Oh, just pooh.

I haven't run in over a week . I've tried. I've thought, "I need to haul my carcass off this couch and run." and then I snuggle up in a blanket and give in to the fatigue that has been doggin' my every movement. You know, the bone deep tired where even the effort of moving your arm to scratch your eye is more than the situation really warrants. I've put my running clothes on, down to the shoes, gotten the dog ready, primed the iPod, and then said, "I'm not feeling this." The one day I did run, I ran for a total of 20 feet, and FORCED myself to walk the rest of the half mile circuit to bring me back to the house. Couldn't quite figure it out. Do I need to be more diligent in my vitamin regimen? Am I trying to duck whatever creeping crud is rounding the hospital like a hummingbird on crack, leaving us more understaffed than usual? Is Mercury in retrograde? What the hell? Ahh, the light went on. I'm a fairly well educated person, but I have a PhD in denial. You see, in 24 short days, it will be what should have been my 10th anniversary. I waited until I was nearly 31 to get married, had 5 good years, one confusing, maddening year, and one year of unadulterated hell. His disease didn't just affect his body; it took him from me in every way possible, until his body figured out it was time to go. In one fell swoop, I went from wife with a husband to caregiver with one more dependent. The blessings of caring for my dying husband at home, and realizing, through that service to him, the depth of my love, does not mitigate the hell of watching someone actively dying in front of you. And trying to explain what is happening to your 6 and 2 year old sons, can't leave out that part. Good times. So, in true doctorate of denial fashion, I took that grief and that rage and stuffed it deep inside my psyche, telling myself I had his whole last year to grieve, now I needed to make up for my boys losing their father. Well, hell, dumbass, what about losing your husband? Can't think about that now, too busy being everything to everyone, soothing his family's grief, and being strong, dammit! Until, times like these when it bursts forth in either tears, mania, or my favorite, the desire to snuggle on the couch with Ben, Jerry, and a hundred of their little Girl Scout pals.

I dragged my sorry behind out the door and forced myself to run a mile in a valiant effort to alleviate the rushing darkness and stay the potential of me turning into crazy cat lady after the kids are grown. And to tell the truth, endorphins are a good thing. I feel better, and the overwhelming fatigue is a shadow of its former self. So, hopefully, by March 21st I will be able to withstand all the universe feels fit to throw at me on such an auspicious day. Damn Nietzsche and his "that which does not kill you makes you stronger" ideal. I get it. Doesn't mean I have to like it, now does it? Same with that whole not getting any challenge greater than your ability to withstand... I'd like a recount on that vote, please.