This is (not) about Running

During the lead-up to a race, I always get nervous. Often, the night before I can't sleep at all. My guts do an unpleasant gymnastics routine the morning of. 

This annoys me.

Why is this happening?!? What for?!?

The stakes are quite low overall. I'm a solidly mid-pack runner. It's not like I'm trying to win anything, or even qualify for something. It's always me running alongside my own expectations. That's it. And even that's not a lot of pressure. Things don't always go as planned, and I'm okay with that. I love the process more than the outcome, anyway. 

So why the nerves?

It's this:

I'm willingly putting myself in the path of pain. 

I'm saying yes to it. 

I know that doing this is going to hurt. 
And I'm doing it anyway. 

I will be uncomfortable. 
But I want what's on the other side of the discomfort
more than I want to avoid it. 

I'm so curious about what's on the other side. 

I'll admit: time, pace, place -- I'm curious about those things, too.
Every time. 
I want to know what I'm capable of.
I want to see the metrics. 

But I'm even more curious about this:

What do I have the capacity for?

This is different than the numbers. 

This is about how big my container is.

How much can I hold?
What am I willing to feel?

My capacity is not fixed. 
It's made of something flexible. 
It can stretch. Unfold. Expand. 

Also I have choice. 
I can stop. I can opt out.
I can get away.  

But what if I want to stay?
What if I want to stay but pain is filling my body?
What then?

This:

I don't want to do this anymore. 
That's ok.
Remind me where you are.
Right here. 
Where?
Dirt under feet. Trees overhead. 
Wind singing in my ears and across my skin.
Stay there. Stay there. 
Okay.

I'm tired. I don't feel good anymore.
That's okay. You expected that. 
What can you do to let your body know
that you are safe? 
Drop my shoulders. Relax my face.
Get breath in my belly, not just my upper lungs.
Smile. Even if it's an imagined smile. 

Do that. Do that. 
Stay. 
Stay.
I will. I am. I will. I am. 

What do I have capacity for?
    Anything.
       Everything.

How much can my container expand?
    It's unmeasurable.
      It's infinite. 

Choose to stay. 
Stay. 
I'm here with you. 

suspended between

          My hands are on my knees.
I'm pitched forward, eyes on the ground
                                                     but not seeing it. 

          My breath is coming fast. 
                                             I'm letting it come fast. 
It is a reaction to extreme stress:
                                                bodily stress
                                                      emotional stress
                                                             energetic stress.
One exhale
            hardly ends
                        before the next inhale
                                                     begins.
           My arms are getting tingly. 

"I need you to do something for me,"
                                                   you say.
        "I need you to take a deep breath."

An exhale comes.
                  A quick inhale.
                                Another crashing exhale.

At the bottom of that breath I sense myself
Suspended between.

Suspended between
this exhale 
and the next inhale.

Suspended between
fear
and action

Suspended between
I don't want to do this anymore
and We have to figure out
       what we are going to do next.

No time passes.
It is a snapshot.
It is an illusion.
            It is nothing.
            A space where there is no
            thing at all.
                Neither inhale nor exhale.
                Neither fear nor action.
                Neither resistance nor planning. 
            It's the narrowest sliver.
            It's the widest gap.
            It's all dark.
            It's all light.
                It's neither.
                It's both. 

In that gap
I choose.

I choose that the next inhale
will be slower.
The next exhale
follows the example.

The panic passes.

I stay present. 

***

Suspended between
the past and the future
                  is
            right now. 

Right now is the only 
real thing.

It's a still point.
It's part of a trajectory. 

It's both, depending on the perspective.

Zoom all the way out
and you can see a line,
Every moment that's ever been.
Every moment that will be.

Zoom all the way in
and it's a single pixel,
out of time. 

How will we experience it?
We get to choose.