When I run, at the end, when I am worn out and want to take yet another walk break, I envision a finish line up ahead. and me striving toward it as the crowd on either side chants in unison for my triumphal entry with uninhibited exhilaration.
Every foot step propels me by their jubilation, until I arrive with arms raised and knees bent just steps over the line at the effort expended…
If that were only the truth.
So far, every race I participate, the end is a collaboration of mishaps.
As the miles decrease, my worries increase.
My mind chants, “I think I can,” as my body cramps in contradiction. And I begin to slow down. And my legs move about as one stuck in the mud.
As I round the corner of the final lap, not at the head of the pack, but more like the middle of the road with other sweat-profused individuals, I begin to develop a large lump in my throat , that quickly transitions into a desperate need to throw up right then and there.
So, with the goal within sight, I come to a complete stop to let the internal contents cool down and the desire to dissipate.
Apparently, adrenaline, combined with the challenge, is the perfect combination to propel my stomach, and not my feet.
I am tired of holding back.
What if I continue and see what comes about?
So what if I puke. Is that really the end of the world? I mean, really, if you smelled me at this point, my contents might be a sweet aroma to camouflage the sweat. (Yes, gross!)
I find I stop short quite often out of a lump of fear.
Fear holds back the impulse to propel forward.
And, impulse is replaced with indecision and doubt and wonder.
I have a lot to say. But, I stop short because I wonder…
Maybe my words will offend someone.
What if I don’t throw in a bible verse at the end of a post, will people will think I am no longer a christian writer?
I worry if I tell you my true heart condition on a continuous basis, you may wonder if I have went off the deep end, and am in dire need an intervention. Or an exorcism.
Does anyone want to really read these thoughts of mine anyway–maybe I should just keep them to myself.
What in the world?
So, I’ve made a decision.
I will not let fear reign when I feel the urge to purge.
Right now my impulsive “gut instinct” wants to send the letter I composed days ago to the hiring team who dismissed my application for employment–without even an interview.
Since they have not found a qualified candidate, after all these months, maybe I will. Maybe I will not hold back with niceties, and speak the passionate, raw truth about why I believe I could be a true contender.