I can never truly outrun The Voices, my inner demons that keep me on the edge of the abyss. What I find is that I do need to outrun The Voices. Running for me is like a dance where The Voices are a reluctant partner.
In the dark of night or lonesome moments The Voices sing out like a multitude of angles on high - though their hymns are neither joyful nor uplifting. Each verse is an attack on my heart, my soul, my very reasons for being. The refrain hammers home my frailty and weakness.
Running is my time to take the lead in this dance. I hire the band. I pick the set-list. I chose the dance steps and drag The Voices around the dance floor. I know that so long as I am moving about the dance floor The Voices cannot keep time. They cannot shout me down. They cannot shuffle their feet in time with the rhythm of the movement. The Voices stumble. I create separation.
Oh they try to bog me down and play the usual mind games.
Rather than listen to The Voices I focus on the sound of my lungs and searing of each breath.
Rather than suffers the raining blows of my eternal enemies I revel in the pounding of my heart against my chest.
Rather than dwell on how The Voices assault and claw at the fabric of my soul I feel muscle, tendon, and ligament pull and stretch and twist as I churn down the path...
I am not running away. I am running with...
Till The Voices tire and fall away and retreat to their own quiet spot to rest, I run. Then after I am finished there is a respite - a ceasefire, a momentary peace. The purpose for a training plan is not to prepare for a particular event but to get my ass (and my head) back out on the road before The Voices have a chance to awaken from their slumber; before they have opportunity to regroup and refortify.
I do not run to run away. I run to keep The Voices at bay.
I run to be stronger than anything that aims to defeat me. I run to be stronger than Me.