I got a text message from a friend this morning. It read, You need to do it!! :]
I wasn’t sure what I needed to do, so I texted for clarification.
I admit, I got a little silly. Information technololgy? I texted. Seriously, I’m confused.
No response. Perhaps my computer geek humor wasn’t as clever as I hoped.
I have spent the last forty-five minutes absent-mindedly puttering through my apartment, and wondering what it could be. Is it mail in the warranty to my coffee pot to get a replacement, as I’ve been meaning to do for about a month now? Or perhaps it is put away the clean laundry from the dryer. It could be to finish grading papers. Maybe it is about striving for the job I want. Maybe it is buying that V-neck sweater that is on sale at Express that I really want. I keep sifting through my life, letting my eyes travel over my room, thinking about what I haven’t accomplished that needs to get done.
Of course, I eventually started thinking about running. It could be icing and elevating my ankle, signing up for the half marathon I want to do, signing up for the triathlon, attempting to take a walk, doing crunches, getting an x-ray, going to the pool twice today, having coffee with Tami instead of hiking this morning.
It might be not taking my eye off of the prize, or not letting the injury get to me. Perhaps it it to make a counseling appointment to talk to someone about just how depressed and worthless injury makes me feel, or finding another stress outlet for the next week. Maybe it changes.
If I’ve noticed anything in the last few days, it’s that I am awful at injury. I take it extremely hard, and I mentally destroy myself when it occurs, one of the reasons I seem to loath injury even more than other people. I hate taking a break. I hate resting. I hate the feeling of not moving, of a lack of forward motion. I hate the drop in energy level, the missing endorphins, the pull of the road on my body. And to top it off, my mind takes a toll during physical injury. I start to worry that I may not ever want to run again, that having to stop running for a period of time will make me less interested, less motivated, until it is not something I care to do. The idea that an entire piece of how I identify myself might be obliterated is terrifying.
I think it really is a certificate that I need to award myself with. There will be a gold seal on the bottom in the shape of a sea seal, and a gold border will ebb and flow around the edges. This certificate will be signed by Eleanor Roosevelt, and in swirly handwriting, it will read:
This certificate is valid for: One week of acceptance and enjoyment of any given situation.
To be redeemed in the presence of only the honoree and whomever she chooses to share it with.
And now I know.