I got up, at 6am, as promised. Put on my running clothes and my shoes and got out the door before I could think too hard about it. I stepped outside and found myself surrounded by oppressive humidity. Oh well, off I went. The music was in my ear, and the intervals were marking off and I was listening, but I wasn’t really hearing. Nothing was sinking in. I was just on automatic. Switching from running to walking, every few minutes. The music was just background noise. My mind was blank.
It wasn’t until I got in the car to come to work, after getting dressed and hugging my son goodbye (the girl baby likes to sleep in), that the tears started. I was at a stoplight – one that takes forever for some reason, and I pulled up my post from last night. Combined with the song on my iPod, the tears just started falling.
I’ve been listening to this song on almost perpetual repeat recently. I’m one of those people who falls in love with a song and plays it over and over and over until something else strikes me. It’s an old song Annie Lennox, that was covered on The Voice by Michelle Chamuel, and I can’t get this verse out of my head:
“This is the book I never read
These are the words I never said
This is the path I’ll never tread
These are the dreams I’ll dream instead
This is the joy that’s seldom spread
These are the tears…
The tears we shed
This is the fear
This is the dread
These are the contents of my head…”
I realized that it’s not that my mind sometimes goes blank when I run, it’s that the contents of my head all mingle together and create a sort of white noise. And the white noise becomes something that I can push away for awhile, because the cacophony of it all makes it easy to ignore any one thought. And they’re overridden by every step forward because simply keeping forward motion becomes the only thing I can focus on.
Forward motion. The path I’ll never tread, the dreams I’ll dream instead. This is the fear. What does forward motion look like? My friend D said yesterday that there’s a difference between “what if” and regret. I’m still wrapping my mind around the difference. Does giving up TTC lead to regret, or simply a what if? When will I know?
I don’t know when I’ll know. I know that I need to run to make all those thoughts white noise, to diffuse their power over me. I know that. I know it’s what fixes things. And it’s easy to let them roll around in there and keep me from getting motivated and from getting out of bed on those mornings when it’s easier to feel like a failure than it is to do something about it.
It’s time to shake out the contents of my head and replace them.
This is the joy that’s seldom spread…