Alive is a state of (mental) being ...

I’m not always so sure I’d say that I’m alive. Sometimes I feel as though I’m merely existing, if that makes sense.

There’s been some crazy ups and downs in this past month. I’ve got a few, very close–but too new–friends here helping me through the troubles. There’s no doubt that I’ve experienced lonliness and homesickness, though. It’s been especially bad this week. I burst into tears at seemingly random moments (mostly when I’m alone or with my friends) because sometimes I just wish I was back home with my family and old friends whom innately understand me and all the things I’ve endured before and whom know how best to handle me. I’m lacking and missing the familiarity of longtime friends and loves. The new is fun and exciting, but lacks the historical record of solidarity. Right now, I feel the lack of foundation and am left to stand on the (strong, but single) pillar of self. There’s no doubt I am leaning heavily on my new, closest friends, but I lean on them in tentative measure, not sure whether or not they will collapse under my weight.

My troubles have definitely taken their toll on my tri training. Financially, I cannot afford my upcoming events. So my drive has dwindled. The tri club here in BBurg is definitely active, but I am not.


Even cycling doesn’t seem all that appealing. I’m in a funk. It’s a bit of a pity-party-funk, I think. I guess I just get tired of fighting what seems to be an uphill battle all of the time with my emotions and with my estranged husband. I know I shouldn’t let it get to me; I needn’t let him affect me and my life, right? Especially now that he’s gone away. Yet, somehow … it’s just not that easy.

I have made some attempt to keep (sporadic) activity going. I do go running with Calen. I’m finding that if I don’t go do something physical first in the light of my day, then I’m not motivated enough to go later. All I feel like doing by 5 PM is drinking booze, eating fried food, and living it up with Luke and Florin. I feel like I’ve lost sight of what’s important to me. Thing is, I don’t know what’s important to me. I say that triathlons are important, that cycling is my love, that being physical is something I desire, but I can’t help finding myself thinking that all I want to do is nothing. I sense no joy or excitement in going out to ride; it’s a chore. Running is an obligation. Swimming is … well, nonexistent. What’s the point?

And so then I dare complain that I think I’ve gained weight. Doh, of course I have. I have yet to step on the scale to prove it either way, but my clothes don’t fit as lean as they did last month. I’m sure that I’m getting soft around the sides.


I know that this, too, shall pass.

To be honest, there’s been so much good fortune and opportunity that has materialized as of this week. I’m just plaintively ignoring those successes at the moment. Perhaps, all I need is some good, solid sleep and a swift kick to the head to help me realign my thoughts?

Ah, what I will do instead is play out my pity party until Sunday. Then I will throw it a Bon Voyage shindig, write to my grandmother, and embrace Monday as “the first ambitous day of the rest of my fortuitous life.” Besides, I actually have so much to be thankful and grateful for. I live a grand life; I really do. It’s time I start appreciating it, don’t you think?