Proof

I heard today that marriage is proof of what you can put up with.

In other words, how much bullshit you can take before you 

a)break into a zillion tiny pieces

b)are checked into the Betty

c)check if your spouse is still breathing while he or she sleeps soundly (hoping, of course, that they are not so as to quell the murderous rage within you and thus not force you to... 

Wait.

That's another story.

We are talking relationships here. Just not marriage.

I'm thinking about running.

Runners will say that there's those runs where everything just clicks. It's like when you wake up with the sun shining, feeling refreshed; you encounter no traffic on the way to work, your morning beverage of choice (in America, we call it coffee) is made just right, and discover that the annoying co-worker (c'mon, everyone has one. No? That makes me think it's you, btw.) has gone away for the week. Yes. One of those days.

Then there are those runs.

The ones where nothing clicks. I didn't sleep enough, eat enough or hydrate enough the day before and now everything sucks balls. My joints hurt and nothing is in rhythm. I imagine I must look a total mess as I plod down the road. Let's add humidity and air pollution, for good measure.

And, just for kicks, tears.

Doesn't running sound like fun?!

So this was me this morning, plodding down the road, the sun threatening to destroy the darkness, tears streaming down my face, my "run" looking geriatric, my lungs screaming, and my brain scowling at my reasoning for leaving a perfectly good bed.

Put mildly, I've had better runs. 

This one, though, is important. 

It is important because I did it. 

I did not break into a tiny million pieces, run home, take a few Xanax and a bottle of scotch, or murder anyone. 

This is why I run: to see how much I can take.

As my relationship with running grows, so do the number of sucky runs. I can look back at those runs, though, and I gain a huge mental reserve. Because if I can get through that... I can get through anything.