Every time I go down to Los Angeles I mention that it’s like being in La La Land for a week. It’s a mad rush to see all my friends and to make sure that I get to stop at all the crappy food places I used to eat at when I was in college.
Incidentally, I usually come home a little sick.
The last time I went down to the L.A. area was in the middle of January. This time it was for one of my best friend’s weddings. You know what that means, right? Bachelorette Party!
The ONLY detail of that night that will make it online is that, for the party, I booked the Hilton Checkers in downtown Los Angeles. Everything else is strictly classified. Sorry.
Besides, considering the fact that I was the hostess of the party and the one mixing all the drinks, I’m probably the only one who remembers the night, anyway.
I pour heavy.
Late that night, once almost everyone had fallen asleep, I went with TMI BFF out to the rooftop deck where the pool and hot tub were. It was the first time we had actually seen each other in a few years. Once upon a time we had been such mischievous partners in crime.
Look, it’s us!
We tried to fit as much as we could into the fifteen minutes we had before she was being picked up but it’s never enough. As we were talking, I noted that there was a small workout room just to our right and that this would be a perfect time to start running again. After all, I was just beginning to come to terms with the things I had lost and wanted to start getting those things back. I wanted to take ME back.
I thought I had posted more about that but I think I opted not to because I didn’t want my blog to become all about recovery.
TMI BFF’s ride arrived and as I stood up to walk her down to the car I remember just how much I had imbibed that night. I also remembered what happened the last time I had gone running while drunk.
Maybe this was not the best time.
I returned to our room and went to sleep.
The next morning I woke up, performed the obligatory passing out of vitamins, Aleve, and water for hangover prevention, and decided that I was not going to let last night’s impulse slip away.
I changed into my running things and went back to the workout room.
It was hard.
But, it got a little easier.
And then I hit that point; the point where you feel like if you take one more step, you might die.
Furious with myself, I almost started to cry. I was so angry that I had lost so much stamina, that I had let myself gain back so much weight, and that I had let someone do something to me that had affected me so strongly.
For a moment, that fury carried me on.
I had let him, Dread, control me from a distance long past that night and I was seeing the result of it.
As I came to a walking break in my run I decided to push through even if it hurt like a bitch. I was not going to let him have any power anymore.
Every step I took, running or walking, was pushing myself back toward the strong creature I once was. With every step I felt like I was taking back control, like I was taking me back.
I put on the song “Do You Remember” for the last few minutes of the run and every time I heard the line “Let’s bring it back,” I felt a little “fuck yeah” surge through my body.
Finishing exhausted but triumphant, I collapsed in one of the wicker chairs on the deck and gazed out at the downtown skyline. I was so proud of myself.
I realized that what I had written a month ago was true.
At this point it’s no longer about trying to pick up the shattered pieces and put them back together, it’s about trying to fill in the little cracks left from having done so.
Here I was, taking back ownership of my fitness… well, starting to, anyway, and I knew that I could fill in those cracks. I finally saw that what had happened didn’t have to scar me forever.
Yet, there was more to do. I’d run in Los Angeles but could I do the same in Seattle? Could I go back to the gym where I had run into him, taking back both my workouts and my space at the gym?
Apparently the answer was yes. On Valentine’s Day, rather than doing any mushy love stuff or any pretending like I love being single and celebrating myself; I took myself back to my gym. That is a story for tomorrow.