I work out with an amazing group of women. They are supportive, competitive, and most are also Army wives. This last week two of them had their husbands come back from deployments. I have wrestled for three days now with the disappointment that my husband isn't coming home anytime soon. I stare at their updates and reunion pictures with such jealousy. Over and over when I hear a weird noise in the middle of the night, I pray it's him coming home. "Surprise! They let me come back early."
When you're depressed and exhausted and desperately need a hug and a shoulder to cry on, 3am is not the time to phone a friend. I tried that once. I spent the phone call assuring them no one was dead or dying.
I sat in bed this morning, after sleeping for 3 hours, asking myself what was the purpose in going to workout? I'm not trying out for the Olympics, there is no body building competitions in my future. I don't have another race till September. I was tired and sore. But I got out of bed, and got K and I to the other place she refers to as home. The workouts are so tough, I have to focus and think so hard, that for about an hour I can ignore the rest of my life. That's why I go.
After pushing myself through another crazy WOD I sat down next to one of the wives who's husband just got back. She gave me a hug and told me it's ok to be angry, sad and just want to cry. I spend so much time being strong for K, for J, for our families, for our friends. When I can't be strong anymore, I don't always know where to turn. I didn't have a place to go at 3, but around 10 I found the comfort I needed.
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