Last year I made a goal that I would write more often and I completely failed in that object. Instead, I fell into deep despair. The thing about despair is that it robs of you of time. Days and weeks slipped by with hardly a memory to be formed. Life was cruel. I watched my efforts and dreams rot before me. I lost a friend who loved me unconditionally and gave me a safe place to have emotions. My life was uprooted again.
So here I am now, starting over, rebuilding, with an uncertain future. Many days are dark and often filled with pervading hopelessness. I am weary of cliches and truisms. These bring no comfort and often cause further decent. I am self-aware of the drain this has placed on my family and on the friends who have chosen to stand by me. They deserve better. So I must race again. I have signed up for Gravel Worlds, 150-mile gravel bike race and I will be signing up this Saturday for the Lincoln marathon.
This spring, I will spend the hours needed training each week. I will savor the process.
I do not race because I am fast. In truth, I am quite slow. I do not race because I am a natural athlete, in fact, I am quite the opposite. I do not race for my figure. Exercise sometimes has the side effect of a reduced size, but not always. I have previously written on this subject.
I race because:
It gives me mental clarity.
My mind is often a muddled place. I am trying to recover from several different past traumas. I am trying to be excellent in my work. I am trying to ask interesting questions. I am trying to be a good friend. I am trying to be a caring wife. I am trying to give my child what she needs. I am trying to perform at an acceptable level knowing I can always get better. My thoughts languish and become molasses. When I run or ride, I have nothing but time and myself. I am draining no one but myself. My thoughts are allowed to ebb and flow. To endure a long session, one must release impending deadlines and focus only on the task at hand. I am free to think and feel. The emotions I have buried come to the surface. I am left to face them and then leave them on the trail. I have the time to have ideas. I have the time to see beauty. I often return with the ability to have fierce concentration. Even though training takes time, I am often more productive.
It gives me a safe identity.
On dark days, I find the deceit involved in polite social interactions tiresome. I struggle to find a safe topic of conversation. I will not talk about politics as it causes too much rage. I rarely engage in pop culture. I am bad a mommy conversation and as a full time working mom with a husband who takes on the caretaking in the household, I often cannot relate. The training involved in distance training gives me something to talk about. I can escape painful questions of my origins and instead discuss the merits of different shoes. I can seem friendly and sociable. I can make friends. Sometimes seemingly shallow talk provides a respite.
It is cheaper than therapy.
This is related to the first point. I know I need professional help to heal. However, this is not something I can do right now. Whether I am getting help or not, I still need to persist. I have to do something to survive. Training doses my brain in endorphins. The time to process brings me closer to better mental health. The cost of entry is the cost of one therapy session. This will give me 8 months of dedicated training and thus 8 months of effective therapy I can afford.
It brings me joy.
I need joy. I need to have happy reasons to wake up. I am so grateful for my husband and my friends. I know these relationships have been emotionally unbalanced as of late. I need to find some exuberance so I can be better friend and wife.
