The fear of failure re: half marathon.
The looking forward to vegging out and feeling healthier (oxymoronic though that may seem).
The long distance that I hoped to close – and the potential for things to go spectacularly wrong.
I didn’t fail. I completed the half marathon in < 2 hours. 1:49:55, to be exact. Position #553, and 50th female across the line.
So that was one thing.
I have barely exercised since (unless ascending & descending 102+ stairs every day counts), but plan to change that (gradually) starting soon, as I still feel the same as before.
I closed the distance. I got a job in the city (bleh, the city), and moved in with Him. Unfortunately the job contract is temporary, ending Christmas. Fortunately I have interviews for more permanent ones coming up, and a decent chance of being kept where I am if those don’t go well.
‘Bleh, city’ has been basically the only downside in all of this so far. There have been no catastrophic fuck-ups yet. Ok so I don’t really feel like my work (Social Research) can ever contribute more than 0.00000000000001% to anything that really matters in this world, but hey; I’m not dead yet. I’m not even old, yet. I’m not even not-that-young, yet.
Here is a photo of myself and my brother in the garden back home, wearing our medals and t-shirts and pretending to be cool a couple of hours after the race;
Hope you guys are all good :)
To feel better.
I’d go and try to make that happen, but I’m too scared. Of being patronised, ridiculed, dismissed. All of which it would probably only be right to have done to me; I’m pretty sure this whole thing’s nothing. I hope this whole thing’s nothing.
(Who knew nothing could feel so… Who knew nothing could feel, so?)
Get more sleep, they’ll say.
Make my mind stop, I’ll say.
Make whatever is running through my veins, lingering, aching everywhere between head and heart; that frantic sick feeling charging me with more energy than I can bear but at the same time somehow leaving me with barely enough to do the things I have to (need to, want to) do,
just go away. Go, and stay away.
Except I won’t say that. Because that’s all kinds of f***ing ridiculous, isn’t it.
It’s called life, Sweetheart. Get over it.
(Sorry. I’ll regret this).
…I prob’ly think this song is about me.
I bought an outfit today, for tomorrow’s night out.
(For which, by the way, I utterly cannot wait).
Somehow, this and other aspects of today have made me immensely happy.
Other aspects being;
Spending some time with my lovely housemate, who allowed me to drag her around every shop at monks cross (twice) and helped me choose clothes, and made me buy suspender tights (about which, by the way, I am still not convinced),
Signing myself up to write an article for a Uni Newspaper,
Reading a whole (admittedly short) book to help with my dissertation, and (most of all)
All in all I feel it has been a successful day.
I don’t care what you think. (Unless, of course, you’d like to vote yes or no to the hooker tights).
I think I’ll stop there, before I have a confidence crisis and delete this whole thing.
I think I’m beginning to like Mondays.