Slay the Dragon

There came a time in my life when the races that I run, literal races, ceased to be about the competition towards my friend next to me. And even those strangers around me. I ran in a little 5k on Saturday. I cared not my time. I cared not the time of my friends in front of me. I cared not the time of my friends behind me. This isn’t necessarily a great moment for me. It’s still a struggle to decide if it is good or not for me. Heaven forbid that I slide into apathy. But I am afraid of myself. Of losing, of failing. And I am proud of my friends and those I run with. I want them to succeed. I want them to beat me. I want to not feel bad after they beat me. I want to cross the finish line together. I want to be pushed by the woman matching my stride next to me. The one that I know so well. The one that knows me so well. I want to push the woman next to me. I want her pain to be my pain and for it to be equal. I do not want to ‘not feel like it.’ I do not want to secretly and selfishly hope that she, whoever she is, feels as rough as I do on this run today. I do not want to run by another pretty woman and think, I bet I’m running farther than you today. I want to think, ‘Good job, sister.’ Sometimes I do.

I do not want to think that I am running slow to avoid competition. I do not want to angrily run fast to prove something. I do not want to run alone. I want to slip out of conscious stride. I want her to feel well. I want to feel well. I wish you success, perhaps generously even more than my own. I wish myself success in solitude, away from competitive, mean strides. I wish unconscious effort not directed towards another person but rather the race, the love of sport itself. I want a balance between wishing everyone well and pushing myself to my own limit and ability without thinking of them or judging myself against the next woman.

There was a time I played to play. I ran to run. And that was it. People-opponents and maybe teammates, too-didn’t like me very much at that time, but I was oblivious to it. Or probably more truthfully I just didn’t care. I had tunnel vision towards being the best. What could I see? Working as hard as I possibly could every moment of every practice or game. I felt good about myself. All the time. Naturally, without having to pump myself up. That energy and passion was effortless. Now I see the people next to me. I hear the paranoia in my head talking myself out of feeling good about anything at all. I feel the anger of playing mental games with myself and others who eg it on. I feel frustration and annoyance of those who are happier to be there than I am, towards the strangers out running when I didn’t today. And guilt. With every step I take, I feel the guilt of awareness. The guilt of change. The guilt of my ruined self towards competition. When I feel bad, I feel guilt. When I feel good, I feel guilt for that too.

Perhaps now I wish for sport isolation where I could practice my severe discipline once again without fail. And I wish that physical separation because I cannot manage it consistently mentally any more. And then again, I wouldn’t have to feel anger towards others when I let myself down. I could take my hate, the only real hate I’ve ever felt, towards my sport, towards myself and be alone with it. It’s impossible to walk away from this dragon in my life. But I am unable to slay it.