I finally got to run for the first time in six weeks. In six short weeks, I had forgotten how much running is my sacred place. The only place I get to dwell in silence. No outside influence, no one telling me how I have to be. It's just me and my thoughts. How could I have almost forgotten that? How could I have thought that anything could replace it?
Today six weeks worth of debris had to be worked out. Everything from, thou shalt not covet your neighbors husband, to eating the last set of pop tarts like a jerk. A whole six weeks of the irrelevant to the divine. Yet when it is said and done, I always find my peace. I don't feel, I don't think.
I am one jagged breath from the here and now.
But this was not an easy run, it was almost to much to have to work through. I did something I have never done while running. I cried, and it wasn't pretty. It stopped me in my tracks on mile three and I bent over.
Gasping.
Sobs racking my body.
Snot hitting the track.
Begging for it to stop.
I'll admit, I hope to hell I never do that again. I'm not much of a crier, its been well over a year and this one blindsided me. It almost knocked me to my knees. I saw my life with crystal clear clarity and I found myself severely lacking.
I cried for myself and for the damage I've done. The thoughtless emotional pollution I have blanketed others with. My inborn right to be everything but my very best.
But when I was done and I had cried myself out. I raised my head, looked up at the sky, turned around, and ran home. I left six weeks of crap on that track. I turned my back on it and I know now what must happen. I know what should come next and if I find myself doubting that. Then I know exactly what I need to do.
Run.
