I took part in a 10K race the other week. can’t say that I ran. Technically, I did run…for about ten steps. Then I walked. I couldn’t run because I was overly prepared.

I was afraid that I would get thirsty. That I may trip and need a bandaid. That I may require a dab of sunscreen or lip balm aside from the initial application pre-race. That I may lose consciousness and need my ID for emergency personel. A snack in order to keep my blood sugar up. I kept all of this essential equipment stashed in my very stylish fanny pack. Yes, you may laugh but I was ready for any emergency. 

As I started on the race, I congratulated myself for my preparedness. But when I started to run….I was totally annoyed. The stuff in the pack shifted noisily and the water bottle slapped against my lower back. As I watched other “racers” fly past me, I envied their freedom. Their ability to run. 

I finished the race walking and marvelling at the metaphor that the race had become. 

Fear had kept me from “flying” along with the rest of them. Anxiety that something would happen to or around me caused me to think about every possible scenario and attempt to remedy it before it even happened. 

I think that my fear of not being prepared for all the eventualities that life has to offer is affecting my and my children’s lives. I couldn’t stop Jeff from dying. I couldn’t keep my children’s lives “whole” and “nuclear”. So I will burden myself with all the equipment/knowledge/paraphernalia I can possibly endeavour to possess in an attempt to control the uncontrollable. 

And this need to hold everything together is making me fall apart. I want to live. I want to run! 

Goodbye fanny pack. Next 10K? Commando.