At 4:30 am I quickly killed my alarm and rolled over. Mac had been up later than we wanted. Kel works this morning, one of two days a week we decided would be good for her to get out of the house and talk to some adults that aren't me. It was go now or don't go at all. The latter choice has dominated the last year of my existence. The bed was warm and the old struggle ensued for another ten minutes. Finally, I scolded myself and rolled out of bed. I had already lain out my run clothes the night before. An XL neon orange sweatshirt I purchased at Wal-Mart last evening. If I'm going to have to purchase bigger clothes I'm not spending North Face money on them. I laced up, hit the start button on my watch and padded up the driveway and down the hill for old faithful, my 5 mile loop. I had run three last evening and I was sore. I immediately became angry. How did I let this happen? Three miles on flat ground hadn't made me sore since 2011. I have run 50 miles and then done a fairly fast 10k the following morning. I've run 70 miles through the Laurel Highlands. I've run 100 miles in three consecutive loops. I'm an ultra runner for fuck sake. Not today. Not now.
I want to blame everything else but myself. As I plodded up the bike path I thought about my chosen career. I thought about my new son and the "stress" of raising a child. I thought about turning 30 and the biological changes that come with it. My family history of obesity. Anything but me. This ain't that.
I started writing this two days ago and was so angry with my current condition I since deleted three paragraphs worth of worthless complaining and blame gaming. I routinely counsel people on how it was their own decisions that lead them to be sitting, cuffed and uncomfortable, in the rear of a state owned vehicle. I'm them and they're me; no one wants to own their mistakes.
I have willfully and wantonly eaten myself into oblivion the past year or so. The same thing that I literally ran away from starting ten years ago I have welcomed back with open mouth. I pretended I didn't see the weight stacking up and my clothes getting tight. I thought, "Meh, I can get this off pretty quick". Now I'm scared I won't.
Enough with the complaining, it's time to lace up and get back at it. After, that is, I get to spend my day with a diapered little boy cruising around in his plastic walker. I have plans for us, I can't wait to take him on runs in his second hand BOB stroller. I can, however, wait for him to take that baby fat off his legs and run with me. He's beautiful and he's sweet and he can't talk back yet. I'm in no hurry to push him into the realm of self consciousness. He's started to really note his surroundings and grab for my coffee cups I lazily left on the coffee table. He's currently making fart noises with his mouth and grabbing for the dogs' ears. I can handle this for a while, even if I can barely handle myself.
Even with my current state of medical obesity, I am happy. Even if it's going to be one horrible struggle to get ready for Eastern States, I've had an incredible thirty years so far.
Everything is in flux, or so I learned in school. Heraclitus was and continues to be correct. Just as the same river can never be touched twice, neither can the same trail. The same thought is always skewed by new experiences and outside sources.
Take it easy, right? Relax, and don't overthink it. Just run. My state of flux has reach crescendo. Thankfully, the ancient observation is true. I can change, I can fix this.
I want to blame everything else but myself. As I plodded up the bike path I thought about my chosen career. I thought about my new son and the "stress" of raising a child. I thought about turning 30 and the biological changes that come with it. My family history of obesity. Anything but me. This ain't that.
I started writing this two days ago and was so angry with my current condition I since deleted three paragraphs worth of worthless complaining and blame gaming. I routinely counsel people on how it was their own decisions that lead them to be sitting, cuffed and uncomfortable, in the rear of a state owned vehicle. I'm them and they're me; no one wants to own their mistakes.
I have willfully and wantonly eaten myself into oblivion the past year or so. The same thing that I literally ran away from starting ten years ago I have welcomed back with open mouth. I pretended I didn't see the weight stacking up and my clothes getting tight. I thought, "Meh, I can get this off pretty quick". Now I'm scared I won't.
Enough with the complaining, it's time to lace up and get back at it. After, that is, I get to spend my day with a diapered little boy cruising around in his plastic walker. I have plans for us, I can't wait to take him on runs in his second hand BOB stroller. I can, however, wait for him to take that baby fat off his legs and run with me. He's beautiful and he's sweet and he can't talk back yet. I'm in no hurry to push him into the realm of self consciousness. He's started to really note his surroundings and grab for my coffee cups I lazily left on the coffee table. He's currently making fart noises with his mouth and grabbing for the dogs' ears. I can handle this for a while, even if I can barely handle myself.
Even with my current state of medical obesity, I am happy. Even if it's going to be one horrible struggle to get ready for Eastern States, I've had an incredible thirty years so far.
Everything is in flux, or so I learned in school. Heraclitus was and continues to be correct. Just as the same river can never be touched twice, neither can the same trail. The same thought is always skewed by new experiences and outside sources.
Take it easy, right? Relax, and don't overthink it. Just run. My state of flux has reach crescendo. Thankfully, the ancient observation is true. I can change, I can fix this.
