Loosen your laces, let your soles be free.

I’ve decided not to run the NYC marathon this year. This was a huge decision for me, which came at the hands of a recent “epiphany.” An epiphany in which I realized that it is, in fact, possible to be too goal-oriented. It is, in fact, possible to push too hard for too many things. It is, in fact, possible to work so hard at life that you inadvertently suck the joy right out of it.

So I’m learning how to cut myself some slack. And to that end, I’m opting to spend a season just enjoying running, rather than chaining myself to it. And by extension, enjoying all of the other things that suffer or are shunted aside when I’m in training. An almost perpetual state that my friends and colleagues have accepted with an admirable mixture of support and resignation.

Being as headstrong (stubborn? bullheaded?) as I often am, it still gives me pause to think about the fact that I’ll be giving up my guaranteed entry... But the decision is made, and ultimately, it’s a relief. Feels like I’m doing something special for myself that I haven’t done in a long time. Like I’m permitting myself a bit of a break. Giving myself the gift of time to focus on other things. Other interests. Slack. Let the cutting begin.

So yesterday, as if to confirm that I’d made the right decision, I ran the slowest five miles I’ve run in a very, very long time. It sucked ass. Or balls. Pick your pointlessly vulgar expression of choice. The air was so heavy that halfway through I felt like my lungs were no longer processing it. They were expanding and contracting, expanding and contracting, but somehow I still felt like I was suffocating. And by the time I made it to the end, my legs felt like lead weights. Good times!

I loved every minute of it.

Well, once I got over hating it. Such a fine line. My friends, the lazy ones, think I’m nuts. Always asking why I do the things I do, how I do the things I do. All the running, the biking, the kickboxing, the early mornings, the long days spent in often adverse conditions, the sometimes nasty physical effects. And the whole time I’m thinking, “Hell, anyone can do these things. Hundreds of thousands of people run marathons every year. Ride centuries, double-centuries. This is nothing. People do Iron Men! People do triathlons! People do hundred-mile runs! I could never do that. I suck.”

Slack: Must. Cut. Self. Some.

I’ll tell you, though. When I found myself still in bed at 8:00 this morning, the cutting of slack has never felt better!