I have itchy feet.  And not the kind you get when you want to travel.  Though, at this point, if I could make a career of running away I would.  No, I have itchy feet from walking, running, marching, and climbing all over this island on feet that are more used to water than the insides of shoes.

I’m growing calluses on my soles but I hope that in my recovery, my soul is not growing callous.  I don’t want a heart that’s scarred and hardened.  Missing making the Team this summer has crushed parts of me but I’m wary of some of the paths of healing, knowing that a few will make me into a person I don’t want to be.  So I move slowly, exhausting myself with the sights and sensations of Western Ireland until I can see my way forward.

Last week, Greg and I climbed Mt. Slievemore here on Achill.  It was a struggle at times and I realized that 15 years of kicking breaststroke had changed my knees more than I had thought.  But when we reached the top we were rewarded with an awe-inspiring view of most of the island.  The wind was strong and it seemed as if I could just jump and float on it like an osprey on an updraft.

Greg and the Irish wind have been my constant companions over the past weeks.  Greg shadows me like a wolf caring for it’s wounded mate.  He weathers my defensive snapping and turbulent moods with a patience I could never command.

The wind fills the silence, for which I am ever grateful.  Sometimes, while you are out walking you can’t hear anything as the wind shrieks over your ears, not even your own thoughts.  We’ve had unseasonably bad weather but it suits me.  The beautiful days in California were too much of a foil for my bleak heart.

A few days ago it was time to end the solitude.  My friend Zach was only a few hours away in Galway and I hadn’t seen him in over a year.  But I found myself scared of meeting my old friend, who had known me before I had broken my heart.  The only people I have really seen since Trials have been Greg, Dana, Andrew and Lacey.  People who were there when it happened and knew what it meant.

I’m afraid that others will see someone who has fallen, and think less of me for it.  But I think that I underestimate my friends.  Zach was just happy to see me, Olympics or not.  We had a great time and I was entranced as he told stories of his year of travel around the world.  In the end it was just two friends catching up.

It’s just another wound that’s starting to heal.  I’m finding them in the most unexpected places.  Take Scrabble.  I’ve never been ok with losing but now it’s even worse.  Greg hasn’t gotten any pieces thrown at him yet but, well, let’s just say I don’t think he’s rooting for himself to win.

Still, life goes on.  I’ve only been here two weeks.  It seems so short yet almost a lifetime.  When I get back, I’ll have weddings to go to and people to see.  Strange as it is to me, the world didn’t stop on July 1st.  I would do well to remember that.

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