So, a year ago this time, I was trying to make myself better but killing myself in the process. Or so it felt. So strongly I felt I was dying sometimes that I so often used the term “killing myself” or some variation thereof that an angry reader scolded me for being so careless and glib about, you know, death.
Sorry, I said. But there were some days where I truly felt like I was dying.
Okay, that was probably an exaggeration. But in the moment? Yeah, maybe I did feel that a little. But mostly because I was kind of a wimp.
When I went to visit my uncle last summer, a few months after triathlon stuff ended for me, he asked me, “Dude, what were you thinking?”
It was a good journalism project, I blabbered, and it got me in shape, and … yeah. Now though, I’m with him. What the heck was I thinking?