The Love Story

So I’m already four days late writing the X-Country Marathon recap. And I’m posting a mushy gushy love story. And this is a health and fitness blog.

I know.

But, besides the fact you demanded it on Twitter, I think this story provides a background to where my life is going. Soon enough I’ll be in Asheville, blogging every day about loving a hot boy, making beautiful meals for us and exploring our city through yoga, run, bike and swim. My life, and my passions as an individual, have already changed and you, my dear readers, deserve to know why.

—The Love Story—

I’ve put off writing about this because I haven’t been sure what words are appropriate when all your dreams come true. When the one you’ve always wanted but could never have holds you tight and says he loves you. Words may never do this justice, but it deserves to at least be put on paper.

My love story with Richard began when I was 15-years-old and just may never end. It is based on late nights driving over Highway 60 with the windows down and nothing but water around us and a love and compassion for each other.

I met Richard from behind the counter in my family’s coffeehouse, talking about a yummy frozen drink. He was the tall boy with glasses and a big smile. I always perked up when he was there.

Two years later we sit in his car after a night of bowling with friends. He’s the bad boy and I’m the good girl. I give him a hard time and we’re instantly stuck together.

Richard was my prom date, my plans on Friday night, my first choice for anything I did at 17-years-old.

He was cool and tough and dated all the girls in the neighborhood, but to me he was the sweetest soul and my best friend.

We did everything that could be done in our small town, but my favorite was always sitting next to him in silence, enjoying our Starbucks’ drinks.

One of my favorite quotes has always been, “True friendship comes when the silence between two people is comfortable.” Richard was the truest friend I ever had.

Of course Richard knew of my feelings for him. He never grabbed my hand or held me close, but I knew he felt the same way. Still, we were just friends.

So I went on a first date where we ran into Richard after dinner. That first date turned into four years with someone other than Richard. Richard found a girl of his own, moved out of the state and got engaged.

With internet and phone we never lost touch. We looked for excuses to talk, even if it meant dating advice for me after I ended my long-term relationship. We kept the conversations appropriate, although we could never completely hide our feelings for each other.

And then one day Richard ends things with his fiance, tells me he has always loved me and isn’t going to lose me again. He says he’d be settling to be with anyone other than me. He shows me how he’s saved all the little things I made him when we were younger. He overwhelms me with his enduring love.

In the back of my mind I always believed I would end up with Richard. He was the standard I compared every guy to. Being with him was exciting and natural and free. But he was Richard and things that good just don’t happen in real life.

And now this man, this everything I always wanted but could never have, was telling me I was the only one he wanted.

I couldn’t believe it. Fear- fear of true love and fear of what I could lose- filled my mind. What would I have left if I lost him?

Still, weeks after his confession I make my way through the airport, finally catching those familiar, warm brown eyes. I drop my bags and he embraces me with trembling hands. We hold each other close like everything we could ever want or need in the world is in each other.

He leads me to his truck and makes sure I’m settled in the passenger seat. We make our way to his house on a hill, mostly sitting in silence with smiles big enough to make our cheeks hurt. At this point words just won’t do.

He shows me around his country life- the cool air, the mountains, his two black dogs. We regularly pause to gaze into each others eyes and smile.

We’ve talked about our first kiss for weeks, but with the way I tremble with just a hug, I’m not sure I can handle his kiss.

After a few hours of hand holding and Eskimo kisses, his lips press against mine. Seven years of passion built up, everything became right in the world with each love-filled, natural kiss.

Now I sit in his living room, with his dogs at my feet, typing the love story of all love stories. I search for words to capture this feeling of completeness, of true love found. Instead I am leaving these incomplete and imperfect words to serve as a glimpse to what we share. After all, I have a love story to get back to.

Prom 5/2006:

Asheville 11/2010:

Ooops! How did that get in there?!

Do you have a love story? Did a new relationship affect your diet/fitness habits?

Tagged as: dating, stories