On the expectations of others

My looming fear of letting go is not fueled by the uncertainty of what is below, but by my consistent belief that someone is holding on to me.

to the floor

I’ve taken out my contacts because remember that extended period of time during high school when I would sleep in them but they weren’t supposed to be worn all the time and my optometrist lectured me well OK she only said maybe one sentence about how it was bad for my eyes plus it’s uncomfortable anyways. Now I’ll pull off my shirt cross-armed at the base instead of by the collar because the collar gets stretched that way and that’s the way the attractive men with girlfriends do it in the movies it’s kind of warm and I can never fall asleep when I’m hot so just boxers will do good god I’m hairy maybe I should do something about that no that’s so superficial and ludicrous I should be happy with every facet of myself OK where do I put my shirt?

I don’t feel comfortable folding it it’s been worn and probably has unscented deodorant I don’t want to have too many conflicting smells on me because I read in a magazine that it was bad to have too many smells on you and plus it’s been stretched out a bit with the collar and everything I can’t just put it with the other clean stuff it’s not really clean. Relegating it to the “dirty” bin this early in its newly washed life seems like such a waste plus I’ll probably wear it again before the next wash and I don’t want it touching my gym clothes that I’ll probably wear again before washing regardless but it would be gross to have them together but I don’t want to fold it because it’s not really clean because the collar is a little stretched and smells a bit of my cologne man I can’t remember the name of the guy in the ads for my cologne but I wanna be like him he was awesome in that movie to the floor it goes.

Transition

During practice last week, I made the decision to run my last three intervals—one thousand meters each—completely barefoot. My feet felt like they were slipping around within my flats as I was making the turns on the banked, indoor track so I stripped them off to complete my workout.

It felt fine, even better to run my intervals shoeless and my times didn’t suffer for it. What I discovered when I crossed the line after my last one, though, was that I had an exposed blister the size of a watch face on my left foot as a result. I wrapped it, ran my cooldown and went home.

I couldn’t put proper weight on it for over a week.

Did this stop me from trying to run? Of course not. The very next day I ran an easy 70 minutes, each step trying my best not to compensate or alter my gate as that could lead to another injury. It was painful as hell, but I got my run in. The next day I even tried to complete a fast session on the track (in shoes this time) but was in so much pain I had to stop in the middle. I finally relented after that track workout and decided I would simply bike until it healed. I hate the stationary bike, so that lasted all of one day. My place reeked of NewSkin with bandage wrappers littering my coffee table as I walked on my heals at home, limping like Dr. House at work.

It took about a week for me to be able to walk normally again. The second I was able to, though, I was psyched to lace up the shoes and go for a relaxing hour and a half around my hometown. The weather was perfect, I didn’t feel any pain and equilibrium was restored. Then came Christmas day.

For whatever reason, the day was so busy that I couldn’t manage to get a run in. When I finally realized that a run wasn’t going to be possible for the day, I went into full-blown withdrawal, got extremely depressed and grasped for a free minute alone. I sat at the edge of my bed, unable to write, debilitated and close to tears. For what? Because I couldn’t run that day? It was Christmas and I was almost crying because I couldn’t exercise. The concept seems remarkably absurd, but a competitive runner (or an obsessive compulsive like myself) rarely works within the realm of rationality when it comes to these types of things.

Without getting into the discussion (or admission, for that matter) of exercise addiction, the perils of overstretching oneself or the negative effects it’s had on my relationships, the short conclusion is that the energy that I’ve normally spent on running will now be more broadly dispersed throughout my life. I’d like to gain some weight back, learn guitar, write more, cultivate my relationships instead of blindingly relying on them only when needed. Balance my life. Running will always be a part of who I am and I don’t expect to forego jaunts with friends through the park or solo time to think as I maneuver the construction along the west side, but for now I’m clearing some space to be filled with some new addictions to be passionate about.