Runners' High

Patience is not something I do easily. Especially with myself.


I call myself a space cadet a lot. I'll be in the middle of something and my mind will wander off. I have to work very hard to concentrate sometimes.

I don't have ADD. I have a hard time living in the moment. Most people do, I think. They've got their mind on tomorrow's project, or next weeks trip, or whatever, so they're thinking about that, and not living in what's going on right now.

I've always done that. Lived for tomorrow. Lately, I'm trying to do everything differently. EVERYTHING.

I used to be a runner. I would run from unpleasant feelings, situations, painful things, things I didn't want to deal with, annoying stuff.

Yesterday I caught myself doing that again. Well, thinking about doing it anyway. The urge was incredible. I don't think I remember feeling that way for quite a while. And I don't think I ever remember FEELING the urge that strongly, because I usually wouldn't sit still long enough to let it get that bad. This time I let it get that bad. I knew I needed to. In this case, running would have merely entailed a phone call and a short wait. I've run further. But I knew the ease in this case meant running was the wrong decision. So I sat. And I didn't do what I've done many times before. And it was REALLY uncomfortable.

I'm an actual runner too, or I used to be. I still run occasionally. And I usually do it for way too long, because I'll keep going "Just a little further, a little further," and I'll hit that "wall" they talk about. Then you get the strain on your body gets to the point where the endorphins get released and you feel amazing.

I hit the wall. The wall was crying. And self talk. I've noticed lately that my inner "Suck it up, mama" voice sounds like a one of those retired gangsters that helps kids get off the street. It's actually pretty hilarious considering I'm a Southern white girl. But I grew up in the hood (my mom hates it when I say that, IT'S TRUE MOM. How many times did that gas station in our back yard get robbed in the 10 years we lived there? At least once a month) which is to say the inner city, I did. So who knows. ANYWAY.

I didn't move. Literally, I forced myself to sit exactly where I was. I thought about literally running. Nixed that idea. I thought about making that phone call. A lot. Knew it was a selfish impulse, nixed it. Thought about making that other phone call. Knew it wasn't selfish. Knew it was wrong otherwise, though. Nixed. Thought about calling my mom. She's having an awesome weekend, you guys, her book just got published. Didn't want to fuck it up. Nixed.

I didn't do anything. I stared at my hands for what seemed like forever. And suddenly, the pain was gone. Vanished. And I could move again. There was almost absurd serenity. I laughed. And I think I said "Huh," sort of incredulously. Rather anti-climactic considering...

I understood the term "sit with it" for the first time. Which is...uh, rather hard to admit, considering how many times I've advised people to do the same. Maybe "squirm with it" is better terminology, it was definitely squirm-inducing.

But as long as you don't wiggle out of it, that's probably par for the course, and that crazy peace is at the end.

The feeling is back today. The urge to run...but I think I'm going for a walk instead. And I'll be keeping those promises to myself.

"I've got a dead bolt stroll, where I'm going is clear. I won't wait for you to wonder. I'll just tell you why I'm here."