Recommit

Dude.  It has been a really rough two weeks.  I was recently told by my latest Uber driver that my passenger rating is only a 3.7 out of 5 and he called to “make sure I wasn’t bitchy,” before he picked me up.  And that was the NOT the worst thing that happened in last 14 days.

But, like any bad spell, or big hill, or rough run, it ends, we get over it or we just pause our Garmin and walk home.  I just got back from a really fantastic and relaxing girl’s weekend that really helped pull me out of my funk.

And then you know, Monday comes.

I was slipping back into super cranky — an empty fridge, dirty laundry piling on top of the broken washing machine and — and then I got the email from my Team in Training mentor:

It was time to recommit to the Team.

Any time you run for Team in Training, one of the best not-for-profit charity endurance-training organizations in the world, you have to recommit halfway through the season.  When you sign the papers, you are technically recommitting to your fundraising goal and your race distance:  you are on the hook for money and miles.  But for me, my second time running in the purple singlet, it was recommitting to so much more than raising $1,000 {done} and training to complete a marathon {half-way done}.

This time, when I signed the papers I committed to showing up with the best version of myself — not just to my training for my marathons, but for everything in my life.  My overwhelming sadness the past few weeks have been really draining on my relationships — and it makes me feel awful {more awful?} that some of those relationships have needed me the most right now and all I could give was hiding, and tears and pouting.

Because you know what — people who are dealing with blood cancers, with all cancers, are showing up with the best versions of themselves everyday because they have no other choice.  There would be no other way to conquer the disease that is so sneaky and so ruthless than to be at their best even when they might feel their worst.  In comparison, all I have to do is run a few miles and not stab anyone when the metro station is inexplicably closed and I have to ride a shuttle for a mile or two, when I’m already late.  I do not have problems that should feel so monumental.  Chemotherapy is a problem, feeling sick all the time is a problem, fighting for your life is a problem — and it’s a problem that the people I gladly run for, happily tackle for the chance to feel their small problems feel huge.

I met my fundraising goal for this season a few days ago.  And when I did, I cried at my desk.  For the first time in a few weeks, I wasn’t crying because I was sad or frustrated — I cried because I was overwhelmed by the love and support from my friends and family, never mind complete strangers.  And right then I was able to have some perspective.  If people can have cancer and deal with it, and other people can help me raise money to end cancer — I can get it together.

At least for the rest of this season.

One thought on “Recommit

  1. hcook says:

    I love you. Period. For all that you are – even when you’re pouty. You constantly work to push your limits and love people. You are indescribably amazing and I am thankful to be able to call you a friend.

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