Running.

I just went running. I walked as much as I ran, but I fucking ran. The last time I remember really running, not just jogging, is fifth grade. I ran the 50 yard dash during field day and I won. I remember practicing for field day the week before and falling and skinning my knee and I still ran field day and I still won. That's the last time I remember not being scared of getting hurt. Not that I fell and hurt myself more than the average kid but I would say I was more scared of it than the average kid. Since then I feel like life has handede some pretty decent reasons to quit (asthma, injuries, a busy schedule) and I have ran with each one as a solid excuse as to why I couldn't possibly be active anywhere. 

I'm coping better. Today I had a handful or devastatingly sad thoughts about not being pregnant anymore and I didn't let them bring my whole day down. But then I decided it had been a good day and I should get out my fall clothes, try them on, and hang them in the closet. That didn't end well. Suddenly I was pissed. Here I am, not pregnant and no baby, no sign I ever was, and here I am looking like I went full term with the pre-pregnancy fat to boot. I can't change a goddamn thing about any of that. But I could find something productive to do. So I got dressed and told mike I was going for a run. A real run, or at least my version of it. And now I feel a little bit better. Now I've accomplished something and now I win today. 

And here I am with a dog that needs nothing more out of life than a human to throw this raggedy old toy.