Falling

Yesterday I wallowed.

It's too much.  It's too hard.  I can never do it.  I'm a fool.  I'm a fake.  I'll never succeed.

You know the drill, right?  Because everybody gets that voice in their head sometimes.

This morning I woke up feeling equally sorry for myself.  I grumbled when the alarm went off at 4:30am, and laid there, awake but not getting up for an entire hour.  I could have slept in, or I could have been having a leisurely (as in "I have time to do this without running late") work out, but instead I lay there wallowing.

At 5:30 I begrudgingly got out of bed to go for a run in the dark.

SMACK.

A third of a mile in, life smacked me upside the head.  That is, there was a lift in the sidewalk from a tree root, and I didn't see it in the dark, so as my foot smashed into it I crashed into the sidewalk.  I bloodied both hands and a knee, somehow also managing to smash one shoulder and elbow (logistically, I'm not sure how this is possible).

Actually, I'm glad that it wasn't my head that was literally, only metaphorically, smacked.

I walked home, slightly dazed.  I washed off some of the blood, examined the hole in my favorite running pants, took ibuprofen, and started icing the shoulder and the worst hand.  I sulked.  I felt sorry for myself.  I moaned a little and wallowed a lot.

But I'm a mom, so then I woke up my girl and went through the motions of getting her ready for school.  I showed off my wounds, satisfied with her wincing sympathy.

And then I snapped to.

This is not who I wanted to be.  Wallowing?  From some SCRAPES that I will have forgotten in a few weeks?  For God's sakes, I've had poison injected into my veins!  I've had third degree radiation burns!  I've got a body covered in surgical scars!  And I'm going to WALLOW because I tripped and fell?

No.

I dropped off my beloved daughter at the bus, and told her "Thank you for your sympathy this morning, it helped.  I will go for another run, in the light this time, and get back in the saddle!"

I ran.  Tentatively at first - I really do feel battered - and then better.  My first mile was a little slow.  My second mile was slightly faster, and I started to feel better.  On my third mile, I thought "Hey, this isn't as bad as I thought" even as the sweat really kicked in and started stinging on the wounds, which haven't scabbed over yet.  I started to feel like a badass.  I kept going.  On my fourth mile, I ran a great (for me) pace, my fastest yet.

Apparently, I needed that fall.  Bummer.  I'd really like to learn life's lessons without the painful bit, but this is not to be.

It's time to stop wallowing at every level.

Yes, I'm unemployed at the moment, and that is terrifying.  But I'm also a woman with a mission, a woman on fire with her desire to change the world, to run her life, and to make the most out of all of it.  I've got a great education, great work experience, great references, and a great network.  I've been working that network like mad, and everyone is incredibly encouraging.  I was contacted by a great organization who heard about me - even though I haven't showed a soul my new resume, because I'm not happy with it yet! - and I've got lots of leads, and I've barely gotten started.

Sometimes we stumble, and sometimes we fall.  Sometimes, in the dark, the sidewalk rises, and blood flows, and bruises form.  It sucks.

But that doesn't take away from the fact that I'm strong and fit and capable.  I may not have jumped out of bed at 4:30 in the morning as I "should" have, but I was out there running at 5:30am, and let's just say there weren't a lot of people out at that hour with me.  I may have had to limp home, but I am also perfectly capable of getting my daughter out the door and trying again.  And when I tried again, I met beautiful success: a strong run, improved pacing, a clearer head.

Apparently, I needed the attack of the sidewalk.  Apparently, I needed to take yet another test to prove what I am and am not capable of.  Apparently, I needed a few reminders about how things are done, how to live, how to move forward.

Today I'm done with wallowing.  I still hurt, and I've got some battle wounds that are wince-worthy.

But I'm a badass, because I'm still going, and I am not going to quit until I get what I want.

Thank you, broken sidewalk.  I believe I just passed your test.  I'm on fire to prove that I've got what it takes again, thanks to you, so I'll take my wounds.

(Now, if anyone knows of a way to learn these lessons without pain, or blood, I'd appreciate your tips.  Otherwise...I'll just keep stumbling along, occasionally falling.)