Hamster Wheel

Some days I would like to just keep moving, keep running and never stop. I pound that treadmill track, lungs sucking in oxygen, heart thumping, blood flowing through my body, my muscles moving in perfect coordination totally without conscious thought. It feels good. It is simple. It is living at its basic, stripped of all the complexities, big and small, that make up a person's life.

This morning I thought I didn't want to get on the treadmill. I felt tired. The kind of tired that goes beyond the physical to the point where your soul and mind are just craving for... quiet. But I stood on the scale and saw the number and stretched my muscles with Isabelle mimicking my movements beside me. The first few minutes on the treadmill feel sluggish and I keep glancing at the time I have left and thinking, "I feel like crap."

But ten minutes in I am running, ignoring the slight stitch in my side as I cross the point where I am no longer thinking about running. The music playing on the TV fades away as does Isabelle babbling as she plays with her toys. My heart thuds in my chest as I run, run away from my fat thighs, run away from whiny kids, run away from meowing cats, run away from dirty laundry, dirty toilets, dirty dishes. I do my best to pound out the stress that has been tying my neck into a steady knot for the last three weeks, to release the worry, the ceaseless, gut-wrenching worry about things I cannot control, to rest my brain from trying over and over to come up with some way to truly help Clay. I run away from my insecurities about my looks, my inadequacies as a mother, my tendency to try and always meet everyones needs and wants even at the expense of my own. I keep going on my own version of the hamster wheel until the time winds down and the treadmill slows, and then I am walking and the room is slowly coming back into focus and my life still surrounds me - both the beautiful and not so beautiful parts. And I know I have not solved anything and a small part of me wants to just keep going.

The responsible part of me thinks about what I need to do for the day and reminds me that I do, in fact, feel better. And I do. While nothing is solved the body is strong and energized, and for the moment my head is not quite so clouded. My optimistic side comes to the surface, as it always inevitably does, and tells me that while I may stress and worry and feel down, life has a way of working out the way it is supposed to. I pound that thought into my stair treads as I head upstairs to get my shower.