While technically this is my one hundredth post – I’m not considering it as such. I had difficulty planning when I’d be writing this one and when I was rearranging the schedule (shaking it up over here), I decided this would be the perfect opportunity.
I am consistently worried about failure. Failing at life in general but specifically school, work, writing, theatre, and running. I fear about losing my family and friends. These are all relatively normal feelings to be had – no one wants to lose out on their shot or take every opportunity presented to them, right? No, of course not. What kind of life would that be?
Alright, no more rhetorical questions.
I decided to make this my 100th post because I did fail. It seemed fitting to write about the failure at a time when I would simultaneously consider myself a winner. Work is going well, my family and friend relationships are balanced and reciprocal – school was marginal at the beginning of the semester but much improved. Theatre has it’s ups and downs, that’s the nature of the game with theatre though – it makes you question your life decisions such as: did I really want to command an audiences attention for an engaging, thrilling, life changing, romantic, mystery, dramedy?
No, no one picks this life, it picks us.
I did pick running. That’s the only variable I’ve allowed myself to fail in. And it happened a little over a week ago. I signed up to run a 10 miler and I couldn’t finish it. I started crying around mile 1 and had to stop by mile 3. I couldn’t get out of my head. No amount of body stretching or mind melding was working. I was at a loss for words and for feet. I couldn’t move except to the stress tent (I’ve officially renamed them as such). It was like a dream. When I said the words “I want to stop” … I felt blank and withdrawn.
I was fortunate enough to be surrounded by friends when I was dropped off at the finish line, spoke to my super uplifting and encouraging mother, but I still felt terrible. It was and is unacceptable. How am I supposed to be proud of myself? I’ve been running, not regularly. I’ve been training with my trainer. I’ve been drinking, not regularly but probably enough. I eat better now than I ever have before in my life (except for my anniversary party where I had strawberry Boston Creme cake – totally worth it). I completely and utterly let myself down.
Everyone’s proud of me and everyone’s telling me I’ll get it next time, that they could never do what I’ve done or will do – be proud. It’s hard for me. I can’t be proud. I didn’t earn a metal. I didn’t PR. I didn’t finish. I couldn’t finish. I panicked. I freaked the fuck out. This is hard to admit but I’ll be seeking help for it. I can’t keep experiencing these stressed out feelings. Don’t be scared to seek and get help. It’s there for a reason and you aren’t alone, ’til next time.