9 miles, 1:44 (super, super slow)
I did something today on my 9-mile run that I have only done one other time in my running life.
I burst into tears.
Running, and long runs in particular, usually provides this magical space in time in my life, where my mind wanders as I beat down the path. I think about the sound of my heart pounding, my lungs screaming. Sometimes Dary and I try to solve the world’s problems. If only we were in charge.
But occasionally, the rhythm of my footsteps clears my mind, gentlying pushing everything off to the side, until I am left with one thought. One problem; whatever problem has been vexing me. My mind twists and turns the problem around, tossing it up and down, slamming it into the ground, giving me a chance to see it from angles I’d not thought of before.
The last time I broke down during the run was just this past year, at a half marathon in which I finally found myself alone and at peace after 3 days of nonstop stress, torment, unhappiness, and general toxicity thanks to the gal I’d planned the trip with. We were together day and night until the race started; she’s much slower, and I didn’t feel like staying back with her, not the way she was complaining about everything under the sun. And about mid-way through that race, when I finally found my peace, my mind was quiet, my legs were strong, all of a sudden a burst into tears. Why? I still don’t know. If I had to be completely honest, I think I realized that the closer I got to the finish, the closer I got to resuming my time with her, and I really dreaded the thought, the way you dread spending time with toxic relatives or co-workers. I was so happy to be on my own, doing what I loved (running), in the place I loved (DisneyWorld), and I knew as soon as she finished, it would be hours and hours of angry negativity until we parted ways at the airport the next day. I thought about my family; this was the second time I’d ever traveled without them, and I missed them desperately. I regretted ever getting talked into this trip, I regretted trusting my friend who, in reality, is a very negative person, to be open to having a good time during this trip; this was DisneyWorld after all. The dread, the anger, the fear, the sorry, the longing for my kids, my husband, it all burst out of me like lava exploding from a volcano, only instead of molten lava, it was hot tears streaming down my face.
Today was different. It wasn’t so much a burst of tears as it was a slow, steady stream of tears followed by quiet sobbing that grew louder and louder.
The problem today was that it became jarringly clear to me during that run that I’ve been tolerating behavior that I find abhorrent: petty jealousy and spiteful gossip fueled primarily by boredom, a lack of compassion, and issues that should have been resolve in childhood. And even worse, I’ve welcomed it; in trying to be open minded and open hearted, I’ve inadvertently sent a message that such behavior is acceptable to me.
And what pushed it over the edge for me? Simple; it’s one thing to treat me like crap; it’s another thing to treat someone I care about that way. But recently that’s just what happened, and I just sat there and watched it happen. I’ve been conditioned to keep my mouth shut and watch while people behave with total disregard for others’ feelings.
In fact, I sobbed for nearly a mile, and I’m sure I was quite the sight to behold: legs flying, arms pumping, tears streaming, face red and twisted. Dary finally had me stop, step aside, and compose myself. “Someone’s going to think you are in distress,” he said quietly. Really? No shit. I AM in distress. But I didn’t lash out at him; it wasn’t his fault.
I’d like to say that crying like a baby during my long run made all my problems go away. But of course it didn’t. But I’m grateful that I had an opportunity to really let loose, let the tears fly, and sob like a blubbering idiot far, far away from my house where really, nobody could see or hear me. By the time we got close to home, my tears were dry, and that horrible knot in my stomach was not as tight. I was still angry and frustrated, but I felt that much of it had been released, left on the streets.
I’m also grateful that I don’t have worse problems in my life, ones that my compell me to cry every time I run.
Mostly I’m grateful to have running in my life; it has served me so many purposes, including catharsis.
