I am my own worst enemy. I need to stop that.

Last night, I posted on Facebook that the Under Armour running tights are the real deal, as far as battling the SE Texas cold. One of my friends posted something to the effect of "What are you running from?" He meant it as a joke (I accidentally deleted it through Facebook double-post weirdness, sorry 'bout that), but it made me think:

What am I running from?

(Sorry for the Carrie Bradshaw-esque questioning technique. Won't happen again...or often.)

Put simply, I am afraid of a lot of stuff.

I am afraid that I am not good enough. I know in my head that I'm doing a good job with my life. But I always think that I could do better. I want to be the BEST at EVERYTHING.

I am terrified that I am not parenting my children the right way. Yes, I love them with all of my heart and soul and tell them that, often. But is that enough? Does that make up for the times when I'm impatient and yell? Does that make up for the times that I am too tired to cook and I throw together sandwiches or something from the freezer? Does it make up for the fact that I am demanding and expect a lot out of them?

There are more things, but it's a very long, very boring list. Trust me. I'm happy and I enjoy my life, but I always have in the back of my head, in a whisper: "Did I do that right? Was that the best choice?"

Boiled down, in its purest form, I am running away from myself.

Running doesn't judge you.

It doesn't care if you're impatient, busy, tired. It doesn't care if you're sad, happy, whatever. It doesn't care if you completely forget to wash its band t-shirt so that it can wear it on Thursday with everybody else. It doesn't give you pouty puppy-dog eyes if you forget to put 60 cents in its dance bag so it can have a drink during its long afternoon/evening at dancing on Thursdays.

(Hmmm. Thursday seems to be pretty stressful at my house, huh?)

When I'm running, it's just me and the road. That's it. No expectations, just that I'm there.