that get you. You steel yourself against the expected onslaught of grief for major events: anniversary, birthdays, holidays. But for me, especially at the start, it was really simple things…like adding paper to the printer for the first time. Or changing the air filters in the house. I would find myself momentarily undone by everyday tasks and wonder, hmm, am I always going to be a basket case like this?

I think it was the fact that these little things marked the passage of time, marked time without Kristi. They were sign-posts I couldn’t avoid, from which there was no escape. Other times the tasks were ones that Kristi handled around the house. Now they fell to me. And in the doing, I was reminded of her absence and the void would reveal itself once more. That aching, empty void. That cold side of the bed.

But as those tasks repeated themselves, became my tasks and part of the new normal and the new me, the ache has lessened. The void isn’t as terrifying as it was at the start. Of course, just allowing myself to be ok with a new normal and new me was a battle too. You don’t want there to be a new normal. Or a new me. For a long while, you just want the old me back.

Dealing with Kristi’s cancer for fifteen months actually made the transition to widowerhood a little less traumatic in the sense that our old selves and relationship and identity disappeared the day we received Kristi’s diagnosis. We were fighting grief alongside cancer, right from the get go. So when I transitioned from care-giver to widower, grief wasn’t a new companion, just different and more intense.

Through it all, I trained. A blessed constant for me in a sea of change was Taking Time To Train. There’s that 4T principle. I wouldn’t have made the time though if I hadn’t been signed up for an event or a race. Once I was committed to a race, I found the time and motivation to train. And because endurance sports require some planning to make sure I was ready, I found myself setting and meeting goals in order to make it to race day. When life was spinning me around, and I was unable to muster the desire to move forward in my new life, I was still moving forward in my training. That was a slice of sanity. A small price for some peace and progress in my life.

If you find yourself put off kilter by the little things, don’t worry, you’re not alone. Let the grief come and then let it go. In the mean time, hit the road or the trail or the pool and train! At least three days per week, for a minimum of 45 minutes per training session. Trust me, it’ll help.