What am I, I wonder. What I mean by that is that I am not training for a race and I no longer run to relieve stress twice a day. I don’t seem to have a purpose other than I run because I want not to blow up into the stay-puf marshamallow man as I age. I still feel accomplished when I’m done but I only run 3, sometimes 4 miles when I go out now. Yes, 3 miles is still 3 miles but somehow I feel a little lost. I go out because my brain tells me I must but do I really? No I don’t. Now that I actually eat real food, about 15 pounds of the 50 I lost have found their way back to my legs, belly and butt. Ahhh the beauty of being comfortable again.
I have no one to impress except me I suppose but I already like me so what is my burning motivation? Do I have one? Maybe I need create one again only this time it won’t be backed by the vortex of hellish depression that I survived that threatened to suck me in and never let me out. That’s a place I’ve lived through and thank you, I’ll pass on it. Maybe I need another race or someone to run with or to volunteer or add strength training to my 3-4 days a week routine.
It’s like the movie Finding Nemo. Nemo’s father (me) just keeps looking for Nemo (purpose). Dory (my Twitter running community) keeps tripping over the answers and helps them reunite. I figure eventually I’ll find it again.