Also, my mom has threatened to fly up here and move in. (Imagine living with your mom at 35. Dear god, that is grief.)
So I am rallying. And I am ever grateful to my wonderful, amazing, beautiful girl friends here in Seattle. They've pretty much been passing me around like a relay baton in the Sad Michaela games -- everyone takes a turn making sure I don't lose my shit.
|Hey, girl, hey: I'm totally not crazy, I swear.|
And then there is triathlon. Yesterday Belle
|She's so kind to be seen in public with the hot mess that is me right now.|
I've been thinking about this a lot myself. In fact, during the funeral, I actually started entertaining the thought of quitting. I was so floored by sadness that I seriously considered dropping out of IMAZ, leaving Seattle, moving back to L.A. and locking myself in a room.
But that's not what Erika would've wanted. That girl was a fighter. And I want to fight. And IMAZ symbolizes what that fight is about -- it's about being brave enough to attempt something you never in your life thought you'd be strong enough to do. It's about setting a goal and doing the work. It's about learning to think of yourself in a new way -- as a powerful person who can make things happen. It's about taking risks.
IMAZ also represents where I've been. I never write about this, but I've had a long history of depression and have been in and out of therapy for about 20 years. Endurance sports are the best way for me to translate that emotional pain into a physical pain that I can understand and overcome. And the act of movement clears my head -- it's almost like running is my prayer and the pool is my church. (Biking is probably my confessional -- I've had serious hysterical sobbing breakdowns on the trainer the past few weeks. Dear cancer: Fuck you.)
|How to heal: Shamelessly admire my calf muscle.|
I am dedicating IMAZ to Erika. When I cross that finish line in November it will be for her. This bitch is back, and I'm ready to rumble. Bring on the bricks.