Chatty-Chatty Self-Self

I love fall. It's a time of new beginnings and fresh starts. The crisp, clean air, the crunch of leaves underfoot, the smell of new notebooks... For the past several years, fall has meant fall race season. I love racing in the fall  more than anything. All summer long, I put in long hours and mile after sweaty mile on the pavement. I burn through running shoes faster than I can make enough money to buy a new pair, and it is all in anticipation of lining up with thousands of like-minded idiots who run in circles so they can live longer. It's a beautiful thing. I love how I get faster when the temperature dips. All of a sudden my legs are lighter, my lungs are bigger and my heart sings with each step.

I hit the trails today with Krystal and for the first 3km, I was flying. I had that sense of jubilation, of freedom that I get with fall running. Then cold, hard science kicked in and said, "Hey jackass. You didn't run at all this summer, so who are you kidding? Here are some cramps and wheezing lungs. Sort it out." We cut our run short and I came back to the hospital.

Like this run, I am starting to struggle. I feel like those first few easy miles are over, and now I have to contend with some ugly stuff. I think a lot of it has to do with the changing seasons. I have not just spent a month in hospital, or even a few months. I have spent an entire season here. That is a lot to swallow. Don't get me wrong; I am happy to hold and comfort my baby girl. Seeing her smile and grow and get better is incredible - it doesn't matter where you are. But selfishly speaking, it is hard on me to be here. I'm not sick, and yet I live in a hospital. I don't have a job, I don't have a home, I don't have a husband half the time and the loss of self is disarming. I feel powerless with a loss of control. I don't decide anything anymore.

I'm not afraid. I have a very good support team of friends and family. I also have the best and brightest second line sitting on the bench, and they are the staff at the hospital. But it is up to me, really. I can fall off the pace and let my head win, or I can put one foot in front of the other and run to the next crossroad. Once I make it there, I can lift my eyes up and pick out another milestone, and set all my energy to reaching that point.

This is a marathon, and distance running is 90% mental and the other 10% is (also) mental.