There is a scene in Labyrinth when Sarah wants to give up. She forgets why she is chasing through the maze. She loses her sense of purpose and is feeling sorry for herself. A muppet comes out from the junkyard, carrying all kinds of ridiculous baggage and coos Sarah back to bed. The muppet pats Sarah into bed, agreeing that really Sarah just needs to sleep, lie down, give up. And Sarah wants this. She wants to be told that she has tried her hardest and not only is it okay for her to stop but it is the right thing to do. More shouldn’t be expected of her.
This pretty much describes how I have been feeling for the last two weeks or so. I have worked hard all summer. I have tried my best. The race was cancelled. I should just give it a rest. What’s the point anyway? Somehow my purpose has become skewed, my vision cloudy. And I wanted someone to give me permission to hang back, to go easier. Because it has become so hard, and I am scared. And I am so stinking tired all of the time. I don’t know what I am doing, and I wonder if I am doing it all wrong. It’s not like I’m a real runner or a real athlete.
And life is changing. My son is in high school, my body is throwing me curve ball after curve ball. I can’t plan for tomorrow let alone a few weeks out. My house is a mess, my calendar is full and I am struggling.
But Sarah gets up. And I know why. She gets up because the sluggish feeling of sleep and lack of purpose is so much worse than being tired and afraid. She gets up because she knows that if she doesn’t her little brother will be lost to the the Goblin King. (Seriously, it’s a great movie.) She gets up because she can. And so can I.
I’m not in danger of losing my little brother to the Goblin King. But I have lost my sense of purpose to vanity. Running and biking in the gym have morphed into calorie burn and not distance or speed. It is the only way I can tell how hard I am working. Okay, not true. It is fear that I will put on weight. Shit, back to that. My clothes fit, people tell me I look thin. I like that, I hate that. I don’t want to talk about the way I look, it is too easy for that to become the goal and not a side effect.
But hey admission is the first step to recovery. Poor me, I have to work for a living and fit in working out like the rest of world. Poor me, I have a loving, supportive, beautiful, amazing family that expects to be fed. Poor me, I need to pay the bills. (well, okay, I’m keeping that one!) Poor me, I have a home in the suburbs and I have to clean it. Poor me, I run six and a half miles and it makes me tired. Poor me, I have made it to the point of life changes. Wah! Wah! DAMN!!! My life sucks! (sarcasm.)
Okay, enough of that shit. I’m up.