There is an all-out knock down drag out fight going on inside me- my head battling my body, my heart against my legs, my mind, my mind, my mind fighting to stop. Once a week (usually Thursdays) the schedule calls for a short run, but hard.
So I get on my treadmill and start going. I find that normally if I start at about a 9:30 pace for at least the first half mile I can pick it up pretty well later; if I start out too hard I just don’t have the same oomph to run like a maniac. But this is my hard run, so although I start off a little slower, I don’t stay there, I push myself. And the war begins.
I love the large screen monitor on my Landace Sport Pro. I keep it on the screen that displays three numbers: time, distance, and pace. I also have the separate button for my incline. And I keep looking down at it and the struggle in my brain says, “Okay, just another quarter mile at this pace, no another half mile. Faster at this incline for two tenths.” (This certainly would be a little easier if I could only drop about five more pounds.) I look up at the TV screen for a minute which has me running through the lush and green Olympic National Park in Seattle to try and distract myself (Jim got me some DVD’s of virtual trail runs for Christmas), but then I look down again, and again, and again. And the distance is just creeping along. And I feel yucky. (I’m telling ya, those five pounds, like carrying along a bag of flour, are really plaguing me!)
“Keep it up, don’t slow down yet. Just another quarter. Okay, then just two tenths!!”
I hate the .6’s. It seems like I still have so far to go until I hit the next mile when it is only at .6. I can make the distance go by faster if I increase my pace. A half mile at 8:00 or 7:30. Do it. Just do it.
I hung a crucifix on the wall out in front of the treadmill, so I can look and see Him, Who for three hours shifted from the incomprehensible pain in His nailed feet, to the unbearable strain of not being able to breathe as His body weight constricted His lungs. And He was affixed to that cross. Every single minute was an eternity. No escape.
Today I also posted my sign on the closet door in front of me. “Why am I doing this…” I read the four reasons as I run. I glance up at the crucifix and then increase the pace just a bit.
And my brain sounds off. “Just slow down a little. No one will know. It is okay to run slower. This isn’t a race. Just slow down, just slow down…”
Oh beautiful, beautiful cross. Jesus!! Son of the living God! Have mercy on me a sinner! Only give me the strength to drink it all RIGHT NOW. Only give me enough love to tip the scale and I will choose my self-inflicted cross for these four reasons. I will retrain myself again, and again, and again so that maybe there will come a time when there will be nothing that will keep me from saying yes for the sake of the Blessed Sacrament. No doubt. No hesitation. Only love, enough to say yes.
My view of the closet door. Very exciting.