I was very (very) slow. (Shocking, right?) But I made it.
There was this weird kind of – I don’t know how to describe it, exactly, but like a visceral remembering (rememberence?) of last year.
For basically my first hiatus after being assaulted, I came to SF.
And I was *not* doing well. The suffering was in full force. I was not only mentally having a hard time getting out of bed, I also was physically really sick with a fever and on antibiotics and everything.
And I just remembered feeling so crappy in every way during the race last year. And things have changed, but not enough.
The previous year, I cried basically during the whole race. This year, I didn’t cry even nearly as much, but goodness, I cried!
I am so unbelievably sick and tired of not being able to be alone with my thoughts in a way that isn’t harmful or devastating or just – I don’t know exactly what words to use, but awful.
And yes, technically this year, I was able to do double the distance. But it was really slow and mildly painful!
I’m doing better, but I’m not doing great. I’m more functional, but I’m not “Aurora.” I’m not wildly happy. And I’m so sick of suffering through at such very slow speeds.
But anyway, I made it. And this is where I’ll pick up next time.