running in the rain
a narrative on hoping tomorrow feels better
I want to be a morning person.
On YouTube, I’m obsessed with watching vlogs about 5 am routines.
There’s just something intriguing about the dedication of getting up early each day, instead of sleeping in like I normally do. If I don’t have any obligations, I can easily get 10-12 hours of sleep. My friends say there’s something wrong with my thyroid. I think it’s my depression. It could be both. Either way, I still have a goal of one day becoming a morning person.
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the unrealistic dream
I would jump out of bed and get dressed. Then go for a four-mile run on the neighborhood sidewalks while the sun is just waking up. I’d get back and make coffee with my French press while Honey nudges me with her wet nose for ear scratches. Sipping from my mug, I would journal and think about what I wanted for breakfast. Sweet or savory today? Beyond that, I’m not sure what else I would do. Maybe I’ll roll out a mat and do yoga in the sun room. Maybe I’ll brainstorm writing ideas or make sourdough bread. Maybe I’ll dance softly in the living room with my headphones in.
The actions aren’t really important. In any iteration, I’m happy, content, and full of gratitude for the day ahead. This picturesque scenario is a far cry from what actually happens each morning, though. I lay in bed much longer than I probably should, feeling empty and dejected. I sit at the kitchen table with coffee and breakfast for hours sometimes, frozen in place and unable to move, while I plan out a to-do list. After bumming around for most of the day, in the afternoon or evening I finally feel motivated enough to do something. I go for a run or a quick hike, and then everything is cake after that. Eat dinner, watch a show, and pass out on the couch.
I want something more, but it’s like my body is stuck. I’m a pet sitter, so when I have 30-minute drop-ins booked, that adds more structure to the day. However, actual overnight house sits can feel paralyzing as I fall into this sad, isolating routine. The only reprieve is running on nearby trails. And yesterday, my long run was magical.
setting the scene
rain soaked the vibrant green earth in shimmering, pearly droplets
the dark overcast clouds above stoked a storm that ached, ready to burst
my windshield wipers violently whisked water from the sky away
on the way to the trailhead, tires crunching on gravel shards as I pulled into the lot
sparkling leaves on the trees like jewels, heavy and tastefully clinging to their mother
jam my toes into the shredded fabric of my shoes, bend my muscles to loosen their fibers
the dirt path, a custard with rocks and roots
a light wind to carry me forward
momentum, a drug I can’t forget
running/feeling
After sleeping in and feeling swollen with emotions from the day, my feet fell quickly into a groove. Soon, I wasn’t feeling much of anything else. Except for the rain on my face, the mud sticking to my legs, and the power of the storm vibrating deep into my core.
Numb with cold and drenched all over, the trails held me softly with each stride. The water on my cheeks felt like tears as they rolled down and hit the ground. As they glided across the surface of my freckles, I thought about my therapy session. It was earlier in the day and I had left the office more beat up than when I entered. We had talked about anger. How my relationship with anger has evolved, how my mindset around anger has changed, how I have felt angry in the past, how it manifests, and how it shows up today.
Initially, the conversation was productive until my therapist hit a nerve. She pointed out that the only time in my life when I have ever outwardly expressed a high level of anger toward someone other than myself was when my family dog was run over by a delivery driver at the beginning of April. She was right. Before this, anger had always been self-directed or I shut it down immediately so it couldn’t be expressed. I would restrict, purge, go for a run, or hike until I didn’t feel angry anymore.
Except this time, I screamed. As I carried my limp dog’s body up the driveway and faced the driver who had committed the crime, I cursed at him. I yelled at the injustice of it. I wailed, asking the sky why he was so heartless.
A wave of nausea swelled over me as I thought about the events again. At this point, I’m used to feeling this way whenever I think about what happened, but it still hurts as if it occurred yesterday. I sat on my therapist’s couch, drowning in the feelings all over again. I left when the time was up and felt icy cold the whole drive home. Now, on the trail, I ran through the thoughts. I ran through the feeling as the rain pelted me from all sides. Until my glasses were fogged up and useless, I ran until I didn’t feel anything anymore.
I’ll try to be a morning person
Maybe tomorrow, I’ll get up earlier. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll wake up before the sun rises. I’ll put on my road runners and explore the sidewalks as a blistering Midwest sky starts to make her presence known. I’ll drink my warm coffee with oat milk and a dollop of maple syrup. Avocado toast with sriracha and tofu scramble sounds delicious. Rub Honey’s belly until clumps of her fur litter the carpet. Vinyasa flow on my yoga mat, come up with writing ideas, and dance in the living room with Oliva Rodrigo on the radio.
I’ll do this and I’ll try to feel like a human being.
I’ll do this and I’ll try my best to be okay.
Until I really am again.
See you out on the trail!