Running Away

Recently I talked with a songwriter about the lyrics he wrote. I asked him if he ever wrote anything that was important to him, but over time the feelings changed? That is how I feel about my writing sometimes. I have selections on my phone that don't mean the same thing to me anymore. At the time, it was the only way to express my feelings. But now I am ashamed, embarrassed, indifferent, proud, of what I have written. I can't delete it though. It was important to me then, so it is important to me now.

This short narrative is dated May 2018. I wrote it at a time in my life where I sought help for my perfectionism, but now I have grown. I don't need that kind of help anymore, I have learned to overcome many of the anxious thoughts I have. I wrote it at a time in my life where I enjoyed running. I don't anymore, I don't even have that confidence in it anymore. But I know I can build it back up. One day.

I think it is important to reflect on who we were and where we've come. And reading past things, like this selection, teaches me about my feelings and who I am.

Silent tears streaked down my face as I sat in my counselor’s office. Tracy picked up the tissue box, nudged it towards me, and said, “you don’t have to use these, but…just in case.” Familiar with my weeping, Tracy paused as she waited for me to collect my thoughts. My anxieties, fears, comparisons, and desires for perfectionism twirled inside my head. As a drop of saltwater fell on my lap, I looked up to see her kind face welcoming me back to the conversation.

I exhaled, louder than I wanted. “I just feel dumb when I try anything new. I feel like I don’t have any talents, anything that makes me special that I can be good at.” My mind reflected on previous nights where I had cried tears I thought were irrational. You’re dumb, you’re not as good as your friends, why do they even hang out with you? It’d be better for them if you stayed at home. I shook my head at my degrading thoughts. “I am trying to find things I like. I’ve been running a lot more. I used to hate running, but I think I actually like it now.” Tracy nodded in agreement and encouragement as I thought back to the last time I had ran on the BYU track…

I swung my arms around my body and extended my legs in an attempt to stretch my limbs. I looked at my watch to see how much longer I had before even starting my jog. My favorite part of running was when I completed the final lap. I was running simply because I knew it was good for me. After a swig from my water bottle, I dragged my legs across the starting line and began to jog around the outside track. The wind tickled my face as my feet bounded in each step. Let’s run three miles today, I thought. Only if I get to walk after the first mile, I argued with myself. That first mile was brutal. As I rounded the third corner of my first lap, the wind pushed against me, and I fought to keep up my speed. I completed my second lap. Sweat glistened down my face. Three laps. I sprinted to end the fourth lap. One mile done. But my body kept running. Is it possible? Can I actually run more than one mile? I thought of my middle school and high school physical education classes where I felt like I was going to die from fatigue and embarrassment as I trudged across the final lap of one mile behind everyone else. I can do this. Running today is for me. Not anyone else. My breath panted like a hot dog on a summer’s day. I tasted the sweat that leaked into my mouth. I do like to exercise. I can be athletic.

Second mile done. I still ran. Left foot, right foot, left, right. My tiny legs carried my body around each curve in the track. A boy on the track team sprinted by me. See you later, I thought. I’m running at my own pace. I am doing my best.

I started working on the third mile. The wind blew through my hair. My eyes blurred from sweat dripping into them. My legs ached from more exercise than they were used to. I thought, I actually enjoy this.

Did I just think that? I had never thought I liked running before. It was always, “I hate running” or “kill me now.” Not to be dramatic or anything. But this time I actually liked it. Left foot, right foot. Left, right. I kept going. I rounded the curve of my final lap and started sprinting. The wind fought against me. I pushed hard, against the wind, against my aching legs, against my comparisons, my fears, my anxieties. I pushed so hard. And I flew across the finish line. I was done. Three miles. Not very far, but far for me. I had run three miles without walking, without getting anxious, without worrying about being perfect. I simply did the best I could. And it was enough.

Exhausted, I collapsed on the grass, and all my anxieties rushed back to me. The grass tickled my pores and cooled down my hot body. I was soaked with my sweat and with a flood of perfectionistic thoughts. Did you see that guy run right past you? He was way faster than you. You’ll never be that fast. My body shuddered. The grass tingled. No, no no, I thought. No more comparing. Please not again. During those short three miles, running had been my escape. I was running away from my problems. Well, probably more like jogging. Sometimes a speed walk. But I had enjoyed it. I actually liked running for the first time in my twenty-one years of life. Not once while I was running had I thought, you’ll never be enough.

My mind returned to Tracy’s office. She smiled in approval as I told her about my experience. The tears dried. “Did running help clear your head?” Tracy asked.

“Yes, actually it did,” I said. “I didn’t worry about anything making me anxious.” I paused and thought for a little. “And even though I’m definitely not the best at running, it felt good to find something I liked to do. I can see that I’ve definitely improved from where I was at the beginning.”

Tracy nodded and smiled. “Think about all the runners in the world. There’s a lot, most likely a million. If you compare yourself to them, you’ll probably never be as good as the best person. That’s a perfectionist way of thinking—that if you can’t be the best then you shouldn’t do it at all.”

“But I’ve started running,” I interrupted, “and I really enjoy it even if I am slowly jogging.”

“I’m proud of you,” Tracy grinned. “You’ve really shown me that you can alter those unhealthy thinking styles.”

At the end of our session, I walked out of her office with a clenched tissue in one hand and an uplifted spirit. I felt as though a burden had been lifted off my shoulders. I felt the wind of the track pushing my heels as I triumphantly crossed the finishing line of the front office counseling doors.