Is it time to walk away?

I started drafting this post a month ago, in a bit of a dark place running. Unfortunately I’m not finishing it today with any good news. I honestly don’t know what else to do.

I thought that once I addressed my Achilles issue and was no longer running in pain that all of this would go away. This is clearly not the case. Spoiler alert: a couple pain-free runs in the fall temps didn’t help. The pain is back and the mood remains the same. Yes, I am getting physical therapy and one of these days I might be smart enough to follow their instructions for actual healing, not symptom mitigation.

So here we are. Running. It sucks.

I can’t run alone. Cannot. I am hard pressed to get out the door for more than a mile on my own. I dread it and I bargain down the miles with myself until I’ve given myself permission to do less just to do something. My running would be comical right now if it weren’t so heartbreaking to me. I am so slow. I can’t go longer than 5 minutes without stopping to walk. I have no sense of how to pace myself. I don’t feel like I’m exerting a ton of energy and yet I’m constantly tired. This summer has decimated my mental game.

It has been made clear to me that I am not in shape, not even close (hello extra 20 pounds!). I’ve known this for a while and thought I could keep logging all the miles anyways. Ha! I’m at my lowest average monthly mileage in years. I don’t strength train or cross train. Hell I don’t even do my dynamic warm up anymore. I do the bare minimum (walk 5 minutes) prior to starting the run and then I run as little as is required that day and then stop.

I’ve become jealous of my best running friends. Friends who hang back with me despite being capable of so much more. Friends who are crushing their strength training and cross training multiple days a week and still humor me and my mileage schedule instead of doing what they might want on a given day. It is hard not to feel like dead weight. Like a black cloud over every run that only appears when I show up.

I don’t know what to do do get that mental muscle back. That ultra mindset that let me log 100+ miles a month just a year ago. I’m not excited for anything. There are no races right now. Virtual challenges have brought more anxiety than fun. It has been suggested to me more than once that maybe I need to stop running for a while. Just stop. I would not know what to do with myself if I didn’t run. I feel like it is the last healthy coping mechanism that I have in my arsenal. I would not know who I was if I did not run. I breathe. I hoard cats. I run. It is in my blood. But I feel like it is a slow death anymore.

So what to do? If I had some ideas, I wouldn’t be writing this. As of my PT appointment this morning, I am benched from running until at least October 19. And in all honestly, I volunteered to stop. I think my PT was a bit relieved to hear it, rather than trying to balance a solid treatment regimen with some half-assed running plan. I can still walk or cycle, but I don’t know that I’ll actually do either. If I am this enthusiastic about running right now, imagine how I feel about walking and cycling. That ass print on the couch isn’t going to make itself.

What boggles my mind is that I am still considering signing up for races in 2021. I like the idea of being fit enough to run all the miles again. I just can’t get motivated to do the work to get there. Is this a predictable consequence of insufferable summer running plus an injury? Is it burnout? Do I just need to do my PT exercises and wait patiently for a few fucks to arrive and be given? You tell me. I’m at a loss. What I do know is that I am tired and sad at everything level. Am I done?

I think I need some help?

I’m struggling and I don’t think I’m capable of hiding it or sugarcoating it any more. You might have seen the below post on Instagram a few weeks ago, when I really started to feel the cracks spreading.

“One of us is faking her smile. She was supposed to run for up to 2 hours this morning but made it half a mile before she just gave up. She walked for a while and then headed back to her car. She’s just done. Running isn’t fun. She’s tired of constant pain. She’s frustrated with her slow pace and the size of the body she’s in right now. She’s realizing that she’s pretty depressed. She’s backsliding while those around her get faster and stronger and she doesn’t know what to do. If it doesn’t involve spending as many hours as possible in bed, she’s not interested. Not that any amount of sleep can fix whatever is wrong. Her heart isn’t in anything. She’s rambling in her Instagram post because she’s lost and feeling vulnerable and sorry for herself. She hasn’t done the work to stay healthy and get strong so being injured and slow is not a surprise. But it still hurts on every level. She doesn’t know how much worse it has to get before she’ll be fed up enough to take control and make changes. Today is not that day. Today she’ll change back into her pajamas and crawl back into the safety of her bed. Maybe tomorrow? #overshare #injuredrunner #mentalhealthmatters”

— CatLadyRunner

It isn’t just one thing, it never is. I’m still grieving Mark daily, and I feel lost without him. Three years later and I still feel lost. Disconnected. Lonely. I have always leaned on running to get me through the good and bad of life and it has given me so much joy. Unfortunately, a string of injuries has really fucked up that coping mechanism for me. I can’t run or walk without pain right now. I dread my runs. I avoid runs, shortening them as soon as I’m out there or cancelling entirely. I am supposed to be knee deep in 50k training right now and I can’t even get myself out the door for 30 minutes of movement. When there is a 100% chance of running in pain, what would you choose?

I feel trapped in a body I don’t love. It feels too big and too soft and too slow and I don’t know how to change it. Or, more likely, I don’t have the emotional and physical capacity to take the actions needed to change it. I’ve felt too big for a long time, but after taking a month off running in September (and eating my way through that break), I find myself at a weight I’ve never seen before. A weight well beyond what I swore I’d kill myself if I ever got to because the worst thing I felt I could be was fat. Fat wasn’t safe. Running kept the worst of these fears at bay but not any longer. My running clothes don’t fit anymore, I’ve had to buy a few new pieces in a new size for the times I do manage to get out the door.

The paces of all my runs have slowed drastically. My fitness feels nonexistent. I’ve stopped running for miles and started running for time, in hopes that it might be mentally easier. No such luck. I still count down the minutes until I can stop. All I really want is to be home and to be left alone. But when I am alone I am on my phone texting friends or scrolling social media, anything to keep my mind away from feeling or thinking. I don’t want to see anyone, but I don’t want to sit alone with myself either. That makes navigating my friendships and my relationship w H complicated and stressful. I constantly feel like a disappointment.

I don’t really know what else to say. I sleep a lot. Too much. I’ve gone to bed as early as 7 pm and slept over 12 hours at a time, regularly. I promise myself each morning that I can go straight to bed after work, and that is the only thought that gets me up and moving. I can’t think about how many hours there are until I can go to bed again. I try to take my workday in hour long chunks, otherwise the anxiety of getting through the remainder of the day becomes too much. It all sounds so obvious to me, as I write it, but for months now this just felt like the norm. I was still able to “function” so I wasn’t depressed. Sure I didn’t brush my teeth or shower every day and I struggle to exercise regularly and I’m isolating from friends and making questionable lifestyle choices but that doesn’t mean I’m depressed. I can’t remember the last time I cried, so it can’t be that bad. I’m not in therapy so it can’t be that bad. I’m taking my meds so it can’t be that bad.

I’ve conditioned myself that this version of normal is healthy and it isn’t. I do not need 14 hours of sleep a night. It is not okay to go weeks without seeing my closest friends. I can’t fuel this broken body on take out. Running is supposed to be something I want to and enjoy doing. Work should not involve a constant level of anxiety coupled with impostor syndrome. What really bothers me, the only thing that actually bothers me, is how little I seem to care. I am not motivated to change. I don’t care what happens to me. I don’t. I actually admitted it to myself last week and thought “fuck, we’re in trouble.”

I know what I need to do to heal from my injuries. I know what I need to go to become stronger. I know what I need to do to properly fuel an athlete’s body. But I’m too far down to do anything about it. I spend every ounce of energy operating in survival mode or escape mode. I still don’t know how to exist in a world where Mark does not. Everything reminds me that he’s gone. I’m living in NC because he’s dead. I work two jobs because he’s dead. I’m dating someone else because he’s dead. I’ve done what I had to do to survive and I’ve gotten myself this far. But where exactly is that? Is this “normal” on the nonexistent timeline of grief?

I’d like to stop taking my meds because I don’t think this is what I’m supposed to feel like but I also know that they are buffering me from feeling much much worse so I can’t just stop. I have an appointment with my psychiatrist tomorrow and I plan to tell her everything. What I don’t want her to do is add another medication to the mix. Clearly pills are not the answer, but it is also her job to prescribe them so here we are. She’ll ask about therapy and I’ll tell her it isn’t happening. She’ll ask about the running and I’ll tell her how unhappy it makes me. Running and unhappy in the same sentence? Never thought it was possible. Right now few things make me “happy” and by happy I mean I stop feeling for a while. I escape. I’m not proud of my choices these days but I also feel like I’m doing the best that I am capable of doing and I’m being transparent with my treatment team.

I guess this is a call for help? I don’t know what I or anyone else can do, though. I feel like we’re running out of options and at some point I’m as good as I’m going to get. I hate to think that is where we are, that this is my new normal, but I’ve also been operating this way for months so in a way it is. All I can do today is take it hour by hour, stay hydrated, and don’t do anything rash. I suppose I’ll know more tomorrow morning, start creating some kind of plan. But in the meantime, this is where I am. I think I need some help.

Stewart Tunnel 50k

“Fortune favors the bold.” That is the thought I brought with me to the start line on race morning. If we want to get technical, I PR’ed by over 2 hours at the Stewart Tunnel 50k. I also knew going into the race that there was a great chance of a PR on this course due to its relative ease when compared to the Finger Lakes 50k course. I didn’t think it would be a cake walk and I can’t imagine ever considering running 30+ miles to be an easy feat. What mattered was that I felt like I didn’t repeat some of the training mistakes I made last year. I didn’t have as solid a training cycle, missed a couple longer runs, but Nora was certain that I would finish in 8 hours. I just wanted to scoot under 10 so as to feel a bit redeemed from last year. As one would hope of their coach, Nora knew what she was talking about.

All smiles pre race with Lana and Ray

I highly recommend this race to anyone looking for a great first 50k (or 50 mile, 100k, 100 mile…). I would certainly run it again. The course itself is flat, mostly packed dirt, and beautiful. The aid stations were plentiful, well stocked, and full of amazing volunteers. The weather conditions were a pleasant change from the swelter of North Carolina. Temps started in the 60s and rose to the low 80s, but low humidity. The course had large chunks of shaded area so when the sun was high you weren’t exposed for long. I didn’t think the weather had any impact on my performance, if anything it was a help. Overall the course has lots of trees lining the trail, gorgeous farm land, and of course, a tunnel.

5 miles in, through the tunnel for the first time and headed to aid station 1.

I still have a lot to learn about the 50k distance. I am frustrated that my road marathon times do not come close to translating to the trails. This is not to say that I didn’t expect to be slower on the trails, just not by several hours. I need to figure out what is missing in my training that causes my legs to reach a certain mileage and then crap out on me for the rest of the race. I haven’t experienced this type of fatigue in road running so it is confounding me at the moment, but I have a great team that will help me work it out. What was a bit of a surprise issue for me was my back. The middle area of my back, mostly on the right, got tight and sore after the halfway point and impacted my ability to run for long stretches. I can only assume that I was carrying myself poorly, although it was not an issue during any of my training runs. A bit confounding.

mid-tunnel, taken by a fellow racer. I love this shot!

I made great strides on the nutrition front this time, having learned from last year’s training and racing. I ate more and ate more often, thanks in part to Nora momming me on the course. She kept handing me things and I kept sticking them in my mouth (TWSS). If I can provide one piece of advice on ultra nutrition, it is this: do not wait to eat until you are hungry. You will be fucked. Start eating as early as you can with as much as you can stomach. You will reach a point later in the race when nothing sounds good and you might not be able to eat, so you will be relying on the calories fuel you hoarded earlier on. I paid the price dearly last year and I didn’t want a repeat of that. Thanks to Nora and the other amazing aid station captains, I had all the food I could stand to eat. Favorites this year included mini pizza rolls and a melty popsicle.

PRs are a funny thing. I don’t want to take anything away from what I accomplished in Wisconsin but it isn’t really a fair comparison to last year’s race in New York. I think this is one of those things unique to trail and ultrarunning, with courses varying so much in terrain and elevation that it is hard to claim a PR over a given distance. I am still over the moon with how I did and I have not encountered the post race depression that came over me last year. I feel like I am capable of a lot more at the 50k distance and I’m already contemplating races for 2019. If you have a recommendation please let me know. For now I’m switching gears and looking at a road half in November or December.

Would I do anything differently next time? By this time next year I hope I am not still working two jobs and cramming training. I do not recommend this if you have the option to avoid it. I knew it would be hard, but it was Hard. I didn’t have the same recovery time available after my long runs and I didn’t get the same amount of sleep before my long runs, both of which are, to me, critical to training success. Weekend runs had alarms as early as 4 am followed by 8 hours shifts on my feet. My legs definitely took a beating and I’m hesitant to say that it was all just good time on my feet.

I know this didn’t read as a typical race report but a play by play of the miles just didn’t seem necessary here. Before I wrap up, a few thanks are in order. First, to Ray. To whom I will be nice for 30 seconds. Thank you for finding this race and convincing me to do it. Sharing the training woes from a state away was a challenge but it was also really great knowing I wasn’t going at it alone this time. It was awesome to share this entire experience with a dear friend and seeing you on the course really gave me the energy to keep going. You crushed it and I hope you’re proud of yourself.

To Beth, for being the best sherpa/spectator/cheerleader/hammock hanger. I’m so grateful you were there this weekend and having you run me in to the finish meant the world to me. Hunter, thank you for wading into the crazy world of dating a distance runner. It took a sacrifice on your part to get me to the start line, and I am so grateful to have your support. To Sarah, Becky, Rose, and Caitlin, thank you for all the miles. We might have done 1 run together this cycle, or we might have done 20, but they were all important to me. Training can feel isolating but when friends show up to share the miles you feel a little less alone.

celebratory brunch!

To Nora. I am writing this three weeks after the race and I’m still struggling to find all the words. In addition to providing countless hours of coaching, you responded to all manner of emotional text messages and generally went above and beyond to get me through this race. You opened your home to me for an entire weekend, for which I was so grateful. Any nerves I had were immediately gone with that first hug! You are a force and a fierce friend. Finally meeting you in person merely solidified the knowledge that I made the right choice to train with you. Thank you seems woefully inadequate. Know that I am forever grateful for everything you do for your athletes. Kiss Roubaix for me.

pre-race jitters!

For those interested in what I wore/used/ate/etc:

Oiselle Flyout tank, team bra, Patagonia underwear, Oiselle long Pocket Jogger Shorts, Stance socks, Mizuno WaveKnit R1

Salomon Advanced Skin 5 Set hydration pack (used the body bottles, no bladder).

My Why

I don’t know quite where this one is going, it could be a rambling mess so you might want to buckle up. The bottom line is that running isn’t fun anymore. It is hard to put a finger on what is going on because nothing is fun right now. I’m working to address the other areas of my life where I’m less than happy but it is a special kind of hurt when running isn’t going right.

I know that part of the problem is that I’m either running with pain or running with fear of pain appearing at any moment. I’ve had a nagging Achilles issue since at least December, if not earlier. And like a good runner I paid it minimal attention and ran through it. Like an idiot. Bottom line, money is crazy tight and I don’t have the extra cash to spend on PT. I just don’t. And I know I’m paying a different kind of price right now for making that decision. However, I don’t think the constant uncertainty of my running is the issue.

I think the problem is that I lost my Why. I know that running is a part of my identity so I’ll never stray far from it, but it worries me that I feel aimless and without purpose about something that I believed was at my center. I did my best to push through what felt like a bump in the road but I think I’m off in the weeds. I maintained a base to get me across two finish lines this year but I didn’t feel connected to either. I was relieved to have them behind me and nothing in front of me.

I am signed up to pace a lap of the Umstead 100 in just a few short weeks. I had such a great experience last year that it seemed like a no brainer to do it again. But now I’m just a bundle of nerves. Will my body hold up to get my runner through those 12.5 miles? Will briefly committing to seeing someone else to their Why be enough? I don’t know. Should I back out now? Maybe. I feel like I could disappoint someone either way.

Nothing sounds good. No race stirs that joy and excitement in me. A good workout or run doesn’t bring the same pride. A small smile and a shrug, on to the next. I took 9 days off and I didn’t miss running. I almost dreaded getting back into it. The pain hadn’t left and the joy hadn’t come. So, what do I do? Take a longer break? Try something new? I wish I knew. I don’t feel tethered to anything...slipping through my own fingers.

I’m getting the Achilles checked out next week with hopes of receiving temporary relief and marching orders for more permanent healing that can be done at home. The physical body is so much easier to handle than the emotional one. I can’t present it to someone smarter than me, bend or shape it just so, and be on my way. I worry that if I don’t find my Why soon that I’ll just…disappear. I know that Why shifts and changes with time, but never have I had it go away so completely. How isolating it is see others out on their miles, Why tucked safely in their pocket and wondering why not me?

I wish I had answer or a direction of some kind. I keep showing up but it isn’t enough. I lean on my coach and my friends but it isn’t enough. Everyone needs a Why and mine is gone. It happened slowly but with certainty. Just gone.

The Next Right Thing

There is a small dry erase board that hangs on the back of my front door. It has a five word phrase on it that my old therapist used to say to me when things got hard. “Do The Next Right Thing.” When I got overwhelmed and anxious and scared she would encourage me to focus on that. Do the next right thing, whatever that thing might be. Take your meds. Brush your teeth. Eat a healthy snack. Drink a glass of water. Nothing huge, nothing earthshattering on its own, but one good thing to build on the next and that was how I got through the minutes and hours and days where I just wanted to quit. Where the mental illness threatened to take my life. I never questioned its efficacy and I have certainly passed it on to others I care about when they are in similar circumstances.

What struck me for the first time a few days ago was that I’d taken it to heart in a different way. Do The Next Right Thing has become Do The Next Expected Thing. Put your head down, get through the work day, cram that run in, meet every obligation. Ignore the unhappiness, the stress, the burnout, the doubt. Just keep moving forward and believe that something will change without actually taking steps to make a change. I’ve been slogging through life, operating at a baseline of unhappiness for months now. Months. And I’ve been telling myself that it is just temporary, that I need to be patient, that things will get better. Wait it out. I don’t need to quit my job. I don’t need to change my meds. I don’t need to take a break from running. I don’t need to end that relationship. Somehow I’ve convinced myself that things will better if they stay exactly the same. Huh?

What kind of crap logic is that? I don’t know when I internalized this, but I did. I still rely on this mantra of sorts to get me through individual days, hours, minutes, as needed. But it should not have warped and wormed its way into my brain as an acceptable way to cope with situations, relationships, or circumstances that do not serve my health. I can’t concentrate. I don’t read anymore. I can’t focus on tv shows or movies. Minor tasks require major energy. I mindlessly scroll through apps on my phone looking for God knows what. All I want to do is sleep and I spend my evenings waiting for it to be an acceptable time to crawl into the refuge of my bed and just hope tomorrow will be better.

source

You would think that in processing this that I would have a major announcement to make. Nope. I’m not quitting my job. I’m not signing up for a big race. I’m not walking away from unsatisfactory relationships. I’m not moving. I’m not Kondo-ing my closet. I’m just sitting here frustrated and confused and tired. I don’t know what to do next. I don’t know what to change. I don’t know what I want so how can I move towards that right space/place/person? The only thing I can think of to do is to ask for help. To go back to counseling. Sigh.

All this unhappiness and dissatisfaction in every aspect of my life has got to stop. Honestly, I think the fact that my life is ruining running for me is what is making me put my foot down. You’d think it would be the grief that would drive me back to counseling, but it isn’t. That, in comparison to everything else, is manageable. Running has been my main coping mechanism for years but it only worked when i was coping with one challenge. Not a fire on every front. Even running has a limit and I’ve reached it. Doing the work doesn’t bring me joy. Getting out the door is a battle. Seeing the miles on my plan spikes my anxiety. Sometimes the thought of tackling a long run brings me to the brink of tears. I just can’t. I’m so tired. My legs can’t carry me anymore and I shouldn’t have expected them to for so long. I’m angry with myself for letting it get this far out of control.

What I do need to brace myself for is that things will not get better overnight. I might not connect with this hew person. That does not mean that counseling won’t help or that I won’t connect with anyone. I do despise the irony of the situation, that I need to be patient and persistent at a time when my resources for doing so are at their lowest. I’m not excited about this development. I’m not. I’m resigned to the fact that it is the best thing I can do for myself in the circumstances that I am in with the resources I have available. I’m not fucking Wonder Woman. Sometimes being strong isn’t bearing it all for eternity. I don’t have that kind of time and I don’t want to waste any more of it feeling this miserable. So I’m taking this step, like I’ve taken thousands of others before it. One foot in front of the other, hoping for actual progress.

source

Ringing in and sending out

2019 is here. I’ll spare you my annual “I don’t do resolutions because…” rant. I honestly haven’t sat down and thought about goals, aspirations, intentions or however else you want to frame it. I’m not sad to see this year go, but I don’t think I’ve ever had a “wow what a great year!” feeling either. 2018 was my first full year living in NC and I’m feeling settled in. Comfortable. I accomplished goals in some areas of my life yet struggled in others. I don’t really have any clarity yet on what I want 2019 to be but I’m not feeling pressured to figure it out either. I was so gung ho and focused in 2018 that this feels like a welcome change. Breathing room. Potential.

I did gain a little perspective at a yoga class this past Friday night. The teacher had us flow into warrior two and asked us to think of anything we’d want to bring into the new year with us. She had us move our arms as if pulling back the string of a bow and then letting it go, sending what we wanted ahead of us into 2019. Surprisingly, a few things came to mind. Three, specifically. As someone who forgets their intention 30 seconds after they set it at the beginning of class, I was surprised that these both came to mind and settled in right away.

Courage. I have come to learn in the past two years that I am stronger than I ever gave myself credit for. I don’t think that I often had a choice to be anything other than strong, but strong I was. I also made brave choices and showed up to see what happened, regardless of self doubt. I want to carry that courage into 2019. Expand it to other spaces in my life where I could be braver. Stand up for myself. Advocate for myself. Practicing courage should serve me well as I try to tackle the next item on my list.

Confidence. This will be the tough one. Queen of self-deprecation that I am, most of it comes from a place of self-doubt and self-loathing. I put myself down at work. I downplay my contributions to my team. I’m mean, bordering on cruel, to my mind and body. This year I learned that I am capable of more than I expect from myself. I’ve also learned from others how valued I am at work and as a friend. I’m beginning to understand what my strengths are and I want to continue to move into them. Full disclosure: I’ve already put myself down today while out on a run. It is so engrained in me to play small, to apologize for taking up space, being slow, being soft, having a heart. I think this could be quite the battle.

Curiosity. This is going to be fun. I spent a good chunk of 2018 outside of my comfort zone and it was well worth it. I have new things I want to try in 2019, in racing and in other experiences. I think as adults we find joy in the curiosity children, in their process of discovery. But being curious doesn’t have an age limit. It shouldn’t. The idea of no longer being curious about anything makes me sad, whether it is as simple as where a trail might lead to next or as big as wondering where my career will lead me. The unknown can be scary but wow can it be exciting too. It is actually breaking a smile across my face as I write this.

That’s it. I don’t have an A race on the calendar. I don’t want to run a set number of miles or lose a certain number of pounds. I’m hoping to continue feeling some of the peace I received late in 2018. I plan to laugh a lot, cry a little, and love hard. I’m sure that races and other goals will solidify in the coming weeks and months but for right now, this is where I am. Courage. Confidence. Curiosity.

Onward.

What's Next?

I’ve spent the last couple of months doing a lot of the things I’d been missing during training. Reading books and sitting at the pool. A yoga class or two. Seeing friends and sleeping in on a Saturday. All the small things we willingly sacrifice in the relentless pursuit of a goal. I thought that I would look forward to having a little bit of flexibility back into my life as this training cycle pushed my personal tolerance level of busyness. Now that I have had that time and space I find myself in a different type of discomfort.

I’ve been telling myself and others that I don’t need to decide what’s next just yet. That maybe I’ll do a half later in the fall, maybe a 5k here and there to test my fitness. Honestly, it was more about what I thought I should be saying rather than what I actually believed. The idea of another all-consuming ultra training cycle sounded exhausting, but I couldn’t get excited about training for anything shorter either. The summer weather conditions here in NC are a daily reminder of why I chose to train through the winter and spring, and are keeping me inside with the AC when I should be running. But the weather is just a convenient excuse.

It was clear after a self-pitying rant on my Instagram story that things were coming to a head. Kind words from several friends and a frank chat with Nora helped me realize what was going on. Post-race blues, sure. But that wasn’t all. I can't keep life at arm's length anymore. 

I keep telling myself that I will feel differently when Fall finally arrives. Come September I found myself anxiously anticipating Fall, which is quite the 180 from this time last year. What I’ve come to realize as the month flew by is the truth behind why I want to embrace fall with open arms. It isn’t to fall back in love with the things that used to make this time of year so magical for me. It is so that I can throw myself headlong into training again, without as much of the summer suffering, so that I can stop feeling again. Stop thinking about anything extraneous to training and basic existence.

Mark’s transition day is coming and I can already feel grief building up in the depths of me. I want to be deep into a training cycle come November 15 so that I can exhaust myself in some other less painful way. I haven’t found meaning and purpose in my life outside of training. I just haven’t. I struggle with why I am still here. Work is unfulfilling and that is the other big demand on my time besides running. One of those two things need to mean something to me or I will just slowly slip away.  

I realize that this epiphany of sorts comes with questions. Additional signs. It asks if I need to get back to therapy. If I need to learn how to experience my grief without being overwhelmed by it. It points out that any day my body could break down and I won’t be able to run and THEN WHAT. I am not running much right now, but by choice. What would happen to me if I woke up tomorrow and couldn’t? I don’t want to think about it but maybe I should. For someone who so meticulously executes a training plan, I am incredibly half assed about everything else, including my mental health. My most precious resource. At some point, that comes at a cost.

I don’t know what happens next. I’m not committing to taking steps towards anything, racing or otherwise. I’m not ready to do more than write these words. I guess I just didn’t want to curl up with this anymore. I don’t want to start grinding away again and have people think something other than the truth. I’m tired of hiding something broken behind the miles.