Enough for Now

Nostalgia is a weird thing.

The past, when you think about it, is a weird thing. Recalling events that took place in your life, but happened so long ago, is weird. It's weird thinking of something that actually happened but now feels more like a dream. Especially memories that you've forgotten about, or have pushed away. Bringing them back up, reminiscing on them, is weird.

Especially when they're memories you'd prefer not to remember.

The memories I'm pulling back up to write about aren't actually all that horrible. I didn't witness a murder. I wasn't abused. I didn't survive some horrific event. I didn't experience something that you'd hear about on 20/20 or that would have Harpo Productions calling you up for an interview. No, actually most of the memories I'm reliving are happy ones. Good ones. And that's what makes them so damn difficult.

These memories are happy memories gone bad. Like food gone stale. At one point you loved them. They were delicious and you enjoyed them. They made you happy. But now they've lost their flavor. They're no longer good. They're moldy and gross. They disgust you and you want nothing to do with them. So you do what you normally do with something that goes bad; you throw it away. Except when it comes to memories, it's very difficult, almost impossible, to empty the trash. They sit there and they rot. You don't bother with them anymore. You forget about them. But they're always there. And you can pull them back up at anytime.

Wow. Ignore that horrible analogy. What I'm trying to get at is that it's strange thinking about these memories and writing about them because I am reliving them. I'm having to go back in time and let specific scenes play over in my head. I kept a journal on my computer in high school and I pulled that journal up today and started reading it. That was even creepier. Because suddenly memories I had forgotten about were right there for me to remember. Very specific details. And more importantly, very specific feelings.

I think that's what makes it tougher, and stranger. Here are these memories that I'm replaying in my head and at the time I was happy. And I can still recall those feelings of happiness, even though today I don't associate happiness with these memories. Does that makes sense?

I'll be a little more blunt. I'm writing about my coach. And in high school I liked my coach. A LOT. I can remember moments and feelings and that rush of liking this man I was not allowed to have. But my coach is not who I thought he was. My coach turned out to be a liar. A selfish manipulator. And it's the creepiest thing to be able to go back and read my thoughts when I was head over heels for him, knowing what I know today.

Although my story is slightly more dramatic, I think everyone experiences these feelings. Isn't that what happens when you break up someone? You start remembering all the memories where you were happy, and you feel torn because you know there's not a happy ending?

So why am I doing this? Why am I in this limbo of the past and the present? Why I am pulling up feelings of happiness towards my coach when in today's reality I hate him? Why put myself back in the moment of all these memories that took me so long to repress?

I don't know. But I have a guess.

I think I owe to myself. I think I owe it to high school Laura. High school Laura spent two years liking this man only to realize he's a douchebag. High school Laura looked up to him and admired him. High school Laura cared about him and wanted the best for him. High school Laura may have been stupid and naive, but she was genuine and had good intentions.

High school Laura also loved running. High school Laura poured her heart and soul into this beloved sport. High school Laura had so many great times as a runner, and most of those times her coach was present. And once she found out the one person she felt understood her passion the most was not on her side, many of those memories were tainted. And her love of running slowly began to die.

Running has been a part of who I am for as long as I can remember. And high school was the time I was most passionate for it. My coach helped me learn that passion, and my coach was there for most of my best races, practices, times, etc. My coach fueled my love for running. Once my view of my coach changed, my view of running unfortunately changed as well.

But I still love running. I may not love it as much as I once used to, but it's still a major part of my life. And I want to feel as passionate about it as I once did. I want to get excited for races. I want to train hard and see improvements. I'm not ready to slide into recreational running. I still have a spark in me that wants to compete.

I need to tap into the emotions I felt in high school. I need to tap back into that passion. That means tapping back into memories dealing with my coach. So while I'm rediscovering my true love for running, I'm going to let my other passion take care of the rest.

Again, that's just a guess. I don't completely understand why I have this desire to write about it. But I guess I can't worry about that. For some reason I want to write. And unlike the times I've tried writing about it in the past, this time the words are actually coming. This time I don't feel like stopping. And when it does get too creepy, when it feels too weird, that's when I'll stop and say "that's enough for now."