I am not a runner, I have never, even at my fittest and strongest, been a runner. I am a plodder, and even in my heyday of fitness I didn’t enjoy the plodding. However, sometimes running (read plodding) is what I need to do. Right now, mentally I need to run. It’s that time of year, again, as ‘the Day’ gets closer, I withdraw more. The worst is, there aren’t any more words left to say, I am talked out, there is no point in saying what I think or feel, it is the same as last time, as every time before. So, as has become the norm for this time of year, I withdraw and I run.
Running, for me, is painful, it’s exhausting, it’s brutal, but most of all it’s numbing. I don’t think, I don’t feel (except the pain of my unfit body), I push myself to finish, to not stop, to keep going, looking forward until this painful journey is finished. Reading it now, it’s a metaphor for how I feel this period of time is. Running reminds me, that I can do it, even when I think I can’t. It helps me feel what I need to feel, while allowing me to function during the day.
Even though my run is a plod, I feel like in my wake I leave behind all the shitty niff naff that seems to fill up all the little spaces in my head, freeing me up so that I actually feel nothing yet everything that is important, clearheaded yet emotional, by the end I feel pain, I feel euphoric and numb, I feel I have survived and am victorious.
I always hope that my grief will get lighter, that somehow the hole inside me will be less raw, it hasn’t yet. But, for 30mins while I run (or plod) I get what I need to survive the next 24hrs. So tonight I will be on the run, pushing through until the end, surviving another 24hrs as ‘the Day’ draws nearer.