I kept a half-ass blog since Taia was born. It was never intended to be shared publicly. I wrote because I needed to get my awful feelings outside myself. I suffered from postpartum depression and found nothing that could ease the bitternes and the loneliness - so I wrote.
Mind you, the things I wrote will never shared with my daughter. I may reconsider when she's thirtysomething and has a child or children of her own. It's really dark and hurtful and I can't even bring myself to revisit those entries. I'm just grateful that those days are over. I'm also thankful that I learned to love. It might be a weird strain of love, but it's my love and only way I know how to make this relationship work.
When my thoughts and feelings moved away from the dreaded truth, sarcastic "why me?" tone, I stopped writing. It was as if my therapy was over and I pulled myself into the light of motherhood. I was no longer at risk for dropping my child off on someone's doorstep or floating her down the river without a note. I admitted to liking and caring for my baby, and *gasp* loving my new Honda Odyssey. I lost my edge and I had no reason to write.
Running definitely helped me out of that depression and I credit running to saving my life.
A couple friends from my online running (moms) group encouraged me to write race reports after a few big races. It was a way they could be part of the experience and share in my successes, as well as pick me up after my not-so-grand moments. It was always surprising how interested they were and how close we became through storytelling. I began a new blog, (this one, also private), and copied those race reports here so I could keep them together.
As time passed, I appreciated going back and reading my race reports because without them, those races would be reduced to a few photos and a chip time. I hate to admit it in some circles, but I throw away the bibs, reuse the safety pins, donate all my old running shoes and 95% of my race shirts, and let Taia play with all the medals. Her favorite is the finisher's medal from the Chicago Marathon, and whenever I see that medal (almost everyday), I remember it as the heart-breaker-marathon.
I made the blog public after Leadville because it was a story worth sharing. But once I went public, I couldn't go back. I felt obligated to continue to run and write.
It's been a really long time since I've run and I feel even more guilty.
I've put on 5 lbs so far and I'm not impressed. I'm inconsolable. I am used to fluctuating a few pounds here or there, even on a daily basis, and usually, it's no big deal. Today, it is a big deal. I don't know what it's like to not exercise - meaning run, as in train for a marathon or two a year. Just as important, I don't know what it's like to not eat like I'm training for a marathon.
I feel like those sedentary people who have all the excuses: I'm in too much pain. The epidural didn't work. The doctor told me not to run, spin, yoga, swim, lift weights, not even my prescribed physical therapy exercises. Running hurts more than it helps. It's too cold and dark outside. The medicines makes me tired. There are so many sweets in the house. She hates the gym daycare. I hate the treadmill. It would take me two-and-a-half hours to walk just ten miles and I don't have that kind of time. I'm stressed out about the holidays. I've never been on a diet...
I don't want to be this person who makes excuses. I want to be the problem solver.
Not being able to run has taken away more than my fitness. Being a social runner, not running leaves me feeling isolated. Being a run-for-therapy runner, not running makes me a raging bitch. Being a stroller-pushing mother, not running gives us one less activity and way more time to annoy one another. Being an outdoor runner, not running during this season gives me cabin fever. Being a goal-oriented person, not having a goal makes me feel lost and unchallenged.
I've been silent for so long because I'm searching for myself within this broken runner. This isn't an entry of my downfall. In the grand scheme of Jody-Meltdowns, this is nothing. Trust me.
I will survive, regardless of if and when I can run again. I am just describing the feeling I have every time I see my last blog entry - a DNF with no happy photo to accompany the final race report of the year.
I must find balance. I will write again when I find it.
Happy Running to all that get to run into the New Year!
