The Tightrope Called Life

Balance.

On the high wire.

In life.

As we train for a marathon.

Balance is all that saves us from a nasty fall.

And balance can be a delicate creature, with gossamer wings.

It is neither easily summoned, because it obeys its own laws of physics.

Nor is balance easily grasped, being fragile in nature.

Nor controlled, because the very essence of balance contains an element of whimsey and chance.

And even when we might cup balance in our palms for a moment, it is as likely to slip through our fingers as wind through the leaves of a tree. Who controls a gust of breeze, let alone predicts a zephyr?

It is easy to fall for the notion that the key to balance is to spin faster and ever faster, mimicking the motion of a gyroscope.

The alternative is to stop, mistaking inertia and rest for balance.

The answer must lay somewhere in between.

I am not sure I am handling the high-wire act with any particular flair or aplomb these days. My runs seem to teeter back and forth between too fast and too slow. I seem to have no sense of ryhthm at home or at work or at play.

I can't tell when I am doing too much or too little, trying too hard or being too soft.

I have lost my groove and can't seem to get it back.

The good news is that a battery of tests, multiple ECGs and EKGs and Stress Tests and MAX VO2 Tests and enough blood drawn to feed a coven of vampires for a month has revealed that - at least in so far as it can be determined - there is nothing wrong with me. Not my heart anyways.

That doesn't mean I'm normal of course. My brain is probably another story altogether.

I still can't sleep at night and I still have moments of chest pain sharp enough to double me over.

For someone who has always displayed an affinity for coping with stress, indeed, even sought it out, I find that whatever talent I once had in that respect has abandoned me.

And for once I am at loss for words or ideas.

I hope someone remembered to put up the net...