My feet had been itching to pound the pavement last night to sweat out the tears that I couldn’t shed for the shock of yesterday. Besides, I thought I might run like a lunatic last night. So I tried to shun the thoughts and the sickening mix of emotions, and reminded myself that I could run the following morning anyway.
After a five-hour rest, I got up, ready to run. I decided to take it to the gym, where I could punish myself by enforcing speed and uphills into the run with the treadmill. After three miles, the nauseating feeling crept in again. I hopped into the elliptical and hopped out only to feel physical exhaustion.
For the first time, running failed to rearrange my thoughts and my emotions, and to drive the piercing pain away. And for the first time, running failed to curb my tear ducts.
I guess when you face the adversities of the real world—the world that could be cruel—the melting pot of emotions could really be overwhelming. Shock caught my breath. But relief brought me back to my senses. Then I thought of the others and worried about their welfare. Then uncertainties and questions haunted me. And the sentimental fool found it hard to say good-bye to the people involved and to the publication she learned to love and had loved for three years.
Maybe I needed more miles. Argggh. This is not good. I’m getting too emotional.