My thoughts remain focused and border on obsessive; my attempts to distract myself are futile. A solid week without a run leaves me vulnerable and a little stir-crazy.
What else is there to think of, besides that which brings me joy?
It’s a fever that makes me sweat and brings swirling fantasies that dance through my head even as it drags me in and out of consciousness. Yet in both states of mind, I am equally happy.
It’s so big that it’s frightening sometimes, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I was unprepared for this – so comfortable was I with my nagging miseries and my broken fairy tales, I never thought I would ever receive such a beautiful gift at this stage of the game. And even as it was given to me, I did not imagine the impact it was to have on my life. I couldn’t have dreamed it.
Running is teaching me to live and love in the moment, for that is all there is. The mile behind me is a memory tainted with my point of view, and the mile ahead has not yet come to life. This moment is where joy and Love exist. This moment finds my heart beating and my lungs breathing. I move forward with one foot in front of the other – sometimes consciously, and sometimes on autopilot. Everything else just takes care of itself. I simply move along on the path. My experience is based on my perspective. Will I run angry or run happy?
While I’m usually tempted to analyze the hell out of everything and everyone around me (most of all myself), in this, I do not. In this, I cannot. There is no rhyme or reason. There is no lofty explanation or vocabulary to describe it. It simply is.
I love the butterflies.