Friday, June 27, 2014
Tell me that my soul's forgiven.
Slow morning. Rose early, yes. Wrote a short story, yes. Read many pages, yes. I put on my running kit, looked into the mirror and saw someone miserable. My stomach hurt. I did not want to spend the next half hour running. I got back into comfortable clothes, made a second breakfast and sat on the deck and ate and read some more.
Barefoot run: .5 mile
As the morning dragged on, the kids were at cross-purposes with each other, and with me. Said I would fish with the boy, we dug for bait, then the girl wanted to play catch. Her interest soon waned and she was just going to head in and watch the Disney Channel again, so I asked if we could run, right then. I was in my shorts and cotton tee, but really who cares? I know I didn’t.
At the halfway point, she announced she would walk back. She announced she’d never be able to run a marathon. I assured her she would, if she wanted to, but she wasn’t having it. So it begins.
Barefoot run (solo): 1 mile
After the rain, after the big dinner, everyone settled in to watch Zapped (starring Willie Ames and Scott Baio!) and I thought, right. I am supposed to run now, because I can. I suited up, with shoes, and hit the beach. I ran about one hundred yards and just stopped.
It was high tide, the only sand available was soft, it was difficult, and I did not want difficult. I wanted … I wanted a run on the beach, breezy and easy, wind in my face, light and happy. Not bloated and sweaty and difficult.
DID YOU KNOW ..? In the year 2011, I ran less than 70 times. On average, I run at least 120 times a year. The reason should be obvious, I was on antidepressants for most of the calendar year. Being depressed makes me want to run. Those who wish to share scientific documentation which disproves the mental palliative effects of running may keep them, you cannot disprove that running makes me feel happy.
Today, nothing was going to make me happy.
So I took off my shoes, and ran in the surf at top speed for an entire pop song, breathed heavily for a minute, and ran back to another one. I splashed wet sand up my back, dodging around middle aged couples taking a walk and teenagers with Solo cups. Returning to the beach house, I first waded thigh high in the surf.
I remain unhappy, but at least I am satisfied.