(That may or may not be true.)
This is a light week, running-wise, and all I have to do is get to Saturday morning not sick and not hurt. I'm eager to stop thinking about the hill at mile 22 and whether or not it will rain and just lace up and go. Tonight, I found something that I wrote a few days before the trial started in 2015; I was feeling ready to go. I called it Track Shoes. Given that, in just a few days, I am going to run my life with my Mom (26 years, 26 miles), it feels like it fits. Here it is:
September 25, 2015
Today is, what, a little more than a week out. I have 3 days of work left. I am desperate for this to start. A runner, I am up on the balls of my feet all the time, it seems. Ready to take off. Ready to run for my life.
I can do all of this scheduling and logistics. I can plan. I can organize. I have. I will. I will have meetings with my oldest's teacher, delivering the message, "He's going to need extra hugs and understanding." I will do that. It is on my list. But, I just can't wait anymore. I can't think about this any more. I have to go. It's time. It's time.
I need to understand what this is. I am afraid of it and, like anything I'm afraid of, that makes me want to get close to it, underneath it, take away its power. Apply my own.
I find these moments where I can feel the totality of this, the enormity. It is terrifying. This looming, dark object. It is seeking to remain in the shadows, but I can't let it. Even if I wanted to, as it gets closer, my memory is bringing it into the light. I remember slumping down in that car a few days later, being driven home to get clean clothes. Hearing Come Pick Me Up by Ryan Adams and breaking. All I wanted was her. There are jagged pieces of loss again and it is overwhelming. And it's not that it ever went away, but it grew into me and I grew into it. I put it to use, when I had to.
I just can't think about this anymore. I can't wonder. I am ready to run. Run for my life. And it will be whatever it is. And I will do whatever I have to do. And hear whatever it said. Each day. And it won't be easy and it won't get easier. And I will do it until it's over. I just want to get started.
Up on the balls of my feet. Sometimes without meaning to be, rocking back and forth in our kitchen tonight, and it's just because I am so ready. So ready to run.