A half-marathon. 13.1 miles. I want to run that. All of that. I am afraid that might be a pie in the sky goal. I have been running consistently and often. I push and push but it takes all I have to eke out 3.1 miles on the treadmill. That is a far cry from the 13.1 I need to make running a half-marathon a reality.
I almost gave up yesterday. I literally sat and cried after not being able to push myself past the 3.1. I came darn close to writing off the money I paid for the half and just realized I am not that strong, that I am the weak person I was always told I was. The ladies in my fitness group rallied around me and gave me a lot to think about–running every step, walking and running, being a little easier on myself.
This morning I talked to my hubby and talked about how much I really want to run it. We decided we need to get me off the treadmill and outside running more (as much as winter will cooperate), so today, right after church, I layered up and set out. I did 4 miles running with an average pace of 13 minutes, 47 seconds per mile. That’s slow compared to some, but a pretty awesome run for me. My legs are short, I have just started pushing my pace in the last two weeks.
Running today felt a lot better than yesterday.
The Bipolar has been a jerk the last few weeks…and then this week there seemed to be hope. I was talking to people, I was going places without feeling panicky. I thought church today would be easy. Last week I couldn’t bear to go into our Sunday School. Today, I waltzed right in, I talked too much, it seemed to go well.
So on to church.
The panic hit as we got into the main part of the church. We were having to go so far forward. The row we ended up in had people at both ends. I wouldn’t be able to get out. I grabbed my hubby’s hand as we sang, but all the sudden it was too much. I grabbed my purse and ran out of there. My wonderful hubby followed me. We sat out in the foyer area and listened from there (the church projects the sermon out there). But the panic kept building and building, so I took a Xanax for the anxiety. We were sitting in an open area so I thought I would be safe to not fall asleep. To my great embarrassment, I was wrong. I fell asleep. I tried so hard and it was just a loss.
Bipolar is such a jerk. I hate it so much. Why won’t it just leave me alone? I just want to breathe, I just want to go about my life. And I am stuck, being a big loser.