When you put shit in, you get shit out.
At last, today, it occurred to me that I haven’t been kind to myself over the past month. Two years ago I learned that I only know when I’m stressed or angry or upset are in the ways I express them. Like that I eat junk food whenever I feel stressed. There’s no feeling of stress otherwise. Since August I’ve withdrawn, pushed and punished myself with an unhealthy focused on what I haven’t accomplished.
Take my running. On Thursday I berated myself after I ran five kilometres in only 24:49, because a great time wasn’t good enough. My first logged 5k run last December, I ran 33:51. Ten minutes slower! My first run ever in 2014, 52:01. Thirty minutes slower wasn’t not good enough!
When I was in Galway last week I received some absolutely lovely remarks about how much weight I’ve lost since January. The double take and turn of the head? I got that. But that didn’t matter, because because fuck me, look at the last bit of flab I haven’t shifted yet.
There’s so much good in my life that I forget I have. I find it hard sometimes to see past the glum forever now that my damaged emotions force on me. This morning I let loose a laugh in joy from the bottom of my heart, like a knot undone. There are awesome people in my life, old and new. My son Garrett turns nine tomorrow (🎉). Next Saturday I will run the first half marathon race of my life, a run that I am read for after months of hard training. In two weeks I’ll jet off to Iceland for an awesome outdoor holiday in the land of ice and fire.
Life is good. Life is good.
My plan for the next week is to meditate. Get out of my head, then get back into it in a better way. Cut out the shit food, then show shit people the back of me. Run and run more, run until I get back to a better place.