Master of The Zone -

In the summer of 2006, I was nine months into my master’s degree program. It was a full-time program and I was working full time as well in a job I’d started six months earlier.

Then I started training for my first half-marathon.

Then we got a puppy.

It turns out the puppy was a bit much. He was adorable, energetic and loved chewing on socks, but he needed constant stimulation. We got him some chewy sticks but he refused to entertain the idea of chewing on one unless someone was holding the other end. It’s awfully hard to type graduate-level papers with one hand.

I figured it all out (toes work almost as well as fingers to hold a chewy stick, as it turns out) and felt busy, energized, and alive during that time.

I was in the zone.

I’d go to running clinic and whatever it was – hill repeats, laps at the track, sprints – I ran it. I ran in the sun and felt my spirit soar. Running was hard, and I loved it because it was hard. I got up at 5 a.m. on Fridays for workouts and gave up sleeping in on Sundays for long runs.

I went to work every day and even though it wasn’t my dream job I was finally in a job in the field I wanted to be in.

And all through this I was doing coursework – researching, writing, thinking about things that changed my whole understanding of what I wanted to do in the world.

As for the puppy, he was by then firmly ensconced in our family and was a source of joy and laughter. This despite having to be let out in the night to pee. And then having to be convinced to come back inside. And having to be trained and socialized and taught it’s not okay to bite one’s mother, canine or otherwise.

I was tired, but figured early workouts and middle-of-the-night pees were helpful training for having a baby.

I was so steeped in the newness of it all that my life felt full, but not to overflowing. I did well at work and then changed jobs a few months later when I was offered my dream job.

I moved through the courses for my degree – learning and developing relationships with people who, five years later, are more family than friends.

I met my goal for the half marathon in the fall and enjoyed every minute and every mile.

By the time I graduated with my MA in 2007, I was seven weeks pregnant with Connor and a new chapter in my life was about to begin. When I walked across the convocation stage I felt good, but when I met up with my parents after the ceremony and saw the looks on their faces, I realized how proud they were of me. Which seemed fair, because I was – and am – proud of myself.

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This post is in response to a prompt from The Red Dress Club: “Tell the story (without any trivialization or modesty) of something in your life that you are proud of.”