Running From Everything

I am not cut out for team sports. Oh, but I tried. Spent a lot of money figuring out that I’m not (also that some women are vindictive bitches), money I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to recoup. This depresses the shit out of me, especially when the thought of listing the equipment on Craigslist makes me start to hyperventilate. I have a lot of panic attacks these days.

Really, it’s for the best.

Running is different. The only person I need to rely on is myself and unless that latent multiple personality disorder finally shows itself, no one is going to stab me in the back. When I run, I feel amazing. At first I feel like I want to die, but after the first mile I feel stronger and when it comes time to pack it in I feel like I’ve managed to take on the world and win. Sarah Becan did a comic once about how different you feel after you exercise hard.

This is so true.

Unfortunately, I also have to rely on my feet. The reason this is unfortunate is because I was born with tiny feet whose arches are nearly non-existent. Double unfortunate is the fact that I’m a bit overweight, which means I strike hard on my heels when I run. All of this adds up to the bane of my current existence (besides the panic attacks) – plantar fasciitis. That’s the medical term. The term I tend to use is “my heel hurts like a motherfucker.”

No names taken yet.

Still, I refuse to quit running. There are stretches I can do, apparently, and getting some of those cushioned heel cups will help a lot with the hard strike. Having new running shoes would help, because I’ve been using mine a long time but I can barely afford the damn heel cups. Losing a bit of weight won’t hurt, though it’s not at the forefront of my mind, because it’ll put less stress on my feet. Of course, the running will help with that. I’m bound and determined to get myself ready to run a 5K by the end of the summer, though I don’t think I’m on track for C25K at all. Makes me a little sad, but you do what you have to. I don’t want to go too fast and tear up my body, after all. Gotta keep my body in good working order because getting better at running seriously decreases the likelihood that this will be the last thing I see during the zombie apocalypse.

For a while, anyway.

The panic attacks aren’t helping much, either. It means I have to run inside the fitness center, because I’ve gotten used to it – nearly had an attack my first day in it but was distracted by the muscle head slamming his weights around – until I can stop hyperventilating and looking behind me every time I go outside. It’s depressing.

It doesn’t take me much to start panicking these days, though. Thinking about calling my dad, driving, going outside without Mister E, looking at Facebook, looking at Twitter and seeing that I’ve lost a good friend (thereby making me hesitant to open up to other good friends), and looking at Craigslist. Panic disorder is an unpleasant thing, my friends. Very, very unpleasant.

Running, on the other hand is magnificent and freeing. I think running will save me.


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