And those words were echoed with an even more powerful thought which I refused to acknowledge at first. The thought that said, THIS is actually what your life needs right now. THIS is what will make your life work once more. THIS is what you have to do. NOTHING else can fix your life. NOTHING else can set it straight. NOTHING.
And an hour before my friend arrived, I erased the following text message, which I had written and re-written, but still hadn’t found the complete cowardice to send. The words I had finally settled on sending (to my friend who was on her way over) are inscribed onto the walls of my mind forever:
“You will never forgive me… But I cannot do this. I just cannot right now. I’ve tried any way I can to make this trip work, but it’s literally going to be impossible for me at the moment.”
All I had to do was hit the send button. And then all I had to do was send something similar to the entire Arizona team. And just let them do the Tough Mudder without me. Surely no one would care. Surely no one would realize I was even missing beyond the occasional curious thought. Surely they would all be better off without me. After everything I had shared recently, many of them may even be relieved.
But that little voice.
That stupid, fucking, voice.
It refused to be silenced. It refused to drown.
And I took a deep breath.
And I erased the text.
And I took a shower.
And I got dressed.
And I zipped up my suitcase.
And I took at least a hundred more deep breaths.
And my friend’s knock sounded on my front door, right on schedule.
As I made my way downstairs to answer it, I heard myself involuntarily chant (with words that got stronger and louder as they bubbled out of me), “I need this. I need this. I need this. Let’s do this. Let’s fucking do this. I’ve got this. We’ve got this. Oh my God, I cannot wait to do this! We are going to do this!”
By the time I answered the door, I was in it. So much so that I couldn’t believe I had typed out those weak and defeated words on my phone at all, let alone just minutes before.
I had the most genuine, giant smile on my face when I opened the door and saw Lisa. Somehow I just knew that everything would be amazing very soon.
And things did indeed become amazing, my friends.
But… There were still more very difficult and powerful lessons I would need to learn first. 41 teammates, a 12-mile obstacle course full of mud, and far too many voices from my past. They each had their own lessons left to impart before “amazing” could finally set hold.
And that is what I will be blogging about for the rest of the week, at least.
I’m taking at least a week to blog about it because, you see, my life has been changed drastically and almost instantaneously, and that doesn’t happen very often. Also because there were far too many incredible lessons learned and triumphant stories to be told from the last four days to tell them all in a single blog entry. So stay tuned. You’ll want to read what’s coming.
TO BE CONTINUED. CLICK HERE FOR WHAT COMES NEXT.
Dan Pearce, Single Dad Laughing