It’s the word of the week. Every which way I turn, I’ve been reminded of what I’m not, or of how I’m wrong–either in a big, fat “Because I Said So” kind of way, or in a little, wispy “You Didn’t Get the Joke” kind of way. It’s been a very demoralizing, frustrating week, with plenty of moments that made me want to rest my forehead on my desk, or pull the covers over my head, or apologize until there were no synonyms for “sorry” left. I feel like I’ve been sucking it up since Sunday night, and I’d really like someone to tell me when I can stop.
Little things have propped me up. My brother calling me because he’d heard I’d been crying. Lunch with my best friend. My Nana telling me she’d been talking about me all day. My boss telling me (granted, on the back of 20 not‘s and wrong‘s) I was a pleasure to work with. My Running Times magazine arriving in the mail.
And, oddly, my treadmill run this evening made a difference. I should have felt like a Loser — the only woman in the gym on a Friday night, right? But I didn’t. I felt as if I’d been freed. Even though I wasn’t exactly running with the wind (just another 3.3 miles in 30 minutes), there was something soothing about working up a serious sweat with no witnesses (who’s counting the floor staff?). Kind of like crying yourself to sleep, except empowering. Kind of like skipping prom to go camping, sing karaoke, and then skinnydip in the reservoir (you’ll have to give me a few margaritas before I’ll spill all the details of that night).
So, even though I was on a treadmill, I began to feel like I was on the right track. Maybe, I’m not so wrong after all.