Small Rain, Small Talk

How We Fight For Our Lives

I have been attending these group strength classes at a local gym. A few years ago I picked up running and realized that I had been training so much of my superficial muscles and my mind, yet had neglected my cardiovascular health. At that age where heart health is on my brain and a family history of heart attacks loom over my fate, I find myself at this juncture. It is quite comical that how easily I can go from leaving it all to universe to thinking that I have any semblance of control over my life.

Every time I show up to a class, there is an opportunity to connect with a stranger. It has become not only a nice change in my routine, but something that fulfills me socially when I see someone from the past or exchange a few good words with strangers. We help each other load the weights on the barbell, sometimes count for each other, and some people even go as far as to high five me as I run my 200m sprint, gasping for air, a few breaths away from death, encouraging me to keep going. I’m not a high fiver. I like to nod my head up and down and smile as a recognition of good effort, and that we still have more work to do. I am learning to celebrate even the small wins, especially now.

I paired with a taller man the other day, about half a foot taller than I am. The beginning, middle and end of our interaction was a bit awkward as I asked him if he minded that I work with him. He very quickly answered, “yes.” I was caught off guard, as he had not heard my question. I asked, “so you do mind?” It created confusion and awkwardness. I was being a smart ass and really I took responsibility. I tried to turn his not listening into humor, but it did not land. His body language shifted, and I chose not to look too deeply into that as we had an hour of heavy work ahead of us.

Between sets we had a back and forth. Things got lighter, and then he asked, “so what have you been reading?”

I did not let my embarrassment show, though I felt a quick moment of shame rise, as this year has not been one where I purchase, borrow, or read books. I did not lose myself and told him the truth.

“I have not read a single page this year,” I said.

I was not ready to explain why. Not the grief, or the constant waiting to hear about the state of my friend’s health while he is in the ICU, or the daily visits to my grandmother’s hospital bedside in January, or figuring out how I’m going to financially come out of the months of slow work, or that a friend is in Lebanon right now.

I recently packed my copy of “How We Fight for Our Lives” by Saeed Jones in a manila envelope and sent it to a purchaser somewhere in the continental US. This is what I have been doing this year. Clearing out my bookshelves. It gives me something to do. I never thought I could practice non-attachment with my books. It was such a big part of my identity. I decided that this is the year I go minimal with my books, keeping only a few cherished ones. I chose not to buy more and to only borrow from the library, but this has not yet happened.

Last night, I picked up “Small Rain” by Garth Greenwell, which I began reading last year. I got through a bit over 100 pages before I stopped. I’ve done this multiple times, and I realized that I may have, for a moment, stepped out of my nerdy bibliophile cycle to build the guns. The local barista Joe, about six months ago asked me what I was reading. The same question in what felt less threatening at the time. Joe is also a sweetheart. I was holding my copy of “Small Rain”. He said, “hard first few pages, but once it gets going, it goes fast.” He mentioned that it took him a while to go through it. I have yet to reach that point of the book.

When I am most relaxed, is when I can lay down and read for hours. Right now my nervous system is a bit more looking towards survival and strengthening. Sitting in a sauna for 20 minutes a few times a week. Shaking it all out. Sweating it all out. Planning for the future like it means anything. Showing up to offer what I have practiced in group classes. I do not shut down or go into flight mode. Simply staying present to it all. And wholeheartedly, I accept that I am neither calm nor stuck in chaos. There’s simply a moment of radical acceptance of where I am, now. And, that in itself offers peace.

Last night before bed I picked up “Small Rain” again and went through a few pages. My gym partner was very surprised that I had not read a single page this year. I saw it on his face. Not sure if I wanted or needed to be accepted by this stranger, a white man, likely queer. So, I bragged about how I went through one book a week last year, and that I was writing more this year. I had to save face. Not sure I did.

Our workout ended, and I noticed that half the time I worked on my own and not with him. He came up to me towards the end of class and suggested a film which was also memoir, as I told him that this is the style I like to write in somewhere in our exchange. I think he is a writer too. I did not care much to ask. I was there to do heavy things. I did not really want that conversation that morning.

Small Rain. Small talk.

That day, that is how I was fighting for my life.

.