Okay, let’s be honest here.
I have absolutely no motivation these days to go running. And, very little of me wants to do this Boston 1/2 marathon. I know, I know, … what happened?
I’ve come down with the mid-September bug and, actually, am kind of glad. Why? Because knowing my body, this cold will get worse before it gets better. And, knowing my body, the worst will hit this week. Which, in running terms, means I’m totally grounded. Last time I tried to push through this exact cold, it landed me off the roads for about 6 weeks. That’s SIX WEEKS.
The Boston 1/2 is in 3 weeks.
Every morning, I’ve been choosing sleep over sneakers; REM over RUN; and warm blankets over warm sweat. I’ve also lacked running partners this week, and for me, that’s 99.99% of the reason why I actually get out of bed even on the good running days.
Yeah, I got enough excuses to fill a swimming pool.
And, enough pity to drown in it.
The psychoanalytic in me realizes that this is ME fearing surgery. After my appointment with the breast surgeon, I realized things were in motion. I even got a call with my appointment with the plastic surgeon (scheduled for Tuesday at 2pm) and a surgery date. Wait, what did Liza write?? A surgery date???
Yes, yes. A surgery date. Too bad it was the WRONG surgery date.
The scheduler had me going in for surgery on October 14th.
“No, no, wait! I wanted a surgery for after Thanksgiving — not in October!” I frightfully exclaimed in panic. “Sorry,” says the nice receptionist. “Most women want to have their surgeries, like, yesterday. So, I figured you just wanted the first available one. End of November for a mastectomy is a piece of cake.”
Mastectomy and piece of cake just don’t seem like they should belong in the same sentence.
So, I’ve set my alarm clock for an early morning run. Twelve miles. That’s what my running schedule says. Twelve miles. I barely drive 12 miles in any given day. Tomorrow, I’m supposed to run it.
Brave, strong, determined. Those aren’t words ringing in my head nor my heart right now. And, I’m pretty sure I’m going to be pissed off when my alarm is ringing in my head before sunrise tomorrow.
Will I get up? I can’t promise you that I will. Some days, motivation is past the end of the rope that I hang on to each and every single day.
Peace, love, and reaching for it,