Running

I had a nightmare the other night.  Hadn't had one in many, many years.  I actually woke up, completely disoriented and covered in sweat, and could not go back to sleep.  I was afraid.  Like heart pounding, irrationally afraid of the dark.

I can't remember exactly what the dream was about.  Something was trying to get me and I was trying to kill it but I didn't know if I could actually kill it or if I should try to reason with it.  Yeah, I'm sure there's some deep-seated meaning to the imagery of this dream.  I honestly don't want to know what the hell it means.

What I do know is that I was all alone that night and maybe that's why I was so scared.  There was no one to laugh at me or tell me that I'd be alright.  There was no one to get me a cookie or hold my hand until my heart quit pounding.  There was no one to play with my hair until I fell back to sleep either.  Instead, I just got out of my bed, burned a little sage, lit a candle, and read for a while.  Eventually I fell back asleep.

So I think this is why I need to run.

I've always been a runner--not a fast runner or a long distance runner.  I like to keep it to 3-4 miles 3-4 days a week.  Until a few years ago at least.  And then I found myself tying my shoes and heading out the door every single day for about an hour.  I suppose I was attempting to run from my sadness.  I was probably trying to use the running as a way to process what was happening in my life.  I'd suggest that I was even trying to run myself figuratively into nothingness but I like to eat too much to actually let that happen.  I think it's just my coping method of choice.  I like how it represents running away without actually, well, running away.  I dated a guy for a while and spent all my free time running--should've been a sign that maybe I should've literally run away that time.

With all that running I did I actually hurt myself and ended up with a string of injuries that prevented my daily running therapy/ritual.  It scared me not to be able to use my representative escape.  I even convinced myself that, like a smoker, it was probably good to see if I could exist without my vice (running and smoking are very different vices--yeah, I know) for a while.  You see, I am quite good at convincing myself of just about anything.  Just about anything.  Remember that.   I healed and started running again but not as much as I had in the previous year.   I didn't need to.  My world was full of kids and work and friends and introspection as I maneuvered through my new life.  I didn't think I needed to figuratively or literally run away anymore.

But then I had that bad dream.

When you use a muscle repeatedly you build and maintain that muscle.  When you stop using the muscle it will atrophy.  Simple physiology.  And then it made sense to me what had happened.  When I stopped running I also stopped being alone.  At least temporarily.  But see, I am alone, so trying to pretend otherwise allowed that reality to atrophy and I lost the strength to be alone.  I need that muscle or whatever the hell it is to get strong again so I don't ever have to feel the way I felt at 2AM.

Self preservation and running are solitary pursuits, best left to the broken hearted.  Or so I'm finding. I have a new pair of shoes,  a new running bra (having boobs that don't enjoy the bouncing), and a mind and heart that don't agree on much but can be easily convinced to run.