The 29th Day

I was so revved up about the 30/30 plan a month ago.

And then January hit me. 

Like a ton of bricks.

Or books. Really, it's books.

I've hit the books. Big time.

I feel guilty when I'm not studying. Like I shouldn't be blogging. Or exercising. Or eating, sleeping, showering, working, or managing to (barely) hold the remnants of my life together.

And so I haven't posted.

I haven't told you about the way I count the laps in the hall at the hospital, or take the long way, just for more exercise. And I haven't told you about the most fun thing: ice skating. 

Coach Cheerleader and I bought cheap passes. we convinced (she did, really) a great guy, D, from boot camp to join us. We went last Friday, full on margaritas and tacos. D has passed the half century mark, so when he pulled out his ice skates, I cocked my head to the side, thinking how amazing it is to interpret age. He flew around the rink as though he skated every day, though he claimed it had been many years. 

Coach Cheerleader and I stared in amazement as we clumsily pushed our way around the rink.

I remember the first year my brother came down from Boston with roller blades "so he could practice skating in the summer", instead of gamely slapping the tennis ball against the side of the house with his hockey stick. I remember him showing me, in a rare moment that I allowed him to show me anything,  how to do crossovers. As I pushed my way around the rink, the memories came flooding back to me, and I picked one foot up over the other. 

And then I went backwards.

And then I taught other people how to go backwards. 

And everyone was smiling and laughing. 

It was magical.

Well, except for that dude who kept doing stupid shit that caused him to end up loudly landing on the ice. I don't know how he didn't break his face. And the one who was convinced he could skate (or was he trying to fly?) with his arms. He was a little scary.

This being the 29th day of the year (though not my 29th straight day of exercise. In fact, I did no real appreciative exercise today. I had a work meeting (with people who ran a 50k yesterday. That's five 10ks. Thirty miles. And I did nothing. Balls!) and I had lunch with my sisters (my sister flew in for her bff's birthday this weekend. Thankfully, I got to see her beautiful face for an all too brief second!). And then I read. And then I had a nap.), I figure that new beginnings are still being accepted.

This new beginning involves being honest.

So here goes:

I am scared. 

And lonely.

And I have no idea what I am doing with myself.

This is maybe the real reason I have been MIA over the last few weeks. 

Depression, that soul- sucking beast that it is, surely lives here. I don't really know for sure though, because I can't slow down enough to let it catch me.

I have too much to do. I can't stay in bed all day or drink my face off, even though I really want to. 

That would be letting it win.

Also: I am scared to run. 

Remember when I said I ran through my dad's death? Yeah, well, I ran. All. The. Time.

I skipped class to run. I skipped going out and meeting sane people because I had to run. I had to run until I had nothing left just so that I could sleep.

And I don't want to go back there.

I am scared.

I know it will go away; it always does. But right now? Right now is hard.