The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of emotions as I've settled into a new life after a year pretty much took it captive. A year not necessarily wasted because without it, I may not have ever pursued my current goal. Before that year, I never thought I could. So in a way, it's a year I'm thankful for and a year that has certainly made me stronger and realize what I will not take and my actual potential. In the grand scheme of things, it was a kick in the ass. But up close? I still wouldn't walk across the street to piss on him if he was on fire.

We're stepping into the beginning of autumn but here in Florida summers breath still holds ferth. It makes me long to pack up and move to the mountains. Disregard responsibilities and set forth to higher ground with warmer leaves and cooler air.

I've been running more. I let my long runs slip in the midst of the move and fall semester. I felt myself going stir crazy. My body was anxious and my joints were grinding against each other. My body was metaphorically chomping at the bit. I think it's what a puppet must feel like; stiff, cramped, and dusted. I needed to unfold, stretch, and dust the spiderwebs from the neurons in my brain. I needed free thinking and I needed a lot of ground.

And I needed discovery.

So, I hit the road and this time there wasn't a set running path, there wasn't a set goal, there wasn't a set distance or time; there was my asics, a few hours of battery left on my ipod, and me. I ended up running around five miles before I decided I'd given the holy terrors ample time to drool, knock over, urinate, or generate tumbleweeds of hair the size of texas in my house. Besides, I dived in at the hottest time of the day and Florida showed little mercy. The next day I repeated it.
Five miles is pretty pitiful. Even though it was five invigorating, feverish, perpetual miles. It whithers in respcet to my other runs. None the less it was five miles that wasn't there before. When I got home I couldn't wait to go back. I wanted to right then. Irresponsible.

I obsess and I'm obsessing over the next three weeks. It'll either turn out with the best results ever (read, healthiest) or a complete failure.But I feel like it's needed because it's a last hoorah over getting one up. Over having something to hold onto. It's complicated. Pretty messed up. And slightly more painful.
And somehow, hopefully, I'll reach a few small accomplishments in the process. Or at least make headway.

Therapy.

All I'm going to say is after the past week, I ran this evening after my absence and it breathed the life back into me again.


I picked up all pieces, slung them over my shoulder, and I just ran.
It wasn't a run to write home to coaches about; I kept a steady, albiet slow pace. And now my bones are screaming. I wanted to sear my lungs, liquify my quads, run my heart out but I knew I'd have to hold back.

Soon though. Soon.


And I started painting again.

My thoughts on mornings.

I think at this point we've all established that I'm a born runner. It's what I do, it's who I am, it's what keeps me functioning, yadda yadda yadda.

But if there's one thing I'm not, it's a morning person. Maybe it's my chronic sleep deprivation or the fact I think it's just down right cruel to be pulled out of bed before your eyes bud open gently and the sound of birds chirping in the breeze brushes over you (at least, that's how I think it should be). But I am especially not a morning shower person. There's nothing worse in this world than being pulled out of a warm, soft bed (ahem pillow top queen bed with extra fluffy pillows and the softest blanket on earth) as daylight is slowly creeping in (or not even there yet) and having to go stand in a cold, tiled cubby -naked of all things with water dumped on you. I absolutely detest it. I'd rather go slightly dirty and wear a headband to cover up the rats nest for hair than do that.
However, over the past few days whether it was in fear of being late to class when we're down to the wire or just the fact that it sets the mood for the day I have been peeling myself out of bed at six thirty in the morning, slipping into some yoga capri's and my grey'/lime asics and pounding the pavement. And it starts out the same way every time; the countless thoughts of regret, trying to work the snooze button on my android phone, thinking maybe today is just not my day or I'll just go around the block. There's yawning, skipping stretches because that's entirely just too much effort, and a bit of swearing (occasionally).

But it always ends the same way too; two laps around the lake, a sprint up a steep hill, a panting dog who collapses on the wood floor, and me, walking straight to the shower.