For a significant chapter of my life, running was my outlet of choice. Pre-dawn, feet making music against the pavement, I would settle into the monotony of a rhythm that swallowed me whole.
I felt both everything and nothing while I was running. Mind lost in thought, it was assumed my body would defy the odds. The more extreme the conditions, the better test of my merit.
Darkness. Coldness. Exhaustion. These were the running partners that challenged my soul.
We are a society that places great pride in resiliency, a badge that has only gained more clout as we emerge from a global pandemic where we’ve applauded with much fanfare people’s ability to hold on. Yet what’s missing is real dialogue about what is at stake when we’re encouraging people to ignore their instincts to move on all in the name of the pursuit of seeing things through.
The litany of “what ifs” has run the gamut throughout the past year – literally 365 days of living on repeat, holding our breath for more of the same while simultaneously waiting for the next germ-filled bomb to drop. We’ve disguised our discomfort with nervous laughter about the predictability of comfy pants, failed homeschooling attempts, and copious amounts of alcohol consumed.
Yet beneath it all, our insides are rattled as we wonder, when will this all be done?
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