Running in place

Sometimes, something gets stuck in my head.  When this happens?  The thing that is stuck looms so large in my consciousness that I am unable to concentrate on any other thing.  It’s just that one thing . . . forever . . . until I deal with it.

Usually, in my writing?  This is not a big deal.

I just write about the thing that will not be ignored.

Easy, right?

Except this time, the thing that is stuck is not something I want to discuss here.

And I have no one with whom to discuss this thing.

Really.

So every time I sit down to type something, I just cry.  Can I tell you how fucking awesome that is?  So awesome.

Anyway.

We used to have a treadmill.

Not so very long ago, but it feels like a lifetime ago.  We bought it for Mark, which was just so fucking stupid, because there was just no fucking way that Mark was ever going to run on the damn thing.  If the picture I have painted for you of Mark is of a man who might ever step on a treadmill?

We need to talk.

Anyway.

So it sat in our house for a while, a giant hulking black expensive presence.

Annoying.

Alright, fine.  I’ll use the damn thing.  Fuck.  Spend all this money on a treadmill and then no one is going to run on it.  I’ll use the damn thing.

I started to run on the treadmill.  Every day.  Short distances at first, and very slowly.  But then longer distances at a much faster pace.

I loved it.

I ran every day.  Got myself a little MP3 player and listened to music as I ran.  A little time carved out of every day just for myself.  It was awesome.

I ran every single day.  Faster and farther, working hard to break my previous records.

I ran every single day and I took it very seriously.

I lost a little weight, but mostly I noticed that I was stronger and leaner and more energetic.  I was all kinds of addicted to running on the treadmill.  I loved this version of me . . . athletic motivated healthy woman!  Yay!

I ran every single day.

I was crazy intense.

For about eight months.

And then there came a day when I did not run on the treadmill.  The day just got away from me, there were other things to do, and I just didn’t do it.

The next day?

I was surprised at how little it mattered to me that I had skipped a day.  It had seemed so important, but now?  Not that big a deal.

Huh.  Why had I been so obsessed?

And then I skipped another day.

And another.  Turned out I didn’t actually miss the running that much.

And another.

Huh.

What the fuck had I been thinking, wasting all that time running?

And then I never used the treadmill again.

Really.

Memories like that?

That’s why I am afraid to miss a day of blogging, by the way.

Even on a day like today, when I have nothing I am willing to share.

So today’s post is just me running in place.

Without a treadmill.

See you tomorrow.