Rogue Dominant's blog: "My Life In Black & White"

Go to bed alone. Wake up alone. Go to work. Train. Come home to an empty house. Repeat.

I've recently decided to start training myself for a 5k run at the end of September. I started running last year until winter hit and I stopped. I picked it up again this July, but took it indoors to the gym, on a treadmill. Only after deciding that I was going to run this 5k did I decide to start taking my workouts seriously, and took it to whole new levels. It took me only a short time to start doing the 3.1 miles I needed in the time I allotted myself. 'I got this,' I thought. 'I've really got this.' That was when I began telling people about my decision. To those who know me well, this came as a shock. Not because I'm lazy or unable to dedicate myself to a cause, but because just a few short years ago I was walking (barely) with a cane. I have a neuromuscular condition that was eating me up. I wasn't expected to recover. So when I started telling people I thought I could do a 5k, they expressed amazement and caution. Even knowing that I was much healthier now than 4 years ago, they found it appropriately surprising. For a moment. Once that conversation ended, they just stopped caring. Immediately.

It didn't bother me at first. I'm used to being and doing alone. I have one or two people who are there somewhat consistently if I need them, but typically only when it suits them. It only really began bothering me once I took my training off the treadmill and hit the open road. Road running is immensely harder than treadmill. You expend much more energy with each step. And since my weight is dropping faster than a pot smoker's IQ, I'm not getting the calories I really need to push myself. But the thought that has really begun to pick at my brain, tho, is that I really AM doing this for myself, and by myself. I don't have the proper equipment, nor a trainer. I have no emotional or motivational support. No cheerleader. No one to wait for me at the finish line when I cross it, near the back of the pack but just as happy as if I had been at the front.

And when you run 3.1 miles. Alone. In the middle of the night. It gives you (at least me right now) 38 minutes to ask yourself, "Why? Why bother? Why go on?" And the scariest part is, I don't have an answer for that anymore. I think I will probably end up quitting. Before I even try. And quitting scares me even more than failing.