Lap #3
One of our junior high PE activities was to run a timed mile on the track. Four laps. Mr Wallace, one of the best teachers I've ever had, explained the four laps like this (I paraphrase because junior high was long ago, but the point of the story is still valid): Lap 1, whhheeeeeeee, no problem! Lap 2, feeling warmed up, found my groove. Lap 3, UGGGGGH. Lap 4, wheeeeee, almost done! Lately, I've been on lap 3. A patience game, a mental game, a game of trust. Three months isn't that long, but neither is 3 laps. But when you're in it this far, but also not nearing the end either, it can be a perfect recipe for letting thoughts wander. Can I do it? Is anything happening? Are the right things happening? Am I capable of doing this thing that is by many measures "impossible?" (Dear self: the answer is always yes.) Transitioning from having active treatment and therapies to then being left to percolate was complete BLISS in the beginning. My veins were t