with maps, a mountain range, a piggy bank
2013-07-07 8:42 p.m.

my friends don't understand the desire. that i don't like it, but want to do it. i run slowly, so an eighteen mile trail run takes a long time. due to the heat, i get up before dawn, which disrupts the whole weekend, and i climb down the canyon and back up twice. i don't hate it, but its not pleasurable. rather, its hours of wishing to be finished. afterwards, it blurs together. my first ultra was single snapshots of trail blurred together, even though i should have hours and hours of memory of it.

i really just do it because i can. i'm able to, and i'm at my most miserable when i'm unable to. so many people cannot do this, and those people included me the majority of my life. but i can now. except now my ankle hurts and has me in a panic. is it long term? will it be better in the morning? am i'm too old or too thin or too malnourished to attempt a qualifying time? why do i want to qualify for a hellish 100 miles? why don't i put my time into something real like a better job or dating or just being social?

at the end of the day, this doesn't matter. fifty miles with a broken hand means nothing. all the stupid falls, the heat stroke, the inability to walk or sleep after long runs, its preventable. i could just not do this.

i guess its just the fact that i have the choice. you couldn't do this, and i can. moreover, you never thought i could. i never thought i could.

i haven't thought a lot about forgiving you. maybe one day, i'll spend some time on it. not that you care. its a weird feeling to be tied to only one person on this planet. and to be tied to a person who is rapidly fading.

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