The other day I was driving down the road that leads to my parent's house in Roswell and I saw Poodle Man. I almost didn't recognize him since he wasn't with Poodle but was with Indeterminable Breed of Dog(for short I will call him Tan Dog). Admirably, Tan Dog was leashed. So different from the Poodle days... Poodle Man waved and I noted that he was even slower than he use to be but there he was, still out there putting on foot in front of the other.
Seeing him reminded me of that blog post I wrote nearly four years ago and when I got home I reread it. And there it was: six minutes and fifty-nine seconds. A one mile personal best. . .
Fast forward nearly four years later: The past six months have in particular been a bit torturous for me. I've been trapped in the real life "valley of darkness" as Steph and I say--referring to the low point one always experiences in any long endurance event. You know you will have your turn there and you have to get yourself through it. And if you've ever been with me in a race and seen me in throes of the valley of darkness then you know I like to be left alone.
But this turn in the real life valley of darkness has just been too long. It has been riddled with injury after injury (ITBS, ankle tendonitis), sickness (pluerisy, bronchitis, asthma and a MRSA infection under my eye), a do not start (Mystery Mountain Marathon), a shameful do not finish (the Atlanta Marathon at mile 17) and just some personal minutiae that individually isn't so terrible but poo piled up on poo? Well, the stench will near cripple you.
So yeah, I've been pitiful and feeling sorry for myself and haven't been writing because I personally don't appreciate listening to those type of people much less being one of them. I have long said that I think one of the best traits a person can have is the ability to laugh at themselves. But I found, quite unhappily, that I was no longer able to laugh at myself and well, I didn't want anyone to know. Besides, why write about what I myself didn't want to read?
I have been told that I'm kind of funny. And really, next to being called skinny, I think that is the best compliment ever. I love being funny and making people laugh. I mean, really, what's better than spreading joy? But all that stacked up poo? It has eaten away at me and I have definitely lost my sense of humor. I found I could no longer fake it. It was too hard to pretend the light, the funny and the witty when I absolutely haven't been feeling it. So I quit blogging.
But I have really, really missed blogging. I compose blog posts in my head all day long yet for some reason can never bring myself to actually write them. Scared that stinky poo would find itself in and I would, possibly, reveal too much (not sure I believe that). Maybe I've been scared that I've lost "it" or, worse, that I never had "it" and really, after all, I am not that interesting or even all that funny (little more likely). I suppose it doesn't matter what the precise reason was why I wasn't, couldn't blog I just know that I wasn't up for facing any more poo when I was already down. I just couldn't be the Bob Mould of blogging. (No offense to Mr. Mould. I am a huge fan. Just not so much into the dark writing myself these days.)
I have decided though; fuck it. I don't care if it sucks. I am not going to care if I am not funny, not witty, not interesting because I am still here. I am still, like Poodle Man, putting one foot in front of the other. So, I might be a little less bright, a little slower but you know what? Even my crappy 5k a month ago (en costume, no less)was at a six fifty EIGHT average pace and that is still better than I was 4 years ago. And well, I know it ain't much but it is just enough to inspire me to keep on keeping on with it all.