Do you ever have those days that from the start just seem askew? You wake up late, you’ve lost your keys, can only find one shoe? It’s like the world conspired against you, to really piss you off As you’re about to curse the universe, you come down with a cough What about those days, that you planned from start to end? The fun in your mind’s eye, that you’ll have with all your friends When the big day finally comes, it’s flat as a dead man’s wake Nothing is as you imagined…your mind screams F F S! Or the days you really wish that you had never left your bed You stub your toe, trip and fall, a bird shits on your head In your mind an endless litany of injustices served today They say they come in three’s, but you’ve lost count along the way The problems come from expectation, the myth of certainty We don’t control the world, we only imagine what could be Some days it seems, the universe, will have a different plan The only thing to do, is fucking deal with it man.
This poem was written to vent my frustrations this morning.
I’m training (poorly) for a half marathon.
Today was the day I’d decided to up the ante and run 8 miles.
I’d woken early, psyched myself up, it was going to be me, the open road and some inspiring podcasts.
I just needed my trainers, which were in the boot of my car.
Unfortunately, my car keys seem to have taken the opportunity of being left unattended to sprout legs and go for a run of their own.
After half an hour of fruitless searching, I decided to run in different trainers.
I might get blisters the size of Everest, but I also had more bounce than a twelve week old puppy.
All I needed now was an inspiring podcast to keep me going. I picked up my phone. Dead.
I’d tried using one of those magnetic phone charging mats last night. I won’t be trying it again.
So here I sit: trainer-less, car key-less, typing away in my running gear. I’m fucking dealing with it, man.
My son appeared triumphantly clutching my car keys after I finished writing this post.
I ran 12.6km (well, trudged, ran kind of evokes imagery of a speeding gazelle, whereas I was a bit more sloth like), which is almost 8 miles and my longest training run yet.
Once upon a time I probably would have spent far too long looking for the car keys, then sat down morosely in front of the TV because the world was conspiring against my intention to exercise, all the time worrying about where the hell my car keys were and catastrophising ever more elaborate ways in which I probably lost them because I’m an idiot.
Instead, I figured my car keys must be somewhere and trusted they would turn up. I embraced the opportunity to write. When my car keys turned up and I could retrieve my trainers I got my run done. It all worked out, no anxiety or negative thinking required.
For me, this is indeed progress.
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