In my mind lives a voice. A very loud and sassy voice. The voice exists to irritate me.
When I'm running and start to slow down, it yells at me. When I think about stopping because I'm tired, it cusses at me and calls me names (yes, you read that right, it cusses at me!).
When I think I'm going to die, and start arguing with it in order to convince it that its in my own best interest to stop and walk, it tells me to check my heart rate monitor which always tells me that I'm a long way away from a heart attack and that despite what the 'sane' portion of my mind insists, I'm NOT going to die (I think my heart rate monitor and that evil voice are in cahoots!) and I keep running...
It's a hateful little voice. There are times when I choose to heed its badgering and push beyond my pain and fatigue. There's also times when I ignore it's maniacal barking and choose to quit and call it "a workout" before finding out what lies beyond the exhaustion.
On days that I choose to heed the unrelenting barrage of commands and endure my perceived physical road blocks, I find that beyond my mind's capability to cope, there lies a peaceful place of achievement. Beyond all reason and sensibility, beyond that last mile I thought I couldn't bear, beyond the point where my mind shuts down and all that remains is my legs moving in fluid motion, my feet rhythmically marking off distance inches at a time, I always find strength.
There's another voice that lives deep within my being, one thats a bit more loving than it's beastly antithesis, one that daily reminds me to Whom I belong.
There are days when road weary with life's race, I plop down, refusing to get up. From that gentle voice emerges hands. Hands that sometimes pull me to my feet kicking and screaming tenderly prodding me on. While other times, those scarred metacarpals gently lift me from my brooding perch, pulling me to rest against a heart that beats my name.
Sometimes, I find the courage to find out what's beyond my perceived weariness. Sometimes, with much apprehension, I choose to trust that voice which wooes me in dulcet tones and take one step beyond my fatigue, one step beyond the heaviness that bleeds deep into my bones, one step beyond me.
On those rare occasions of borrowed fortitude, I find that one step beyond my weaknesses, one step beyond my ineffectiveness, one step beyond my battle fatigue, lies freedom.
"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest