I told Dex I was resting. He asked, "from what?" Today, somewhere past mile 30, my legs finally answered him: from themselves, apparently. They just decided to clock out. There were so many years I just kept running, even when my whole being was screaming at me to stop. I used to think the only way out was through, but sometimes the 'through' path just leads to a cliff and you've gotta find another way around, even if it means resting for a very long time. There were so many years where my whole body was screaming at me to stop and I just... didn't. The 'through' path felt like the only path, even when it was clearly just a shortcut to me crying in the bathroom. It's a miracle sometimes, looking back, that I actually made it to the other side of that particular hell, and didn't just collapse into a pile of resentment and dried up breastmilk.