I feel really bad about my last post. First of all, who in the hell cares what I eat? Secondly, well, why am I important enough for "I"?
The second question probably needs some explaining. In the past, I've had something to write about... I was training for a race. I was doing something en route to some goal. But now, I really don't feel like I'm doing much of anything.
I run (a little.)
So in the hell what???
Granted, to me it feels pretty f***ing amazing to be able to run miles (even if it's only, say, six of them) after months of not being able to even walk. But, is that amazing to anyone else? Probably not.
Maybe this is a writing problem more than it is an athletic one. Still, I'm filled with guilt and something like "self-loathing" only the feeling isn't phrased in such a PC way.
Why does anything I do matter any more? Why write about it? It's stupid to share the details of my silly, little life.
I'm not great.
I'm not overly fast.
I'm not beautiful.
In the scheme of human history, I'm one of those nameless specs that come and go; the solitary woman who has just a lifetime and nothing more.
And yet; the way I felt today, running those six stupid miles. You'd think I was running them on red carpet or up in the clouds.
HOLY F***ING WOW.
Who knows how long it took me? I mean, I do. I wear a Timex watch. In a way, though, it was timeless. It was what I've always wanted. So much in-my-body I was beyond-my-body. And maybe I just want to share that.
Go hike or walk or play tennis or whatever it is you love.
Do it now.