Getting better, slowly but surely.
Time helps, it heals.
Thinking helps, it organizes.
Talking, writing, feeling, they provide a way out.
A sense of direction, I’ve found one, for now.
When I feel uneasy, I start to question myself. When I read a story about another runner’s mental health and subsequent problems, I begin to wonder about my own. When I don’t know what is best for me or my body, I begin to get anxious, sad and hopeless.
These feelings are normal, I deal with them in my way. I write, I read others’ stories. I am reminded I’m not alone.
Feeling alone is the worst. I can’t describe it, but loving alone time and feeling alone are so different. I need to be by myself to recharge, but I also need to feel like someone else has or is experiencing what I am.
So I write. I write in hopes that I am comforting someone, and then I too will be comforted. It’s one thing to enjoy solo time, it’s another to feel like an outsider. To be the weird one, the outcast, the one who has no idea what she’s doing.
I felt that. It sucked. I’m getting through it. It’s not so bad anymore.
I found a direction, a way to be that comforts me, for now.
My fall racing plans are taking shape, but I’m still taking it day by day. That’s what my body is telling me, so therefore that’s what I’ll do. I’m not sure if my focus should be completely on a marathon right now, so it’s not.
I’ve decided to spread out my interests and follow my heart.
Damn that feels good.