desiderata310
VIP Member
That's how I started the day. 8 miles. I needed to prove to myself that I could do that distance before I would finally go ahead and sign up for the half-marathon. I managed to do just that with no ill effects. I haven't lost all my training. I am grateful for the longer meditative runs. They are the best, most quiet part of the day for me. It allows me to escape and to process without actively thinking about things.
When does the age of consent really hit? When can you look at kid and say: they knew what they were doing and they knew it was wrong? When does that happen? When I was a kid I would do things I knew was against the rules and I KNEW it was wrong. So when do you say 'it's abuse' and when can you say, "she wanted it and knew what she was doing was not right"
I'm still fighting with this notion.
Lot's of things have happened to me in my life that have been pretty shitty. I don't always recognize them as shitty because well, it was just normal back then. I've only really realized that, while I complained about some of it, it was more in the sense that you would complain about having to wait a little longer in the doctor's office than you'd like. I know it's worse than I think because of my therapist's reaction. Some stuff just makes me sick to my stomach and I can't think about it. Some of it I only feel is there.
Mom mentioned a friend of the family a few days ago randomly. Did I remember Chuck?
I felt like I had been slapped in the face. That was not a person I had thought about in years. I hadn't thought about him on purpose. I remember Chuck, yes. I remember more than I want to remember. Bits, snipits of something. We lived in Arizona in that hideous, hateful rental house. The house with the deaf girl who lived next door who was slightly older than me. The house where so many ugly things happened. I hate that house. I wish I could napalm it.
Yeah, I remember Chuck. I remember being pinned under him. I remember dad and Chuck, alcohol fueled, laughing at me and me struggling to breath and crying. I remember the smell of Miller beer, the smell of the wet dog, ass brown pile carpet of that shitty rental house. I remember knowing no one was going to stop what was happening because mom wasn't even in the state.
Mom was still talking. Chuck was still alive. He lives on the west coast. I got a little ill. Begged off the phone, made an excuse. I got off the phone. I went upstairs and threw up. Made an excuse and went to bed.
Those 8 miles really were the best part of the day.
Yeah, being gentle isn't an option today.
When does the age of consent really hit? When can you look at kid and say: they knew what they were doing and they knew it was wrong? When does that happen? When I was a kid I would do things I knew was against the rules and I KNEW it was wrong. So when do you say 'it's abuse' and when can you say, "she wanted it and knew what she was doing was not right"
I'm still fighting with this notion.
Lot's of things have happened to me in my life that have been pretty shitty. I don't always recognize them as shitty because well, it was just normal back then. I've only really realized that, while I complained about some of it, it was more in the sense that you would complain about having to wait a little longer in the doctor's office than you'd like. I know it's worse than I think because of my therapist's reaction. Some stuff just makes me sick to my stomach and I can't think about it. Some of it I only feel is there.
Mom mentioned a friend of the family a few days ago randomly. Did I remember Chuck?
I felt like I had been slapped in the face. That was not a person I had thought about in years. I hadn't thought about him on purpose. I remember Chuck, yes. I remember more than I want to remember. Bits, snipits of something. We lived in Arizona in that hideous, hateful rental house. The house with the deaf girl who lived next door who was slightly older than me. The house where so many ugly things happened. I hate that house. I wish I could napalm it.
Yeah, I remember Chuck. I remember being pinned under him. I remember dad and Chuck, alcohol fueled, laughing at me and me struggling to breath and crying. I remember the smell of Miller beer, the smell of the wet dog, ass brown pile carpet of that shitty rental house. I remember knowing no one was going to stop what was happening because mom wasn't even in the state.
Mom was still talking. Chuck was still alive. He lives on the west coast. I got a little ill. Begged off the phone, made an excuse. I got off the phone. I went upstairs and threw up. Made an excuse and went to bed.
Those 8 miles really were the best part of the day.
Yeah, being gentle isn't an option today.