I’m feeling a little bit lost lately, but I insist on keeping up with my running program for that imaginary marathon I haven’t yet scheduled.  Running has proven to be one of my very best friends in this decade, and I don’t think I can afford to miss the emotional makeover it brings to me every time I lace up my shoes.

My weight has risen dramatically in the past month.  I’m discombobulated.  Happy, but shaken from my comfort zone, the only thing I know I must do is run.

When I was a little girl, I had a soft pink flannel blanket that was my comfort.  As I grew out of the toddler stage, my father thought I was too old to have a security blanket.  He taunted me, ridiculed me, and tortured me by hiding my blanket or by tying it up in a ball of knots that would sometimes take me days to undo.

I want the knots out.  I want my soft blanket with the wet spot that I can rub against my cheek that will make me feel safe and sound. 

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