Didn’t want to run, but I did.  

And I reach five, my per-day quota for the week.  But no, I passed SIX.  

6.3, actually.  I almost didn’t go out.  I put on running uniform, but then nearly just as soon returned it to bag and stayed put, at desk.

NO.  No, that is not my SELF.  That is not the authentic… that is not the running writing Mikey Prof that I boast, or market.

My per-mile stunned me a bit.  8:30.  I was started and pleased I guess, then I felt myself dive into a self-critical coma.

Again, NO.  Celebrate what you did, I told myself and just scribbled on one of the many, too many, note areas on the desk.

12:47… practicing my authenticity, the most real ME that I can conceive.  And, poetically.

A little quieter in office today.  No students, that’s tomorrow.  Class… sales principles and then the self-talk parcel, which I actually practiced with this run in a way not prior actualized.

So…. Now I collect, cool down, take a hovering meditation, collection.  The book, DECIDED to STOP, tapping me on the shoulder, saying “This is what you write, what you did today…. Teach from this.”

Yes.  Why?  Because I taught myself.  I can’t tell you how close I was to giving up and not getting out there, piling miles.  Huh… somewhat stunned myself, I guess. 

Benefit of talking yourself into an act.  Knowing you want to but there is a subterranean octave in your synapses that is obstructing.

Ignore it.  Listen to the other chorus.  That’s what I did.  And now, this writer feels strong and fearless and eager to see what else I can defeat.

The days in the classroom, I would suggest the same to matriculants, when they would talk themselves out of writing.  Either and essay or short reaction, or whatever.  I would ask them, “How are you talking to yourself?”

“What do you mean?  Talk to myself?” I remember one of them saying.

I repeated my question and this same student, English 1A, would later detail the circles they would talk around themselves and away from any productivity.  I couldn’t help but smile and laugh a little.

“What?” They said.

“You’re commanding yourself away from even starting your work, and into this conversation.  Just start trying, in opposition and rebellion against your own voice… just try it.”

A week later, they read four pages in front of the class.  Not a monumental composition, but I was so happy for them that they had their four pages to read.  And they weren’t bad, just you could still sense the struggle.

The final draft, submitted a couple days later, received a B+ if I remember right.

I thought of that student nearly the entire run.  Definitely at the end, texting the Nurse my numbers, and a selfie, which is tradition for us.  Or, me, anyway.

Nothing will be aloud to douse or dilute this.  No negative blob, no smarmy messages, nothing.  I’m celebrating.  Each of the miles.