Ridiculous Hand Wringing

Joe and I had the most asinine conversation yesterday morning and it was all on me. I came upstairs from the basement, where I'd just finished a really good interval training run/walk on the treadmill. (Inside, not because it's too cold outside to run yet, but more because I'm obsessed with Breaking Bad and must watch as I work out, so I can see how evil Walter White truly will become here in the fourth season, but anyway, back to my story.)

I'd just spent the 45 minute workout staring at the TV transfixed by Skylar White's suddenly puffy face and Hank's struggles to walk again, while in the background I tried to ignore the nonsense and anxiety and questions that seem to be constantly running through my brain the last few weeks. My brain is full. Really full. I feel the normal stress of the holidays, shopping and baking and wrapping, the normal stress of working and stepping it up so I feel like I deserve my recent promotion, and then there's all this other stuff taking up new space in that vital brain area.  Joe and I are seeing a fertility specialist and I'm shocked by how stressful, overwhelming and frustrating it all can be. But mostly I've been gnawing away at this one issue.

I can't train for the triathlon that I committed to do next July. I can't do it. Doctor's orders. And I'm disappointed and guiltily a little relieved, and I feel like I'm letting myself down even though it's not my fault. That's probably that little bit of relief making me feel guilty.  But I came up from the basement, all sweaty and crazy eyed, and just started talking a mile a minute, interrupting Joe's quiet morning with an onslaught of questions that had been percolating in my head for days. Questions he had no idea I was even stewing about. Because he is a man. And I am a lady machine powered on hormones, self-induced guilt and too much self-flagellating negative talk disguised as self-analysis. Should I sign up for the tri just in case I don't get pregnant and can then start training? But when would that even be? Why can't we have more control in all this? This sucks, right? Are people going to think I'm a quitter? What should I do? Why did I ever tell people I was doing this in the first place? Why am I an idiot? God, I'm being narcissistic. Why am I making such a big deal out of this?

He looked at me, closing his eyes and patiently shaking his head and said, "What's with all this ridiculous hand wringing? The doctor told you that you can't train for it, so you can't do it. What's the big deal? No one's going to care. And why do you care if they do?" And he's right. There will be other years. I want a kid. So no heavy training. It's simple.

I can still run and work out, I just can't work out at the level that I'd need to in order to be ready for the triathlon next summer. Joe suggested I sign up for a 5K instead. So I just did. Like 15 minutes ago. It's a small thing, a 5K. People do them all the time. But I haven't. So I'm gonna go run a race. For a great cause: January 26, the Polar Plunge and 5K Strut for Special Olympics! So if you live in Kansas City I'd love you to join me. Or just show up and bring me some hot coffee. Or if you want to make a donation to this wonderful organization, just click on the friggin adorable Oz themed polar bear below. Or do nothing and wait for me to post gross sweaty pictures of my happy, shiny face when I cross the finish line. It might take me an hour, but I'm doing it. And I'm going to stop wringing my hands about it. I'm going to control the things I can, and let the rest go. Or at least I'm going to try. You're welcome, dear.