parents). My mom and sister, both being teachers, have the summer mostly off. So I have given him up to them during the most intense portion of Ironman training because, frankly, as much as I 'd love to have him around, it's tough to justify having him sit alone in my condo all day when he could be lying by my parents' pool or playing with his fur-cousin, Nolan, in my sister's gigantic back yard instead.
I would plan out my morning according to if I'd be able to get home over the lunch hour to let him out, if he was going to daycare, et cetera. If he was going to be alone most of the day, I'd set my alarm clock extra early, rise (no shining with this girl) and don a pair of old shorts or sweats and an either short or long-sleeved t-shirt, grab his chuck-it, and head out the door with Leonard for the dog-park. If I was going to be home at lunch or if he was headed to doggie daycare for the day, we'd both sleep in (he loves sleeping as much as I do) and I'd give him a quick four-block walk and a bowl of food before turning on the TV for him (he watches C-Span; we don't have cable so, unfortunately for him, there's no Animal Planet watching to be done) and heading off to work.
Happy hour right after work has never been a part of my routine -- or even an occasional thing -- because of Leonard, and I'm glad for it. Like working out itself, there are times when I'd rather go out for drinks instead of going home, but by the time I open my door to find a wiggling, tail-wagging, trout-carrying Vizsla, any desire for a (sometimes much-needed) cocktail just up and vanishes.
And inevitably, while others I know are sipping vodka tonics and bottles of beer on patios all around Madison, Leonard waits patiently while I change from work clothes to workout clothes and loses all control when I reach into my closet and pull out a pair of running shoes.
After he dances around and I finally get his running (choke) collar fastened (necessary for preventing the loss of limbs from Leonard's sudden bursts of squirrel-hunting), we head out the door.
He has a hard time at first. Surging ahead, wanting to rid himself of all the extra energy that's been building throughout the day, excited that he's outside and, I like to think, with his favorite Person (me). "Back!" I tell him. And he gets back. For like three steps. Then he surges again.
For three miles or so, it goes like this. I'm not sure what people must think, me running up on them yelling, "Back! Back! Back!" But in front, Leonard wanders and I trip over him. So he has to stay by my side. Besides, it's just good obedience.
And eventually, he falls in. We match our strides, and he trots along happily, noticing squirrels but not acting on the desire to tree each and every one. Every once in a while -- if we're on a familiar route -- he gets excited at the sight of a tree. A tree where he previously corned a squirrel. Object permanence, my mom-the-former-psychologist, told me.
Sometimes, it's only possible to focus on the hardness of the run. On not wanting to do it or on having to get it done and out of the way so I can move on to checking off other errands and to-dos for the day. But once in a while, I get caught up in the spirit of being outside. In being able to run. In having been blessed with not one amazing dog in my lifetime, but two, and in having the second right beside me. My buddy. And times like those, I stop and crouch down in the grass or snow and I rub his shoulders, and he puts his front paws on my shoulders and licks the salty sweat off my face and I tear up because he makes me so gosh-darned happy and gives out such unconditional love.
I just started running again. This weekend, really. And last night I did an easy four-miler with CoS. Leonard would've loved it. And last night I realized, as I have been lately, that I'm looking forward to getting my old life back post-September 9th with every last sinew of my body.
I know I'll look back on this Ironman experience (given that I actually finish the race) with great memories. I know that there will be days I'll long for having a goal to push myself toward, and that in a sick, weird way, I'll miss giving up my Saturdays to double-bricks and my late nights to Masters workouts. But I don't know if I'll go back for a second round anytime soon, if ever.
Right now I'm pushing through and doing what needs to get done so that I can reach this goal. But I'm looking forward to a life more balanced. I'm looking forward to riding my horse -- newly broken out -- for the first time and readying him for my first show season in nearly five years. I'm looking forward to a meal cooked by me and served for friends mid-week. I'm looking forward to bringing back group viewings of Grey's Anatomy (will Lexie Grey come between Meredith and McDreamy? Drum roll...), to Saturday mornings at the Farmer's Market, and Friday nights that don't include laying out Clif Blocks, salt tabs, and cycling gear for the next day. And most of all, I'm looking forward to reuniting with my little brown buddy.
I don't know if this makes me less of an Ironman-in-training...if it makes me less dedicated or less worthy of the goal I'm god-willing trying to accomplish. But if I'm honest with myself -- really, really honest -- it's all true. I don't know if I'm okay with that, but I suppose I eventually will be. And until then, for now, the knowledge that my old life is waiting right around the corner for me is the carrot I'm dangling for motivation.
Posted by Erin 12:23 PM
Excellent post! I even miss Leonard. I saw Bella last week and I want her to come live with me. Or really I just need to get my own vizsla. They are great buddy's.
Kelly