Finding peace at mile number two

I'm no runner. I want to be a runner and I often fancy myself as a lithe, trail running beast. But the truth is that I'm just not. Many things account for this fact. One: running requires a sharp mindset of determination and never-give-upedness. Me? I like to feel good and not hurt so much. Two: running is a daily activity that builds on the previous day. Due to reason number one I'm prone to skipping days and deluding myself that I run more than I do. Three: anything with the size GG should probably not be hurled through space with any sort of velocity. So true and sad, but this is likely the biggest reason, no pun intended, running is not my forte. However, harking back to the delusional thing, I don't let any of that stop me. I continue to run and often fantasize about the day I'll commit to and finish a half marathon.

This winter was a brutal one in our home, filled with sicknesses ranging from flu to pneumonia. I was lucky enough to catch them all. Needless to say I spent the cold months in varying states of stillness while warding off bugs of all kinds. This of course took a toll on my stellar running career and I have just very recently gotten back into the groove. The process has been grueling and one would question my sanity in wanting to endure the effort. But I do and I love it. Today for the first time since the two weeks I've been at this I found that mind blowing peace that only comes from running. It was at mile number two, out of only 2.75, and it was so profound that I ended up on a wrong trail and in somebody's private driveway. It was the sort of feeling that negated the panic, the noise, the doubts and fears of my daily existence. It was truly beautiful and I feel so lucky to have found it for those few minutes.

That is why I continue this madness of running. It is why I strap the GG's into the hardiest sports bra I can find. It's why I'll endure two weeks of huffing up my guts. That peace means goodness and that goodness gives me hope.

Looking in

Sometimes things are functional until they really aren't. Sometimes the decline to nonfunctional is slow, imperceptible. Other times the abruptness is such that it creates whiplash and leaves the cervical vertebrae splintered.

If you aren't prone to anxiety or other mental illnesses, the previous sentences might not mean much. But if you've experienced the feeling of being in a different plane and looking in on the living while for some reason not being able to get there, then you totally get it. And for that I'm sorry. I also get it and wish I didn't have to be part of this tribe. But a card holding member I am and so it goes. Or sometimes it doesn't go. Which is my point.

This year hasn't been much of a go for me. It feels as though I've spent more time curled up in knots, trying to scrape the nails from the ends of my fingertips than being productive in any manner. It's been a slow decline and I can't exactly pinpoint where or when it began. However, the origins don't particularly matter when daily inertia is near to impossible. What I do know is that sometimes it's just fine to lean on Big Pharma for a hug. It's not the ultimate solution but it is a Band-Aid and that's good enough for today.