Spilling of the Guts

Ok, so I'm sure that everyone has noticed that I've gone MIA recently. I've been reading and commenting, but I haven't been posting. I just haven't had anything to say lately.

I'm mildly depressed over the Chicago Marathon coming and going without me. It was supposed to be my race, Damn It! Who wrote the effing rules, and decided that I didn't get to play? So, I spent the entire day Sunday checking everyone's progress in between feeling sorry for myself that I wasn't there running, too.

I kept feeling like a quitter and wondering if I could have done something to run it anyway. And then kept trying to remind myself that every time I tried to run for the first month after the injury I literally couldn't walk for two days. But my mind was still full of the what if I had.... thoughts.

And I've been checking everyone's blogs like a drug addict needing a fix. I need to read everyone's race reports so I can live vicariously through everyone who did run it!

So my disappearance is a result of regret and self pity over not being able to run the marathon combined with all of the following...

My weight loss is at a stand still and I haven't been running, so what is there to say, really?

Oh sure, I've lost weight. Probably about 40 lbs by now. But it hasn't been 40 consecutive lbs. Instead, I just keep gaining and losing the same 3 lbs over, and over,

and over.

So for the past month now I have been stuck in the same place. I just can't quite kick myself over that 10 lbs lost mark. I keep knocking on its door, but it's just not letting me in. So, I persevere in my attempts to regain my wardrobe, one item at a time.

And I'm not running. I have no real excuse. If I get right down to the truth, I've just been lazy.

But beyond that, much beyond that, is that I'm finding myself in a strange place.

I seem to be in this weird nesting phase. I have this fire under my butt to clean and organize every square inch of my house. And I am stocking up on everything from shampoo to napkins to Campbell's soup. I could get snowed in until April and never have the need to visit a store.

I may not need to buy toilet paper again until the next century!

And I know this is a weird place to be, but it's where I'm at right now. I admit that I am a neat freak, but this is getting ridiculous even for me!

In the past few weeks I have cleaned every room of my house, vacuumed under all the furniture, organized my closet, cleaned my oven, scrubbed the stains from the carpet.

I've even changed the dirt in all of my plants.

I wish I was kidding.

I think all of this is coming from some external circumstances affecting my mental stability. Controlling my surroundings seems to be my way of trying to grab onto something and hold on tight, when it is being thrown in my face over and over again how little control I really have over things.

As a child, I grew up in a great neighborhood where everyone knew everyone, etc. etc. There was a large group of kids that hung out together that was about ten years older than I was, and than there was another group about my age that I was part of, plus a handful of kids in between the two age groups. So, I knew the older kids, but wouldn't call them my "friends".

So, time goes on we all grow up, blah, blah, blah. And two of the "kids" from the older group become friends with my dad. We will call them TB and RF. So, those two, plus a few other guys spend a lot of time together in the upper peninsula of Michigan snowmobiling almost every weekend and staying at an apartment that they rented together. So, because my dad got to know these two guys better, so did I.

Time goes on, things change. TB and RF get married, have kids. My parent's buy their house in the U.P. and my dad no longer needs to rent the apartment since he now lives up there. Blah, Blah.

But, the group of guys stays in touch, and through my parents I hear about them, and see them on occasion. I really like both of them, as they are good guys, and a lot of fun.

On Father's Day of this year, as the result of an accident, my parents and I attended the funeral of the younger brother of RF. He was electrocuted fixing his boat. He was only 38. It sucked and it was hard, but it was a weird freak accident, and accidents happen. Plus, I knew RF, the older brother, not the younger one. So, I was there for moral support mostly.

At the funeral of RF's younger brother, TB looked awful. Had lost a lot of weight, poor coloring, etc. And it was explained that he had just gotten out of the hospital with a bought of pancreatitis. I was skeptical, but took the explanation at face value.

A few weeks later, we got a call that TB, in fact, had pancreatic cancer with only a few months to live. He was 42.

So, the summer goes by and the younger brother enters my mind on occasion. He was so young! Only 6 years older than me. What if I only have 6 more years to live? Am I doing what I want with my life? Am I wasting time? Am I doing what I need to do to reach my goals? Blah. Blah.

TB enters my mind. Cancer. At age 42. That's just wrong. WRONG! Did you hear me? WRONG I SAY! He has two young sons. He's a great guy. He has dealt with so much emotional pain in his life, and so much physical pain from past health problems. He doesn't deserve this!!

Then back in August... Remember this post, where I was discussing getting my hair cut? Well, I went into the salon that day. And I'm standing in line to check in and I see a note posted to the desk stating that one of the girls in the salon, that I know extremely well, had suffered a stoke, at the age of 39, one week after giving birth to her second child. She was undergoing rehab and they did not know if or when she would be returning to work. So, my head is already spinning from this news and I get up to the desk and tell the receptionist my name and who I'm there to see, only to be told that my hair stylist was not in because her 39 year old husband had just been killed in a car accident a few days before. In a matter of 2 minutes time I find out that 2 people that I knew very well, just suffered major tragedies at the ripe old age of 39. My head was reeling for days and I didn't know what to do.

Fast forward to my birthday in September, where I turn 32. Repeat re-evaluation of life. How the hell did I get so old? Where did the years go? Am I where I want to be? Is there something I want to change? What do I really want out of life? Blah, Blah.

On October 11, I attended TB's funeral. The funeral of a 42 year old, stolen away by cancer. Leaving behind a 12 year old and a 7 year old. I sobbed. I was in shock. And I'm still reeling.

I can't get it out of my head. What if tomorrow is my last day? What if I only have 1 more year?

It may seem odd, that I'd want to spend that last day or week cleaning and shopping. But I think it is my strange way of trying to gain some control over something. Anything. And the stocking up is my way of reassuring myself that tomorrow will come. Because who can die when they have 300 rolls of unused toilet paper, right?

So, to say the least, my head's not in the game. But it will be. I promise you that.

In the back of my mind the wheels are a churin' and the gears are a grinidin', and I'm pondering over what this runnergirl is going to start training for next. It's a small quiet hum right now, but it'll be get gettin' louder and soon I won't be able to ingore it any more.