Usually family matters stay in the family and not get into posts. But lately I feel the guilt inside and out for my running, for my taking off of time.
Time. From the beginning it was obvious that running although did not take much time compare to a 24 hrs day, it does involves me leaving the nest to be alone. Nothing like yoga I did in a daily basis before, up to two hours a day, closing the bedroom door on myself and pose with a laptop front of me on a matrace. I was still there, I was still behind a door, reachable distance.
Running doesn’t take more than two hours either. Usually, but there are of course exceptions. Races for example. Abroad races. Anything involves more than a brief encounter.
I run either super early, so I don’t mess up the other’s schedule, or during work, or weekend, when swimming is in for the little one with the dad, and I would be bothering only anyways. There are two days a week when I have practice, organized ones, and therefore I’m home later. Not late, only later. These are no excuses, pure facts.
I don’t go out. I don’t go to movies, theatres, exhibitions I once did ona daily basis. Usually, I don’t go out at all, meeting my friends either lunch time or simply grewing them apart. I miss them though, I feel the guilt not being friends to them anymore, but I have to live with it. Occasionally I meet someone after work, for a coffee, or we meet them as a whole family, leaving no space for deeper conversations, the ones I prefer to tell one on one. I have to cancel work related turned true friendships because I just know I need to be home. No complaining, pure facts.
I love my relationship with running. The love and hate comes with it, the fitness and the therapy side as well. Pure facts.
But it is my point of view and I know this is just one point. Because I feel the me and running is not excepted, it is tolerated only; to a certain level. And I’m now on the edge, and on the point where I don’t know what to do further.
I need to run. I not only run for the run, this is obvious, I run to feel better, more creative, more open. I run to accept things, or to be able to say no. i run because I’m asked to run, because I met people there, who seem to understand me to a certain level, who can be so different yet fun, who I can talk to for hours off running too. They might be friends I’m not sure. Of course I run to meet people, and sometimes I meet important ones I want to be part of my life too. Pure facts.
I feel guilt because I feel careless for a couple of hours with them, I feel guilt because I know toleration might stop at home any minute, and I will have to decide. I feel guilt, because right now, I cannot stop running.
People think I’m crazy, I’m obsessed, I overreact. My partner hates the whole thing, my closest friends joke about it, but I know they think I got attached to a sect or something. I feel guilty.
I feel guilty because I feel happy.
Met up some of the best friends tonight, having some drinks, talking about our common interest, fashion. Relatedly running fashion is brought in as a topic and there were we. Middle of our relationship crisis purely based on the fact I run. They are real friends, they only think I’m crazy, but they still love me; true, they don’t live with me.
I have no idea what to do.
Running is my fuel, my gasoline to keep on going as fun and happy as I possibly can, but seeing the sad and angry and totally not understanding eyes just takes off the happiness in running.
It hurts the other, but if I stop it would hurt me too, which would go even further. I can’t sleep at night, I can’t be myself during the day. There must be a fine line for toleration, but I don’t seem to find it. Being anxious about it is a soft word.
I feel scared to talk about my running experiences, my day, my happy moments, I close up, I stay in my thoughts not to hurt. I feel guilty, and I’m possibly guilty actually.
A selfish little mean one.
Negativity and annoy around my running not only reacts on my performance – who cares about it anyways really, recreatinal running it is only – but also my mood. My mood which was meant to be brough up from running.
Performance, like any given Saturday, when the whole practice is based on the fear to return home too late, and therefore my focus turns to the feel of guilt rather than the joy of run. It seems everydays start to become Saturdays.
I’m told to be tired becuase I run. But in fact I would be even more tired with the lack of run. I’m probably boring cause I run, and I talk running, I’m happy and sad, because I run. And annoyed when not.
I get bad looks when I stay awake, because I simply want to read, run or non run related, I get rolling eyes when I announce a race – which I feel guilt beforehand anyways, I know I’m too much. I don’t nor will I ever ask for an applause after I ran a good one, a PB or perhaps a long one I’ve never done before, it’s not something I reach for when I run, I don’t do it for someone to be proud of me, in fact I don’t ask for anything, I keep low instead, and sometimes even ashamed to run.