My run left me completely spent yesterday.  Whenever my schedule says “at race pace” my head starts running the show, and my body struggles to ignore those crazy thoughts of mine that tell me I can’t do it. 
At least a dozen times during the 6-mile sorta-long run I was ready to give up.  I was ready to take it down to a slow jog.  Hell, I was ready to walk.  I was ready to hitch-hike my way back home if I needed to.  But my legs just kept moving.  
My lungs burned.  My shoulders ached.  I had stitches in my side.  My breathing was shallow and labored.  The wind was biting and the roads were slippery and challenging.  One very kind motorist left me covered in a nice layer of icy slush, after which I appropriately thanked him with my middle finger. 
And when I got home, I checked my Garmin and discovered I made my race pace after all.  My mood shifted and I felt proud and happy.  And slowly, exhaustion set in.
I fell asleep in my chair in front of the fire while watching television with the kids.  That’s rare.  I slept hard, then went to bed early.  I woke up at 6:30, wide awake, then felt another wave of exhaustion and slept for another 3 hours, dreaming very strange dreams about being naked at work and being pregnant at my age.  Crazy shit.  I’m sure it probably means something, but I really don’t care.  
I’m conflicted.
I’m probably loyal to a fault.  I don’t like to quit.  My stubbornness and sheer determination are gifts when it comes to my running goals, but kind of a curse in the real world.  
How do you know when it’s time to move on?  How do you know when it’s time to let go of a goal and when you should apply the wise words of Churchill and never, ever, ever give up?  Does it even matter?  Or will any choice I make take me to some predetermined destination that the Universe is preparing for me as I write?
And if it is indeed time to give up, what do I give up on, exactly?  My goal?  My method to achieve that goal?  Or do I simply give up on the people who disappoint me?  
The consequences are severe – truly.  Is this one of those identifying moments when I’m making a choice from a place of Fear?  How do I bring myself back into Love and choose from there?
My white flagpole is extremely heavy.  As strong as I feel, it’s hard for me to lift it up, much less wave it.
Sigh… I think a long, slow run is in order.

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