This post promises to be quite random, but might even tie together if we're lucky and if I'm talented enough as a writer. Lets find out.
A few years ago, Cal State Fullerton won the College World Series. I can't remember a thing about that team except for one of their rituals. The team captain placed a strip of athletic tape along the dugout wall. And on it he wrote these words:
"Think how good it’s going to feel"
He was referring to the emotion that would be felt when the team would pour out of the dugout, make a dog pile at the pitcher's mound and realize that they were, without question, champions of college baseball.
"Think how good it’s going to feel"
I have used that mantra at many times in my life. I use it to justify being a Seattle sports fan, because when the Seahawks do raise that Vince Lombardi Trophy, damnit, I don’t know if I will have ever felt such elation. I've used it when taking on big projects, because when I finish it’s going to be great. Do I get to high five my teammates and get soaked in champagne? No. But, I feel pretty good.
Today, this past week even, has been less then ideal. I'm dealing with things that I don't really want to deal with. Today I got a phone call that the bank I'm getting a loan from misplaced the paperwork I just gave to them, so I have to give it to them again. My job entails sitting in the most boring meetings imaginable and trying to write stories to make people think the meeting was important in some aspect. There are days, I will admit, that I'd rather not do that. Personally, I'd rather go off into the sunset, drink bourbon and smoke cigars all day. However, that doesn't pay the bills and likely gives you cancer.
So, I've moved into this new town. I'm not very social so I sometimes feel a bit isolated. I have a job that sometimes isn't what I signed up for and I get to keep dealing with these morons from the bank. There are probably other things that, quite bluntly, piss me off.
Then I look at my running shoes.
"Think how good it’s going to feel"
Tomorrow morning, rain or shine, I'm lacing those up and going out for a run. I won't have a cell phone; I won't have to think about another meeting, the bank can't get a hold of me. It’s just me, the road, and nothing else.
I can't wait.
I often forget, in times where I'm stressed, that running is my outlet. It’s a lot less destructive then some other outlets that I sometimes succumb to (you know, the bourbon and cigars). It’s my stress reliever, my outlet, my escape.
And, you know what? It’s going to feel great.
