There are few things in the world, maybe nothing in the world save getting shitass drunk, that makes me forget my woes and worries like hard, physical labor. It's one of the best things about running, I think. Running is never easy. It is invigorating, exhilirating, even sometimes highly emotional, but it is never easy. Just when it starts to be easy, there is another hill, or hip that wants to be babied, or a voice in my head yelling at me because I'm so slow, slow, slow. But that's all that's talking that goes on. The mental bullshittery is suddenly, blissfully, quiet.
I was in the yard today, working fast on borrowed time as Henry napped and Katie was at school and Julia played. It was mindless and repetitive and a little hot. I was still wearing the clothes from my run this morning, and stunk that satisfying stink of exercise and hard work. I knew that I had a hot shower in my near future and a sore back to come later, but it felt so good. I felt so strong and happy, and forgot for awhile all the things that are fighting for space in my head.
I have taken such gross advantage of my good health for most of my life and it is only now, when things are starting to move slower, that I've started to appreciate it.
I am trying hard to work my way out of a mental fog. In less than a week, a major stress will be over, and I'll be able to refocus my time and energies on the things I love - my family, my friends, writing, reading, and a poor, neglected home. It should make for a fantastic blog post, and will mark an item off my list of Thirty-Nine. At the moment, I am mentally tired, but physically exhausted. And that makes it a good day.
2 weeks ago