Weary Endurance (On Rest)

Weary, like an Olympic competitor after a day of training. Timid, like a child asking to try a sip of wine at a dinner party. Tested as an imperfect product before it’s allowed approval. Lonely as a sober girl at a drinking party. Confused like a drunk finding his way home. Searching like a pirate for buried treasure.

After running 6 miles in 90 degree weather, my body cries in agony. My shins screaming, thighs pulsating, lungs burning, head throbbing with the rhythm of my overworked arteries. I’m bushed. I’m beat. All I want now is to drink a gallon of Powerade, curl up in a ball on the nearest flat surface I find and sleep for the rest of my life. Even still, something in me wants to do a jig, wants to throw my fist in the air and scream at the top of my lungs, in spite of the knife attempting to gut them as I take deep breaths. I have conquered something. I have accomplished something great. I’m not sure what it is yet, but I feel my inner-being yearning to express.

                  But weariness wins and I collapse. I lose composure and I cry. I become infantile in my nature. I surrender constraint and my body goes numb. Though part of me wishes to express joy and excitement, I am so far exhausted that the mere thought of it cripples me. I know that I have had a victory of sorts. I’m not really sure what it is that I have had victory over, I’m not sure if I’ve won anything, and I’m not sure when I’ll see the true results of this victory. I don’t look different. I don’t feel physically different, just drained. So very drained.

                  I gave it all I had. I left all I could offer out there. Now I don’t know where to go. How can I be filled again? What will it take to refuel and get back to the empowered condition I was in before the run began? I don’t know. All I know is that something in me needed this run. I feel satisfaction in the agony, even though it is confusing.

                  I am building toward something. I’m not sure exactly what it is or what it will look like or when it will be. All I know is that my running is in preparation for this ‘something’ that is coming. I’m afraid. If the preparation for it is so entirely exhausting, how in the world am I supposed to survive the real thing? But I know I will. I have been promised this. Many have gone before me, and I have had proof.

And I, longing to be held, aching to be loved, loose control over my physical, mental, and emotional reactions. My face washed by tears, my body massaged by convulsions, and I have nothing left but to give in.