I really liked a woman’s blog once. I could tell she liked her messy selves—takes one to know one. I trusted her words like I was riding with an insane New York taxi driver—speeding through yellow lights, squeezing down back alleys, throwing a fist at negligent pedestrians—while I sat casually cross-legged in the backseat, crocheting and daydreaming about a beach vacation.
She dropped the reader right into the middle of her real-life dollhouse. Urges, indulgences, shame with having alcohol—I was there for all of it. I wanted more. Honesty in storytelling feels powerful. It pulls me in like a hand-sized magnet.
Then I saw she hadn’t posted in a couple of years. Would she even see a comment? I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I know I tried to be persuasive—asking her to come back.
I quit blogging once. I had to. The page started to feel like an expectant commitment—an unsleeping newborn, always hungry. Unable to escape its cries, I pulled the plug. I think I made it six months. Or was it four? Either way, it felt like failure.
I do that—set myself up to fail. I can see it now. I push the carrot just a little too far out.
On a two-mile run, my pace slowed. My mental heaviness peaked, and I wanted to quit. In other words—something my friend Kristen and I call it—morale was low. But I’d changed the plan midway, telling myself to run 3.1 miles instead of the original two. That wasn’t helping. The resistance dug in, and the idea of walking took over every step.
Until I let go.
Two miles. Just do two miles.
Like flipping a light switch, I can do that surged through me. My knees lifted higher, my toes felt lighter beneath me. Fairness—even out on the road—matters to me. And my body? She’s a stubborn old donkey, pulling the other way when things don’t feel fair.
I’ve taken a two-day break. I would’ve run today—if not for the relentless wind. I’ve heard working out on hills and doing short but sped up running stints helps to lower long run times. Perhaps I’ll try that. But, only if I clear it with myself first, right?
Okay! I’m needing a bit of shut-eye. I’ll see you tomorrow. Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 