Obviously there are health benefits. It keeps the weight off, training for a race is the perfect motivation for me. It was what finally got me over the hump to quit smoking cigarettes. I've developed a bougie love of dry-fit fabric and have met some really incredible people. Plus, even though I am slower than Christmas, I always feel like a bad ass when I total up my mileage.
And if you know me at all, you know it's a big part of my recovery. I would go so far to say it is the primary part of my recovery because it keeps my head straight. When I was drinking, I used to listen to The Committee, that shitty group of voices in my head that called the shots. Those bastards owned me--me, not the meat skeleton running down the bike trail, but the me I didn't even realize was so completely hijacked at the time. Me, the creative spirit, the one who knows how to move through fear, the one who isn't afraid to speak her mind or find the humor where others may not. The strong, beautiful spirit that is me was completely under the spell of those voices.
They knew what to tell me. They knew booze was my best friend. They knew that everyone but them and my best friend was not to be trusted. They helped me push decent people away. And they knew that I knew I was a bad person who just didn't fit. They knew I was damaged goods and I would never be good enough, smart enough, or pretty enough.
They told me this bullshit over and over, sometimes even using other people to really make their point. They visited my dreams, they rode in my car, they sat on my shoulders and whispered sweetly, "You don't mean anything to anyone, so you might as well feel better right now."
There wasn't an exact moment of clarity where I realized I could tell them to get bent. Where me decided to re-join this ride we call life. It was kind of a roller coaster and the funny thing is that it didn't happen until I'd been sober for a considerable amount of time. That's the thing we all had to learn on our own--getting sober is just the first round. Meaningful recovery is getting all the way to the Final Four. Sure, you feel like a beast sometimes, and you have those moments of grace--that's the Sweet Sixteen. It's a process and it certainly doesn't happen overnight.
And the bastards never fully go away.
After I let the dogs out this morning, I was walking up the back steps into the kitchen and looked up at the progress on #remodelordietrying. The countertop, the backsplash, and the cabinet looked really nice and I thought, "That is looking really good." And BOOM, there was one of them, "You don't deserve a nice kitchen. You deserve to live in a mess because you are a mess."
He was fleeting but he was there. My immediate thought, "Of course I deserve nice things," which was followed quickly by, "Maybe I don't and putting any resources into this is a bad idea."
It all happened in a few seconds. He caught me off guard. But he's still there and has been sitting in my thoughts today. I don't think the rest of The Committee is present--no quorum for you, assholes. So I just told him to get fucked, out loud, as the Bitches sleep next to me, gearing up for their morning run. And I will sleep soundly, content that now I am always running to something and never from anything.
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