In this season of warmer weather and longer hours in the sun, I am lethargic and uncertain. I ran my first 5K since 2007 and could not let go of the outcome or fight for a faster time. I watched three women pass me and then decided that I could catch them later, except that in this race, there was no later. I did 6:13, 7:02, 6:31 and finished with 1:02.
I can't help wondering why I race. Is it so I can brag, feel some sense of external affirmation or live in the disappointment of always knowing I could have gone faster. When I have run fast, the sense of euphoria has held me captive in its brilliance. Is slower ok, or a failed attempt at greatness? I am minutes slower then I used to be and wonder at my fear of commitment to the whole game.
My season of life feels slow. The days start early and I curl up in oversleeping exhaustion and physical fatigue. I am saying yes to everyone else, because it is easier then writing, or finishing my book club read.
I would like to pin it on the anniversary of my mother's passing, or the fact that I am moving into my late thirties this month. I know in my gut that I must move forward and race again, blow out my candles and choose to face the face in the mirror. I might run in the Chicago Shamrock 8k, because I can't get a bib and because then I could run my heart out with no strings. You don't need to ask my how I did and I don't need to decide how to respond, because it is for me alone and no one else has to know about it.
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