​Sometimes I feel as if I’m a runner with Stockholm’s Syndrome. I’m deeply infatuated and in love with a sport and community that leaves me feeling invigorated, inspired and broken. My limbs gleefully seize up from each extension; my thick legs reverberate the sounds of an internal protest – this is oftentimes welcomed and expected. I didn’t account for the sounds of my peers telling me that I am not wanted here or how my body is a force of repulsion. My thoughts are not always welcomed in spaces that I once considered safe. I don’t know exactly when I shifted from being a person once invited to join a collective of asphalt clapping runners to being a nuisance in the community but I know how it made me feel once I acknowledged the shift. Despite my treks through unfamiliar terrains, this void feels foreign. These days, I don’t find solace being in a group with like-minded strangers. I learned how to run alone and at times, I find it hard to muster the courage to not feel broken in my solitude.

​On Friday, my therapist loaded me with homework: Choose a day to be versus do. This was inspired by my obsession with writing out lists and decorating my workspace and entire home with post it notes filled with tasks in every room. Admittedly I’ve grown mildly addicted to writing out my workout routines on neon 5X7 Post It Notes, meticulously scribing out a well-blended strength, calisthenics and cardiovascular routine. This act serves as one of many ways of how I’ve been keeping my mind occupied while coping with the harsh realities of several burning fires throughout 2020. Obviously, Rona trickled her ass onto Luther Vandross’ remixed 2020 but so many other negative things followed suit. After feeling invigorated about Stacey Abrams’ nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize, I felt numb after reading about a Black 9-year-old Black girl that was assaulted with mace by the Rochester Police Department because they found her to be uncooperative. Without going into graphic detail, I am sick and tired of reading comments from people that justify heinous crimes, particularly ones done on Black, Brown and Indigenous folks. This level of hurt and rage frequently crosses into my fitness routines and at times, heightens me to such a degree that I don’t feel safe going for a run or leisurely riding my bike outside. Conversely, I’ve thrown myself into mini strength work and cross training exercise regimens and feel guilt when I cannot knock them out. If there’s ever a day that my workload is on overkill, I criticize my lack of time management to essentially do it all. Acknowledging this harsh self-assessment with the help of a therapist, I am using this month to find my balance to be passionate about everything with room to recover and welcome spontaneity.

Some of the quarantine memes are funny and restrictions definitely suck but did the outdoors really close?  Perhaps the rules just changed a bit. If you're not living near Central Park, Union Square or Prospect Park in New York City, your playgrounds are possibly chained up.  In my neighborhood, the NYC Parks Department took an extra measure by removing the basketball hoop across from my home several weeks ago.  But let's be frank for a few minutes: If you're living in the United States, the outside never closed but it's doing a great job limiting our options on how we play on our free times, particularly in the fitness community.  It might be safe to say that you're tired of this quarantine life because it's been at least six weeks.  We've groaned, threw tantrums, experienced depression and mourned the loss of loved ones and things -- but when are we going to go back outside and possibly do something else?

Signing up for a virtual duathlon almost a week ago seem like a good idea until my menstrual roughly cleared its throat Saturday morning.  I was on day two and shamefully I woke up questioning if it was going to happen.  This morning's wake up call stemmed from a burning sensation that rushed from my vagina, past my rectum and traveled up the lower parts of my back.  My hands and face are slightly swollen and feet grew angry once touching the cold laminated wood floors in my bedroom.  Without hesitation, I pulled back my covers while my husband was nuzzled inside and checked the white sheets -- there's no trace of my pain on the linen today.  While wobbling past a hairball gift wrapped in my hallway from my cat, I started seeing doubles on the way to the bathroom.  My pride wouldn't let me ask for help even though my husband would understand.  Before sitting down, I checked out my blue and black checkered pajamas and felt defeated; they were not as fortunate as my sheets.  I spent 45 minutes in the bathroom asking myself if doing a virtual duathlon during this pandemic and an endometriosis flare is even possible.  After showering off, I reminded myself that this is not unfamiliar territory.  I took two acetaminophen, allowed my husband to supervise as I made old fashioned oatmeal and glanced at my road bike on the kickstand.  My virtual duathlon happened but not for a number of hours.

Admittedly, I have trust issues with my entire calendar at this moment.  Several races were cancelled and I've been playing it by ear with the swimming facility that I use.  As of this morning, I lost 4 paid gigs and nervous about booking any flights until the dates are closer -- and who knows if I'll have the money to finance it by these dates.  At the moment, COVID-19 is wreaking havoc on the entire world and people have justified reasons to be nervous.  Watching how organized events start to unravel over the course of a few weeks, my feelings shifted from disappointed to numbness.  Within a month, a great chunk of my scheduled races are gone:  Tokyo Marathon, New York City Half Marathon, a change of date for The Love Run and my Hot Chocolate 15K in Philadelphia is officially a virtual run.  With the exception of the Tokyo Marathon, I feel like all of these places handled it the best way that they possibly could -- I'll be kind and reserve my feelings since we're kinda going through a pandemic.

Surely people are hurt from the change in events and this goes well beyond running.  New York City feels eerie from the lack of people populating the gym or local pool.  Restaurants are thinning particularly Asian establishments -- thanks xenophobia.  Pictures of Times Square surfacing the internet are being compared to every horror movie or crazy book known to man.  And because I'm a fitness aficionado, I am loaded with questions about what I will do to press forward.  After all, fitness is not just something that I do for fun. I am a freelancer who uses her platform to speak about these adventures -- which requires for you to be around people.  At this moment, my social media accounts are bogged down with concerns about their training going to the wayside to questioning how will people maintain their marbles as the world goes COVID-19 crazy.