November 1, 2012


I am not exactly what you would call a patient person.

Actually, scratch that. I'm incredibly patient when it comes to other people. I sort of pride myself in the fact even if I do start to lose it I am pretty good at re-centering myself, or at the very least, faking it.

Besides the million things I feel I can call myself, a nanny is one of them. I have the pleasure of spending the day hanging out/playing with/pestering a 9 year old girl and a 12 year old boy. For the majority of the time, these two are pretty darn great. However, there are times that I definitely put my patience to the test.

Most of the time this sort of challenge comes when homework is at hand, or some other project of sorts that may not be at the top priority of their minds. Honestly, most of the reason I have any level of patience (especially pertaining to the 12 year olds math homework) is because I remember how it was for me. I don't think there was a single night when math was on the to do list that I didn't end up crying out of frustration. My homework helper for this particular subject was my dad. Now, it was nothing against him, but as far as teaching someone to do math at a lower level than he is accustomed (cough cough electrical engineer cough cough) he, well, lacked a little something. He would try and teach me one way (usually the shortcut way which I now find myself using all the time), but I wouldn't understand it or would need to do it another way for the sake of the assignment. It was literally as if he was speaking Italian and all I understood was Chinese. Not quite the best of situations.

Well, when the boy has troubles with homework I find myself in his shoes, sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the paper, with every ounce in me willing my brain to just "get it." If only I knew then what I know how as far as taking a breath and trying to look at something a different way.

Now, that honestly seems like a piece of cake, but that's not where I said my problem hides.

I am not good at things taking longer than I think they should for myself. Much like society, I long for that instant gratification sort of thing. Sadly, the sort of thing that just doesn't exist. However, I am starting to learn, mostly because, well, I have to.

This year I set out to be able to complete a half marathon (13.1 miles, if anyone was interested). I started with a couple of 5ks, moved on to a 10k and then last month I did what I never thought I could do. Did I train as well as I should have? Eh, probably not, and my body is definitely paying for it now. And I'm being forced into this whole "patience" crap.

Since my time was lackluster compared to what I was hoping, days after completing the race I decided I would give myself six months to get myself truly into gear, and then participate in another half. Well, my body has other plans it seems, as I am now dealing with a strained/partially torn hip flexor muscle. Let me just tell you, not fun.

What I find incredibly ironic is that it started last night, October 31, the day before I was going to start up the training for the next race.

So, instead of getting out and hitting the pavement, building the miles one at a time again, I will instead be downing the Advil and becoming good friends with ice packs. I must allow it to fully heal before I venture out again for fear of hurting it further and requiring more drastic measures to repair it (ie, surgery... eek). I, in no way, can hurry up the healing process. My body has to take it's time to do what it needs to do so I can do what I want to do.

I must. have. patience.

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