It is a dark time. On top of everything else, I’ve hit a moment where I find myself wondering why I even bother running. With a lingering illness and doctor’s orders to not run for a few days, I find my motivation at a near historic low. It’s funny, this thing that I love to have done has become something that seems impossible to comprehend doing again.
Part of the problem stems from weight gain in the face of massive efforts to move that scale’s needle south. If Cheryl Sandberg’s life lesson is to lean in, I was hoping to lean down and get some of the heft of life and the reality of roly poly me back into fighting shape. And the calendar page flipping into March, usually a mark of celebration to me that I’ve made it through the worst of the temporal traps of the year, feels like a defeat in 2017.
I am in a bad place and thus will probably take a few days off of this silly little blog project. A hard reset is in order, coupled with a long, hard look in the mirror to try and figure out what I’m doing or trying to do or hoping to do or… who knows what?
The non-race day posts on this blog have always been hit-or-miss; hell, I still don’t really know if this thing is for other people or really just a self-aggrandizing, narcissistic monument to my own ego. These days are certainly feels more like the latter. Is it a diary, a confessional, a shared secret akin to the anonymous scribbles that people scrawl on a post-it note and affix to a wall as some pseudo art project cum therapy? I don’t know… and I’m not sure I’ll ever really know.
The rambling, incoherent point of this post? I’m probably taking a few days off. I’ve always tried to post something every day, keeping a routine and regimen, regardless of quality, in the misbegotten belief that something was always better than nothing. But these days maybe nothing is best.
It is what it is.
