Scrub a dub dub, “Me” Time

I never thought I’d be the girl wearing the scrubs, but I am, and I love it!
Volunteering at the dental clinic makes me thrilled to want to go into dentistry. The blood, the extractions, the x rays, everything. it is a good thing I can wear scrubs though, I hate wearing real clothes, plus the fact I wear my nike sports bras all the time. Because of the weight I have lost, none of my bras, or pants for that matter, fit me- everything is too big. I can hide my dumpy, roly poly body behind my xs scrub pants. I saw 6 extractions today in one patient, at one time, it was horrific and mesmerizing all at the same time. Watching teeth be pulled, either in whole pieces, or sliced and broken into smaller increments. As delicate as disarming a bomb, but brutal enough to shatter glass. Exquisite dainty art, but rough jaw wrenching strength. The first time I witnessed an extraction the pain looked horrendous, the girl squirming and withstanding the weight of the dentist’s mighty grip. The blood-everywhere, my legs became like jello, and my head began to spin. I had to sit down, by now, I am used to it. It is nothing to watch, help, hold, and even clean the fragments that have been removed. I love it!

The amount of coffee I drink has become ridiculous, but another thing I love. People ask me why I drink so much coffee, well, first, it is delicious, keeps me powered, and attempts to diminish the pain from my headaches.
… and my language has gone to shit. How the hell I even work with children during the school year is way beyond me.

Anyway, it has been one week.
One week since my mom and I quit talking.
One week since I deactivated my Facebook.
One week since I hit a running PR.

It is me time. I never spend “me” time, because in all honesty, I don’t like me.
During my 7 mile run the other day there was nothing besides me and my music and the pavement. Watching people fly by in their cars, me just chugging along, running away from responsibilities, food, people, stress, school, work, even if only momentarily.
Temporarily, I am running away. Away from myself.
During my runs I feel my thighs rub, my sides bounce, I am reminded of the space I consume and how I wish to just blend with the pavement. I pass fast food places, the smell of grease oozing from the establishment like a toxic waste-holding my breath as I pass for fear of breathing in those calories. The smell, nauseating.
It is a lose-lose situation. I either don’t work out, and weigh less because my body is eating its muscle. Or I continue to dead lift 85lbs, squat 100, leg press 260, etc and weigh more, but at least have some muscle.
Maybe a run will settle this dispute with myself.

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