Pavement psychotherapy

My mind is a jumbled mess.

I haven’t slept all that much the past couple of nights.

My Dad is 1,000 miles away and his health is slipping. My step-mom has a flair for melodrama and doesn’t share a lot of details – a great combination. When she does offer an update, I am not sure whether it is understated or hyperbole.

My Mom, who is 1,000 miles on the other side of the country, is in the process of losing her apartment and this week she lost her job.

A good friend just found out his wife has cancer.

Relative to these other issues, this may seem ridiculous, but the doping-mired Tour de France also is really bothering me. It has been an Oz family tradition for years to follow those amazing bike riders on their race through France. I would read up during the day and then provide an update to the Ozlings at dinner that night about the latest stage. Last year was a punch to the gut when Floyd Landis won, but then was cast under a cloud of shame for a positive doping test. Now, this year the debacle that has become the race is absolutely unbelievable.

Unable to do much about all of this, it felt good to get out on the roads this week. Often my mind raced from issue to issue, large and small, as I logged the miles. As much as I could, I tried to concentrate on the rhythmic beat of my feet, hoping to get lost in some sort of Zen moment that would ease my worries.

Had a good 7-miler on Tuesday and today I did 5. I’ll rest up tomorrow and then see if I can’t do a 10-miler on Saturday to finish the week strong.