Confusion Will Be My Epitaph

My initial feeling to this recent descent that has grabbed me by my slim ankles is self-condemnation. Is the reason I have slipped my fault? Could there have been something on my part to prevent this? At times, I feel guilt that an aggressive gazelle isn't wild enough to break from my own mental fetters. If you ever see me run past you, I won't seem apparent that I am a being with vigorous eyes. 

On Tuesday afternoon, under the intersection of Mockingbird and W. Lawther Dr, I found myself yawning in a middle of a fartlek workout, and if a tad of honesty can propel from my defensive reflexes, there wasn't much motivation to put effort on the run. A slug had taken host of my body and brain, and I couldn't find the internal diatribe to loosen and unlatch it from me. 

There has been a mirror in front of me during my runs. No matter if I look to the side, straight ahead, or down on the floor, it is always there in my vision field, reflecting back. The case may be that that's why I have been feeling so blue, but who knows. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. In a couple of minutes after I put of the dishes, I will close my eyes for the day, and find peace for a few hours. When I awaken, I will be conscious and find a deep breathe in me, and aim for narrowest path within the clamor. It'll cost a lot to bring me down, so, whatever you are holding me by my slim ankles, I ask that you reconsider where you aim the whetted blade. 

And I Cannot Remember When I Was This Messed Up

If I can find my identity with these legs, may my brain collect its seeking peace.

This summer has slowly began to sink itself in me, and has provided me with scads of tasty memories that I am sure I will have to excavate years from now. My self-collected data shows positive trends, even in this depressing heat, and I can only hope that this trajectory remains constant.

I will make an appearance at a few races in the foreseeable future to unearth my racing apparatus to Dallas. There is a recurring presence in my stomach that reassures me that this is the year I make a comeback. This time around, there is a smarter, more balanced, delicate approach to training on my part.

Some Kind Of Night Into Your Darkness

Inspiration for me comes and goes at unpredictable intervals. Whether I am able to latch on to it, and lift off to new heights without falling off from it is also something I repeatedly worry about. This year however, my inspiration has been consistently glowing within me, and it makes me happy because there are various times when I wonder if I am too apathetic to make something of myself in not just running, but in my own life. I ask myself if I am getting better and realizing how to fight and deal with this fuzzy mist that plagues my day-to-day consciousness? I'd like to think so. As the days go by in 2019, I am proud that over this blurry timeline (Jan. 1st to now) I have felt my cognition shifting, molding, and locking itself together into a stronger buffer from all this shit I've been dealing with for years. I am not what you suppose, but far different. 

This year will be the year that I make a difference again in myself through running. In a few moments, I'll be registering for the Dallas Half which is the race I have been slowly building a holistic syllabus to, and finally fix my eager eyes onto.