I had an odd experience reading about the Olympic trials. When I read that Lauren Fleshman made the final, I was incredibly happy for her. Just when I was saying that I never cry when I'm happy, I read about her triumph, and my eyes well up with tears. For a moment, my heart soared for her and then, almost instantly after, it broke for me. That sounds so selfish, but I felt a pang of regret, not being able to have fulfilled my potential as a runner. The Olympic games were a long shot, but something like racing on the US mountain racing team was within my reach.
I've lost my purpose. I'm trying to find a new one. When something feels so right, it's easier to feel like it's your destiny. I think running, when I was really racing well, was as close to what some must feel is divine inspiration as I will probably ever get. Running Pikes, I even had a sort of connected moment where I felt at one with the universe. It felt as if that was where I was supposed to be, doing what I was supposed to be doing. It's hard to switch gears and move into doing something else. It's that whole letting go thing. Letting go is harder still when there are days like today when I'm at the mercy of my hormones. I'm giving myself a pat on the back for not blowing the day completely off, but, wow, I feel like I've been run over by a freight train. uhhh. Hang on a sec..
Well, we just got notice to be on call to evacuate with all the fires going on around here, so another post will have to be cut short. This one won't even be edited, so it's probably a big mess. Oh well.
Here is something to chew on though: