My Mind Has Never Helped Me As A Runner
I don’t think my mind has ever helped me run in the past.
It’s the bleating little shit that criticises everything from my pace, to my running shoes, to my face. It’s the judgemental prick that passes internal judgement on cyclists and pedestrians in the most politically incorrect of ways.
It’s the little prick that always wants to run tomorrow but never today.
It’s favourite phrase alongside “STOP RUNNING, CUNT” is “sure there’s always tomorrow”.
I will start to argue with my mind over the silliest shit. It always turns out that I’m the loser. Especially if I’m talking to myself whilst jogging and someone happens to be closer to me than I’d thought.
Even when I repeat positive affirmations, my mind doesn’t believe any of it. It will refute all positivity as superstitious, sugary horse shit and at the same time will accept and believe all of the negative shit it feeds into my consciousness.
I run best when I’m out of my mind and I’m experiencing the run and not listening to my repetitive thoughts. Every mile seems longer when I’m counting. If I’m running 10 miles, my mind will do a search and try to find the last time I ran 10 miles and it was shitty.
I will then want to stop. And when I do stop, my mind will gloat. “Well you’ve just proved yourself to be a lazy fat bastard, how does it feel? How about some chips, fat boy?”
I want to be out of my mind more often.
My mind is destroying my happiness. As life goes on, it seems to gain momentum. The more you live, the more drama you’ll experience in life and the more the mind has to feed on.
I can’t put into words what it feels like when I’m out of my mind and just moving. I’ve experienced it in rare fleeting moments but it never seems to come back when I need it most.
My mind is the source of all my limitations. I jog at a pace that my mind thinks is the right pace. I stay constrained within the same weekly distances as my mind loves routine. I rarely try to push my limits these days as I’m trapped inside the Great Trump Wall that I’ve built around myself. I built that wall to protect me when I first got sober. It was useful to start with but in recent months I feel confined by it.
My mind is the same bastard that continually chirps on in the background with a sad, sad song as I try to drown the fucking thing out with junk food.
When I eat the junk food, it is the same bastard that calls me a fat bastard.
I want to outrun my shadow. At times it seems to be eclipsing all that is good in my life. The faster I try to run, the more ground it gains.
My mind is the past. I cannot change anything about it. Accepting it and moving on is the only way.
I am not my mind. It is a fucking lunatic and it needs to go. I will not be drinking alcohol to drown out my mind. It only works for 2 to 3 hours and then it comes back every more strongly than before.