Some thoughts on love, life and failure

 

Still plodding

I don't know how I learned it, but somehow I learned to love people for who they are. Not for who I want them to be, nor for what they give me. I learned to love someone with, not in spite of, all the things that makes them inexplicable, frustrating, difficult, weird, annoying. 

 In childhood I was only good enough, loveable enough, if I achieved things. The more or the higher I achieved, the more worthwhile I was. If I did something wrong that made me a bad person and bad people aren't loved.

But I didn't start running to achieve things and it's not why I started running ultras either. Neither is it why I decided to run 100 miles. I ran out of curiosity- could I do it? what would it be like? how would it feel? what would I see? OK, there was some desire to get fit and then stay fit as I do fear the thought of getting old and frail, unable to reach things off high shelves, struggle to get out of a chair and be unable to look after myself. But I have never done a race because I wanted people to notice and be amazed. 

Not doing any races, not even running 20 miles a week is a strange place to be in. I don't think running has ever defined me, but it is so easy to feel inadequate and a failure if I compare myself to others. No run-every-day-streaks, no huge high-profile races to boost my ego. No runs in amazing, scenic places. In some people's eyes I'm a failure: no money, no security, no house, no prospects, no ambition, no desire to be extraordinary. I'm unloveable. 

But 12 years ago I got divorced and had nothing; 5 years ago I broke my back and struggled to dress myself each morning; right now I have a family full of illnesses and difficulties and we face the prospect of eviction with nowhere to go. I have no hopes and nothing to look forward to, but somehow I get up each morning and plod.

The daily grind of my life is very ordinary indeed, but the fact that I'm still here at all is perhaps the most extraordinary thing.