So, are you a runner?
It is a question that's been following me for the past 2 years. Hanging out in the back of the room, appearing in the middle of conversations out of nowhere. It is short, and trivial, and many a poor unsuspecting stranger has thought they were making easy conversation by asking it. But I hate this question. The answer never leads anywhere good.
Am I a runner?
I want to be.
I used to be.
but honestly? I don't know anymore.
2 years since my last real race, I should admit... 'no'.
or at least, not for now.
but there is this basket on the floor of my room full of shirts confusing the question.
that triathlon in Hawaii
the one at Tanglewood I relay'd with dad
merit badges from another life
that I sometimes wear defiantly
and sometimes do not wear, because I've thrown the whole lot of them in the back of the car to drop at the front door of goodwill
Runner, Race Director, GOTR Coach, Habitat House Builder, Shelter Volunteer...
I am constantly confronted with things I used to be
I need new labels.. In t-shirts and in life
[God knows me even when I don't know myself]
*Ways That I'm Not Well: the ridiculous ways in which life is different even though I look the same.