I’m Only Me When I Run

A farm wife with a city life doesn’t get much ‘me time.’ Let me explain.

I get up early (for me), shower, and hit the road to town by 7 30. I then belong to The Man for 9 hrs, and leave work around 5. Often, I have a to do list in town that could range from typical groceries to picking up parts to searching for the perfect graduation present for my brother in law. Then I get to come home, put away those groceries (because my better half is usually still in the field or shop), and cook supper – after I finally give up asking and just decide what we’re having. The typical woes every housewife faces, but after a 10 hour day in the concrete jungle.

So 24 hrs -7 sleep -10 related to work -2 for cooking, cleaning, and laundry leaves me with about five hours that are not scheduled. Minus a little veg time on the couch (maybe an hour, probably 30 min). That’s not a lot, really.

Then there are days like today. I’m exhausted from one of the most tiring days I’ve had at work since I started, I spent two hours in town running errands, and when I came home (to a half-built porch! Yay!) I had this incredible calling to go run.

I havent run a step since my 10k in March, and yet, I’m imexplicably compelled to lace up my old Nikes and go.

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And a few paces in, I realized why.

I’m only me when I run.

I’m not the accountant, I’m not the maid. To reference Kenny Chesney, I’m not gopher, chaffeur, company chairman, coffeemaker, or copy repairman. Even though there’s nothing, I swear man, that I don’t do. I’m just a girl in an old beat up pair of sneaks that can’t contain the thoughts in her head. That needs a little silence to sort out her dreams and goals and next big plan. That needs a view like this to feel alive.

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And suddenly, I’m me again. Driven. Motivated. In charge of my own path. Energetic. Spontaneous. Independent. Free. Okay, and maybe a little OCD (run, walk walk walk, run…). But that’s me. Your faithful blogger in a nutshell.

Life is a costume show. We play our parts, we wear the masks, we do the little dance. But then, if we’re lucky, the curtain goes down, and we return to ourselves. I’m me when I’m running outside. Where are *you*?

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