I don’t enjoying running. When I do run, I must listen to music. Must.
This weekend my iPhone ran out of juice, 2.5 miles into a 5 mile run. I considered stopping and hitchhiking home. (Seriously)
Instead, I reluctantly continued the run home. Momentarily, I embraced the sound of chirping birds, the whisper of the wind, and the rhythmic beating of my sneaker soles on the concrete was somewhat soothing. Only, momentarily.
Then, I realized why I run with music. It wasn’t for the motivation or the rhythmic pace, as I might have contended moments before.
When I run, I’m face to face with my mind. No electronics, no television, no conversations – nothing. Mano y mano. Nowhere to hide, my friend. This is what I heard:
“You’re such an idiot, why didn’t you charge the phone before you left. You always do that. . . (huff, huff) . . If you weren’t such a lazy bum for the past few years, you wouldn’t be torturing yourself by running. How did you let yourself go? . . (huff, huff) . . . When you were young were thin as a rail, and now you’re fat slob. . . (huff, huff) . . why do you always have to be at extremes? Estatic or depressed, friendly or evil, rich or poor, skinny or fat. What’s wrong with you, are you bipolar? Seriously, maybe you are. (huff, huff) . . Crap, I forgot to email So-So back, and I was supposed to do that yesterday. . .How hard is it to write an email? It would have taken you 60 seconds. (huff, huff). . Nothing new, you’ve always been a horrible friend. . (huff, huff) . . . “
Uggh!! Stop!!
Why? Why do I allow this? Maybe I was wired with a default of relentlessly vicious self-talk. Why do I allow this to continue? I suppose because it’s easier to distract myself from the problem than to deal with it.
I don’t think I’m alone.
I remember hearing that “the mind makes a great servant and a horrible master.” It’s time for a power struggle.
