Therapy

The alarm cut through the early morning, surprising me. Most mornings I quietly snapped it off at least 30 minutes before, but today my body was heavy and my mind tangled and full. The quiet click silenced the beeping and my body rolled out of bed. If I let my mind think I would lose the battle and not get up. I didn't want to face the day, the knots ensnaring my brain and bogging down my thoughts had generously shared their tension with the rest of my body. Discipline had to kick in.

The routine of getting ready was helpful, but I still felt detached and heavy. My mind had become so snarled that stress kept racing through, tightening kinks and adding confusion. In this state I was vulnerable and felt it as I laced up my shoes. The cellar door was open and negative comments, that had been buried, wandered up adding fuel to the mess. The snarky comments about my running added pounds to what was already present; it ruins your knees, you have so much more time for something like that because your children are older, I wish I had the kind of time you must have to be able to run, why would you even want to do that. . . Feeling weak, those silly comments swirl around fighting my decision to be up. Discipline prods me forward.

With a quiet word to Jim, I throw on my hat and gloves and am out the door. It is a struggle from the beginning. My legs are lead, my heart is heavy and my mind is an endless mass of confusion. Within the first block the desire to stop is almost overpowering. Tears fight their way to the surface and sit poised on my lashes. I never cry and the depth of this emotion stuns me. My mind is exhausted and prompts internal discussions to turn back. Thankfully the intimacy of the dark gathers me. The solitude speaks quietly to the snarls and the stars wink their understanding. I need this morning's run as much as I need the air to breathe.

A song fills my ears and it seems the music has heard the needs of my heart. I listen and search for my rhythm. It is missing, but I press on, gauging my time by the number of songs that play. My pace seems slower, saddening my heart, but seeming to be consistent with the weight of my mind. I press on. Today my furry little friends seem to know that I need a solitary run and have stayed tucked into their burrows. Finally, the steady beat of my feet on the road begins to eat away at the sadness and worry in my soul. Fluidity graces my rhythm as the tangles and knots, taut with frustration, lack of understanding, pain and fear begin to move. The coils are tight and it is difficult, but I begin to process.

I begin the painstaking process of unraveling, trying to understand or at least accept enough to minimize raw emotion. The internal conversations ride my thoughts, sliding in and through, loosening snarls and untying knots. The weight begins to slide down through my shoulders, gravity pulling, leaving negative energy puddles with each footstrike on the ground. My open conversation continues mile after mile until the worst of the mess has been sorted through. My legs no longer feel encased in lead and my heart is lighter. The chatter has stopped.

Music surges and I move from just listening to the song, to feeling the music. Realizing how active my mind was for the first part of my run, allows me to appreciate the silence. I feel an openness to hear what I need to hear. My body feels better and is releasing the burden that smothered it at the beginning. As if re-awakening I look around, appreciating those as tied to routine as I am at such an early hour. Familiar cars drive by, the steady blink of the traffic lights keep time and each upheaval in the sidewalk reaches up as if grasping for a friend.

The run is helping and I feel lighter heading into the final mile of eight. My legs are stronger, my breathing is even and my emotions are under control. Although problems weren't resolved I am better equipped to manage each situation objectively. I push the final half mile, savoring the rhythm of my shoes on the road, the music dancing through my veins and the heat of my body contrasting the cold of the morning air. The final 400 meters, I dig in, my stride opens up and my arms pump. Any remaining weight falls off, crashing on the street like the boulders off a sheer cliff. I stride over the worry and pain, finishing under glow of the street light.

My breathing calms back to normal and I slowly walk into the house. Checking my stats, my pace was good, as are my mind and body. Nothing was solved, but the stress and worry was released. Today I will work through each problem or situation proactively. Decisions will be made that are not fraught with irrational thoughts and raw emotion.

I feel better.  I am better. I am thankful for the quiet, the solitude and the therapy of my run!