Day 33: Abducted

I ran 1 mile today at a pace of 13:20. My heart rate spiked to 171 at points by the end of the mile, and I was overwhelmed by a feeling of nausea. I was running on a huge tumbler of freshly brewed Mexican coffee and a bottle of water - I hope I don't have to give that ritual up. After a 1 minute break I felt a little better and so fired the machine back up again - and walked and ran another .6 miles until that lightheaded feeling started again - and I stopped.

I feel great right now. Nothing hurts. I don't need to stretch. My heart may be working overtime, but the rest of me - my legs, my knees, even my arms and back - are not complaining the way they were even a week ago. That's improvement. I guess the key now is to just keep pushing my time and my speed a little bit each day.

In my life, I've often noticed that I can get used to anything over time - even things that initially seem completely absurd - like moving from an office with a window and a door, to a cube! With repetition, they become more familiar and their insult softens; eventually you can't imagine not hearing the sound of your neighbor's breathing, or knowing what's going on with the woman across the hall's father, or how many times Z100 plays Jay-Z's freaking "Empire State of Mind." The answer to that last one has thankfully dropped to once every two hours...

In the criminal world, I think they call this "identifying with your aggressor." For example, when someone is kidnapped, over time, they naturally begin to empathize with their captor - understand his motives, and sometimes even begin to assist him. The urge to fight back for individual rights once held wains and there are new sources of pleasure in the captor/captive relationship - enough pleasure that there isn't a reason to look back.

I am beginning to empathize with my own figurative captor - the collection of reason I've had my whole life for not doing this, for not running. So, what seemed completely absurd and evil and unfamiliar just 33 days ago, is starting to feel a little bit less so. We are of course still under cover, my captor and me - on the run from the authorities, driving around to find a safe haven, maybe even looking for a place to settle down for while. It's chaos in our world and we need to lay low for a while or we'll risk getting caught.

At first I was checking the locks on the doors every time I could - to see if maybe I could slip out. Now, I think about checking but sometimes I forget to - I am resigned to the idea that I'm not going anywhere and lines between danger and safety have begun to blur. Am I safer outside this car - or inside? I just don't know any more... What would I say in a "Help!" note I used to fantasize about handing to the waitress at the next diner we stop at for a meal? I don't want to risk getting caught now, and punished for trying to escape. That might be a lot worse than carrying on wherever we are going. On the flip side, what if I actually were to break free from this situation... What would I do then on my own? I don't even know where we are.

Of course, I still fondly remember my hometown of laziness, my comfortable excuses, the way I used to play dumb about the world around me. But if I can be honest with you, the view from the back seat of this getaway car is actually kind of exciting. I'm only loosely bound now and the blindfold is off. My panic is subsiding so that I can relax a little and turn my attention to all the new scenery unfolding outside my window... I don't know where we are going on this adventure - my fears, my captor, and I - but I know we are driving far, far away from where I used to live in my life - before I was abducted.