I rely on my body to be all the things that my brain cannot:
strong,
reliable,
resilient.
capable.
Able.
This year, however, my brain and body have entered into something of a... detente? easy camaraderie? unsettling partnership? In short- they are in lock step: each injured, abused, spiraling. Each failing in their own ways. Both sets of failures escalating the assault on whatever thin bit of well being I have left.
This year has been hard- unforgiving and unrelenting. Injury after injury after injury have challenged both my commitment to running and my desire to. Which has felt like insult to my actual soul. Running- as much as writing or dwelling, traveling or photographing- has been such a part of me. Such a great part of me:
my coping mechanism,
my mental and physical retreat,
my time,
my recollection,
my quiet sanity,
my silence,
my space.
To not have all that, to have lost all that, has been... my grief.
I am tired of being in pain. I am so so tired of pain- mental and physical. I am tired of feeling out of time and space and self. Tired of discomfort and not feeling like myself. Tired of not knowing what that self is-
or was,
or will be.
Tired of feeling like I have been tried and found wanting. Tired of not knowing when my changing body, brain, hormones, will quit. Will leave me alone. Will allow me again a sense rest and peace and pace.
I. Am. Tired.
