I just do.
Even if it seems like I don’t, even if I’m putting on a good show for people... I do.
I’m not cold and heartless, as has been suggested to me. I’m practical. But that said, I still hurt like any other human. And I don’t think there’s a band aid big enough to cover this hurt.
It’s starting to show itself in my writing. Which isn’t helping me one bit.
I have a deadline looming.
So, I was going to write up a nice little piece for Miles & Minutes about my 10K PR and The Break Up. Sort of a spin off piece of the blog post I wrote the other day. It would touch on how much short races hurt in a completely different way when you compare them to longer distances.
And then that’s where it went down hill. I went on to write about how it hurts. How the pain is different, and what came out was too graphic for Miles & Minutes. It’s acute, like a scalpel slicing into flesh, parting skin into two identifiable pieces that can easily be stitched back together.
See? Not so much running related as emotionally tied.
And I keep coming back to being two women... I am two women.
The housewife and the