The "C" Word

Today is a Therapy Tuesday.
A much needed Welcome Back from Boston Therapy Tuesday.

Dr. Jill Rubin and I are probably therapying it up while you read this.

Which is truly divine, since I'm bringing a less happy, more cathartic piece of writing to Therapy today.
Titled, Broken Pieces.
We'll share that later this year.

Here's to making progress even at the beginning of this journey.
A lot of you wanted to know if I really did 1/2 marathon every week.
And the truth of it is - yes, I did.
Slowly at first.

But yes, I did.

Written April 19th, 2012:

Today, I ran. At times, like a slow wind. I ran a 8.16 minute mile. Mile two. In all honesty, the next mile was 20 minutes, but that's because I had to have a good cry over the 8.16 minute mile.

I got frustrated with my legs today because I told them to run. 

"Run," I'd say aloud. 
"Run, dang it!" 
For a few steps they would and then my hip flexor would call up and say, hey, not cool brain, not very cool at all. 

There were moments when my feet shuffled across the pavement. 

Where Nana in the pink sports coat walked faster than me. 

Along the banks of the river I jogged past rowers and wondered why I never rowed. 

Why I didn't do a lot of things. 
What have I missed in this life where I was never good enough? 
A few miles down river I decided that when my tap lessons and skating lessons are through, I'll take up rowing. 
Because I'm worth trying it, even if I'm not good enough or the best, I'm worth trying it.

There was a moment I realized I was lost, and had missed my 10 mile turn. I stopped, stopped my clock, and turned around to head back the way I came.

And then, I heard that voice.

 It's not mine, not yet. 
But it was his. 
"Where are you going?" He asked. 
"I gotta go back the way I came. I don't know where this road goes, and it's too far - I can't keep going." 

My body poised in the direction I had come, I stood, unmoved.

"I just can't." I blinked out tears, "This is harder than I thought. It's only mile 6 and I can't. I can't. I just can't."

"That's a swear word you know. I won't let you say that around me."



I slid off my backpack and sipped some water, shuffling my feet side to side. What if I could? What if I keep going? If you die, there are enough people around to notify 911. If your knee stops bending, your knee stops bending.

I turned towards the unknown and placed one small step in front of the other.

It's uncomfortable I thought. This feeling of not giving up. Not giving up on myself. It hurts me. It feels weird to just keep going. Into the unknown.

The voice spoke again, and I imagined her wide beautiful eyes this time, "It is right now, and you're only dealing in the right now. Tomorrow it will be better. And the day after that. And the day after…"

I stopped listening to her voice as I started to climb Strawberry Hill's hidden stairs. Yeah, Yeah, I thought, I'm doing it, I'm doing it.

Half way up the stairs there lay a giant tree in the middle of my path, beside a fallen power line. SAFE! Not really. My knees S.O.S'ed my mind pleading them to find another way, to go back the way we came. The scrapes on my knees didn't think they could handle a jungle crawl underneath the trunk.

But you know something, they did.

And the further lost I become the more talking I did with MYSELF. 

"Those are some great voices. 

Those are some incredible people supporting you, believing in you. 
But you know, at some point, that's going to have to be your own voice. 
Your voice will become strong like that. 
Your voice will propel your feet to run and your lungs to breathe. 
Your voice will chase away the I can'ts and I have to stops and maybe someday, that I'm not good enoughs.

Your voice will be strong. You will be strong."

Along this part of the journey I came across a baseball field and the blinding afternoon sun bathed me as I sat in the red clay of home plate. 

"You're 10 miles in and nowhere near home."

"I can get home."

"Yes." I responded, I can.

I walked that last 2 miles. Slower than La Tortuga and Nana.

But I never let my feet stop moving.

Because I can.

And for every run from this day forward, I'll work on making that voice - my own.


  1. You have grown into a strong, healthy and beautiful woman. You shine! Let the growing continue. You deserve!!!

  2. Beautifully said! It is hard... but not impossible! I am just recovering from a recent fall from hearing the "bad voices" but... I know I can!

  3. I remember going to one of the local metro parks that I've never been to before. I was told that the loop around the lake was 8 miles. I began walking / running it. The park has many entrances. I thought I had made a wrong turn. I began to have a panic attack. I should be back at the entrance, but I'm not. OMG, I don't know where I'm at. I should turn around. It's getting late and it will be dark soon I can't go back, but I'm LOST. I must have made a wrong turn. Diane, you're so stupid. Why'd you even attempt this.......blah blah blah. AND THEN I saw a familiar site. The panic left. I was safe. But I was still beating myself up. But then I yelled out loud (thankfully no one was around) Diane STOP. You just did 8 miles, in a place you weren't familiar with. You made it thru. Give yourself a little credit.

    Sigh...........why are the negative voices so hard to stop? Thankful though I was able to stop them at that point. I've gone as long as an entire week beating myself up and telling myself the "I can't do this because" "I'm so stupid.....Why try, I'll just fail"

    Therapy is a good thing. I'm glad you get it that therapy is a good tool to help us move forward to happier and healthier lives. Just wish it would move quicker! ;)

    1. Amen to therapy.
      And Diane, if I can be a little bit louder than the negative voice:
      YOU ROCK!

    2. :-) Thanks. You drowned out the negative voice that was just 'talking' to me! I'll hold this close to my heart.


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