The Scribbler

6 May 2010

A walk in the rain

Filed under: run,words — The Scribbler @ 18:37
Tags: ,

Itching to run or itching to write? I can no longer differentiate the source of the scratch.

Or maybe it’s just a longing for connection. For in both seemingly solitary pursuits I find connections to myself, to my thoughts, to the things I do not even whisper outside my own head.

I could just run. Just write. Neither fleeter nor further. Without ambition or focus. Just do it. And that sounds good. And it will be part of it. But is that all? Would I really be happy with that?

My running goals have pushed me, frustrated me, added to the mess in my head, and taken it away in equal measure. But nothing great is easy. And, not so secretly, I relish the challenge.

That’s why there’s a small grey demon, shivering in my mind next to my last race. Because I didn’t really push it. I didn’t focus. I didn’t really make it hurt. So what could I do if I did?

Part of me thinks these goals are arbitrary, meaningless. I mean we’re not talking world records here. Just a given value of good.

Mentally I’ve already shifted. The 10k’s bust because I didn’t do it at the race that fitted the film script. And once again the half marathon takes focus.

Maybe it’s marathon fever. I certainly hang around in the right places to become infected. But I’ve had that conversation with myself and others and the answer is still, ‘Wait and see.’

So I deny the demon. Refuse its existence. Talk about being balanced and enjoying it and feeling comfortable with my run. And that’s partly true.

But if not now, then when? When will I push it? When will I really try? When will it feel uncomfortable but fantastic?

The answer is next time. Next time I’ll get angry. Next time I’ll run red hot, desperate and determined and watch that demon burn.

In the green drizzle I slow to the pace of the raindrops on blades of grass or the whorls of a snail shell. My grey demon does not follow me back.

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