And I'm not okay. I finished running yesterday and got into my car and drove home and went out to lunch and then to a barbeque. When I got home, I didn't take the time to think about everything that went down. I didn't think about and certainly didn't celebrate pushing my body into failure. I took calls and congratulations for my supposed accomplishments all day, and all day today -- every one of them telling me how I shouldn't be hard on myself, that I should celebrate a time so many would be extremely proud of. I replied over and over...that I was happy for what I'd done, that I did feel accomplished -- but it wasn't really true. Saying it over and over and appeasing and misleading must have dug something out of me because there's a definite demon inside me now, and I couldn't walk all day today and I just got out of a class that I didn't think I'd be able to teach because my body is in pain...and I felt an immediate need to address the poison that was happening inside of my body - or the awful possibility that I had inadvertently spit that poison into the faces of my 50 students. I was walking out alone, and I was spent and hurting...and felt like I was about to break down and almost did before I got my shit together or buried, one or the other.
I'm sitting here now and I can feel this tightening in my body...this tightening in my mind, this need to find and lock onto the weaknesses in my life so that I can destroy them. Maybe this is obsession, maybe not. I'm proud of the time I ran yesterday, sure, and the fight I put in...because I fucking bled myself out on that course, I did...but not enough. Something's missing. I can tell you what I am proud of...this reaction, what's happening to me right now, the parts of me that are holding onto the disappointment of 14 minutes. I can't handle that. Because this isn't just about running. Truth, it probably has nothing to do with running. It's about settling for 3:25 or saying fuck that...I'm better than that...and I'm not going to celebrate a fucking drop until I get exactly what I want. And maybe I'll never get that. Maybe 3:11 makes way for 3:05 makes way for 2:55 makes way for me grinding myself into the ground. Maybe...but I'm ready for that. I'm prepared for that.
So I'm going to San Francisco at the end of July because I've got a fight to pick on Sunday the 26th. Because I have to fix this. Because that's just who I am. That's just what I do.
