Once a spouse dies.
Once you lose the fire and purpose in your spirit.
These are things that seem to speed us along to our deaths. We all know someone who lost their will to go on when something special went missing from their life.
To a lesser degree, I'm starting to feel that after losing running for the last three weeks. I would cut off my legs to keep my family, but to lose running for this long, after also having taken 23 days off in June, feels like a small death.
Yeah, death is on my mind. Sorry so grim. Running marathons reminds me of how powerful a human can be. Not running makes me feel all shriveled and old and weak and not as alive and thus closer to death. I can feel my legs losing muscle. My energy is declining. I feel like crap. Better yet, I feel like a piece of crap took a crap and flies were buzzing all around it.
All of this because I have Bronchitis. It's like I'm scuba diving with a tank full of bad oxygen. It's hard to sleep, and when I do sleep, I wake up with what feels like water in my lungs. I am Al Qaeda being water-boarded with my own mucus.
I saw a doctor. Twice. First time I was given a Zpac and an inhaler. Second time, a stronger inhaler and steroids and a chest x-ray.
It's been a slow Death through asphyxiation, and it is not a peaceful one. I can understand how once you get in the middle of the tug of war between life and death, you just want one side to win quickly.
I can't believe our society does not allow assisted euthanasia.
I can't believe how much hyperbole and drama I use.
Someone really should smother me with a pillow. Oh wait, they already are. Until they do, I'm juiced up like Lance putting steroids in my body, hoping it will help me run.
