Twelve.

The number twelve has played a big part in my life.

In high school, my husband and his friends had an entire...lifestyle? philosophy?...surrounding "Magic 12." I don't even remember the genesis of this particular "thing," but trust me, it was a thing.

One of the apartments we lived in after we married was #212. Kyle was born on July 12. Katie was born in the twelfth month. If you reverse the digits of my birthdate, it's 12. Russ and I got married on March 11th because the 12th was a Sunday. (OK, not really. We got married March 11 because it was the first Saturday of spring break and Russ was working on his second degree...)

But anyway...twelve.

I've been feeling off the past few weeks. I don't know if it's post-Christmas depression or weather depression or turning 40 depression or what. It's been enough to worry me, to make me force myself to run, and to forcibly remove myself from any situation where I might be tempted to eat my weight in chocolate.

I'm happy that I was self-aware enough to know the dark road where I was headed. I'm happy that I was able to force myself to run and to eat (mostly) healthily when I felt like doing the total opposite.

Friday was particularly a bad time. I was trying to get things together and done for Katie's birthday party, and everywhere I turned I felt blocked in. I was stressing over getting my run in the next morning, and getting the party stuff together, and getting my hair cut, and, and, and...then I had an epiphany:

Who says I HAVE to run in the morning? I mean, when it makes sense to run in the morning, then by all means, have at it. But on that particular Saturday, why?

So I put it off until after the party, after we got home and unpacked and everything and all was settled and good. I drove to the hike and bike trail in Beaumont.

And I ran twelve very awesome, very soul-completing miles.

And bingo! Just like that, the fog lifted. Seriously, it was life-affirming. I felt like my old self again!

Now, I still got upset with Kyle the next morning when he misplaced the money I gave him for the church offering five seconds after I gave it to him.

And I still fussed for a longer-than-necessary time when both kids left their dirty clothes in the bathroom.

But that heavy feeling, that feeling of being pulled under by something you cannot control was gone.

Thank goodness!

(Also, a huge thank-you to the lady who works in our snack bar at work. She told me this morning, "Girl, you just keep getting smaller and smaller!" I needed that. I'm not getting smaller and smaller; I'm pretty much staying the same, but I'll take that kind of compliment any day!)