Telling Stories

As a young woman, I find it very hard not to tell myself stories. What I mean is this - when I need to feel space and am not occupied with other things, my mind tells itself stories. Using items that have happened to me recently, my mind makes things up, or "tells stories." It's kind of like dreaming, but I'm aware of it and continue to allow it to happen.

For example - last Thursday I went on a second date with a really great guy. We had dinner, a few drinks and ended up making out for awhile. It was most excellent. I left feeling confident and comfortable with everything that had happened. I would have been glad to see him again, but I wasn't obsessing over him - I just felt good. Then days started to go by and my mind started telling stories about the status of the me and this guy. Let me remind you, it was date 2, so there was absolutely no "status." We have things in common, we like spending time together and he's a good kisser. That's all. But as days passed and I did and did not hear form him, I had unbelievable narratives cooked up in my head - everything form "we're totally going to hang out again" to "he's mad that I didn't have sex with him" to "he hated me and thought I was a weirdo" to "I'm going to save space in my weekend just in case he invites me over." It was like it didn't end.

So what does this have to do with 13.1 in '13?

Running stops the stories. It allows me to think rationally and stop all the craziness in my brain. I had an especially active mind on Wednesday - for whatever reason I decided that if he didn't contact me on Wednesday I must be either a cheap whore or a prude bitch (yes, both of those were conclusions of the stories). He didn't contact me, and after work I took off running. 5 miles later I wasn't a cheap whore or a prude bitch and I felt amazing. Like on top of the world incredible. Was it because he called? No. It was because I'd allowed my mind to make time off from the stories. The rhythm of my breath and the vibration of my steps pulls my mind enough out of story time that it allows me to keep my wits about me and dismiss the nonsense.

So how could I not love running? It lets me process things logically, instead of letting my mind tell me stories and convince me that they're true. I foresee running being a companion of mine forever, but an especially prevalent one as I make my way through this mess called dating.