5 miles and then some

The Coach and I ran 5 miles last night in 55 minutes or so, which sits just at an 11 minute pace.

I had a bit more aches and pains than I normally do, and I had to struggle through the first bit with low energy and attendant feelings of discouragement and depression (I actually was feeling "fat", which I define as feeling ungainly and plodding and self-delusional), but my energy and confidence returned in the second bit and I felt strong, if tired, by the end.

So. Five miles. It was possible, with patience and a willingness to try. This is a good lesson to know.
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Do you have family that twist up your heart and make you want to move to a different state in the middle of the night without leaving a forwarding address?

In my life, that would be my older brother and younger sister. I want to fix their lives; I so want them to be secure and stable and to have clarity and hope within themselves. I wish and wish and wish.

Right now, my sister is the one worrying me, making me chew the inside of my cheek and eat handful after handful of animal crackers.

Working as I do in a social service field servicing low-income folks, I've seen time after time how one financial setback is enough to set in motion a series of events that telescope your life into what feels like one untenable trap, a smothering, narrow place that can take years to dig out from under.

My sister is sitting at the edge of that financial precipice. She is like one of those low-income folks I serve, thoroughly decent in character but with few skills and a naïve belief that simply by being good the world will watch out for her and return her good faith by providing a just and equitable life.

This past year has been a year of severe underemployment, a year of flaky roommates, car repairs, medical problems, disillusionment, depression and isolation.

I've tried to throw money at her problems to stop evictions and utility cut-offs, to pay for visits to therapists and family practitioners, to buy groceries.

But I can't find a job for her. I can't stop her from trusting people she shouldn't. I can't invent custodial jobs that pay a living wage or encourage potential employers to overlook the results of a criminal background check, to take a chance. I can't erect an affordable housing complex overnight, just because I dream it. I can't make her have a more resilient, less fatalistic temperament.

I can't make it better.

I try to listen. I try to be a friend. I bail her out financially when I can, despite all the cries of "co-dependency" and "enabling" that I hear from others (which I think is bullsh*t anyway -- I understand those ideas when you're talking about someone who is addicted, but not when you're talking about someone whose only failing is an inability to find a job). My dad has this whole theory cribbed from Al-Anon about detaching from people, loving them but keeping your distance. This whole theory makes me see red. Obviously, I think it's bullcrap as well.

I just want to help. I just want things not to be so hard. I wish our well-being wasn't so tied to money -- the struggle to make money, to keep money, to be identified by the status money brings.

I can run five miles, though. It feels like a meager, insignificant triumph today, but at least it's something I can point to and say "This. This is something I can do."
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I want to pimp some other Megan's today, so go read these two lovely entries:

Meghan at Elite Running

and

Megan at Shoo, Shoe