I was wrong about the run. The flame didn’t go out. It dimmed to the point of invisible but it never truly went out. There is something inside of me that keeps the run going. I don’t know what it is or where to find it. I just know that it allowed me to get back on the gerbil wheel last night and run, run, run. I admit it. I ran angry. First it was the anger of the day. I’m always weary when it comes to the self-congratulatory people. They make me tired. I picture a giant spotlight that they continuously turn around to face their way. The glow of accomplishment isn’t bright enough so they need to brag and bring out the me, me, me. I get tired of it. Then I thought about Mary. This cancer thing is driving me batsh!t. It’s not fair and I am lost in the confusion of another life lost. Then it was my headband. Why can’t I find something that will keep my hair back and stay on my head for longer than a mile? Even though sweat is a sign of working hard I’m not a big fan of it streaming down my face and blurring my vision. I am sick of that, too. Is my head really that small? Everything got me angrier and angrier until suddenly I was over five miles into the run and realized I had a husband I needed to collect from work. With regret I stopped at 5.15 even though I could have stayed angry forever. 52 minutes. 5.15 miles.
The funny thing is this – as soon as I got off the tread I was transported to a good mood. Transformed to happy, just like that. Go figure.
Favorite line of the run: “an apology wedged inside my throat. Sorry’s not the word you mean.”