Truth? Here it is.
My truth is that I am no longer injured. Nothing hurts. No physical pain is holding me back from running. The crutch that kept my excuses supported, is gone.
My truth is that I am so far from what I was 2 years ago, that I cannot connect with who I am now and no longer recognize myself.
My truth is that the disappointment in myself and my lack of motivation is sending me into a crushing depressive state. My anxiety peaks as I anticipate a workout - I can and will find reasons why I shouldn't run.
My truth is that I acknowledge that my hesitation is entirely mental. I am afraid. I am afraid to train. I am afraid to race. I am afraid to try.
The power of defining my truth helps me isolate my fear. Yet, the definition also highlights my cowardice. I am paralyzed by the realization that I am my own worst enemy. In order to help me conquer my demons, I am arming myself with people who see me for who I am and who I can be. My coach knows my limitations are self-imposed and carefully creates scenarios that subtly build my confidence. My training partners openly talk about life and their own struggles, keeping my mind off the judgment of my pace. My partner find ways to incorporate running into an adventure, which subconsciously pairs the two activities into one. I am surrounded by individuals who dare to be the best that they can in all circumstances.
So, I too will dare.
I dare myself to try. I dare to myself to take chances. I dare myself to fall. I dare myself to have bad training days and even worse races. I dare myself to find tiny successes in all my failures. I dare myself to be content with who I am now, rather than fixate on who I was. I dare myself to continue to be authentic with my truth and face my fears.
I dare myself to run...I dare myself to live.
Happy Trails -