Psyching myself out – or is that psychoing myself out?

If you’ve gleaned one thing from my ego-centric writings, it’s that I spend an awful lot of time in my head. If you asked me, I would say it’s because I enjoy spending time with myself. If you asked anyone who has lived with me, they would say it’s because I’m psycho.

But regardless of my reason for doing it, I do spend a lot of time mulling things over in my mind and coming to some sort of a conclusion or justification that generally allows me to make it through yet another day.

At work, the logistics guy has just departed on a two-week vacation, meaning that I have to do my job and his job for the time he is away. It’s not the first time I’ve done it and every single time  – despite his assurances that everything will be fine – I end up in the middle of a shit storm that leaves me with an aching rectum. He spent the better part of the last week making me cheat-sheets (oh, how I love me some screenshots and numbered arrows!) and talking me through stuff, while I spent the week making jokes about how he should be afraid, be very afraid of what will happen when I sit in the “hot seat” (as I like to call it).

The AAA+++ overachiever in me wants to be able to manage the extra work and do it well, but the reality is that my brain is not logistically wired. I find it hard to successfully walk the tight-rope of transporting schedules, production lead time and juggling interactions with governmental agencies. But more than anything, I hate people coming to me for answers when I do not have them. Which in this case, is all the time because I do not have a clue about most of this stuff.

I had a conversation with myself the other day (which is something I like to do when no-one else can see my mouth moving or my hands gesticulating wildly), saying it was okay to be fail at his job because it’s not my job, it’s not what I signed up for and it’s not my chosen career path. I went on to reassure myself that they can’t expect me to be Miss Perfecto at something I don’t normally do, especially seeing as I am the me speaky Japanese, language-orientated-brain chick, not the make-all-the-pieces-fit-in-the-logistics-puzzle chick.

Then I was also giving myself a stern talking to about not getting myself into the ‘I’m going to fail’ mindset, because setting myself up for failure, generally results in failure. However, this was made harder by the fact that during the week I had every man and his dog in the office asking me in a very serious tone of voice if I was ‘ready’ for the logistics guy’s imminent departure and whether I was ‘okay’ with everything.

Not good people – as if I wasn’t pressuring myself enough already.

Funnily enough, the shit storm I was predicting hit an hour before the logistics guy walked out the door on Friday. He smiled and said, “Sorry, I’ve got to go and catch a plane, good luck!” just as the Hiroshima-sized bomb dropped. I’ve now got this horrible situation to begin dealing with bright and early on Monday morning.

Joy.

My rectum is beginning to ache. Pray for me people.

I’m also beginning to psyche myself out about the half-marathon next month. I swing wildly between the two juxtapositions of ‘it ain’t that far!’ and ‘omfg it’s too fucking far!’ I’m at the point of running 15km on my long weekend runs and I am so physically wrecked after them that I have no idea how I’m going to manage the extra 6km. I’m sure someone is going to give me the advice of, ‘Slow down! You’re running too fast.’ But unfortunately I don’t think there is a slower pace than the sloth-like, shuffle I can barely manage at the moment. Part of me did think for a while that maybe I was running too slow, but after attempting to run faster one day, I can proudly report that running faster while you feel like shit running slower, does not make you feel any less like shit.

I think I’m at the ‘training wall’, if such a thing exists. I’ve been running 5 times a week for two and a half months now and I’m having a sad that it doesn’t feel any easier after all this time and many hundreds of kilometres. I don’t think it’s supposed to be this hard, is it?

Or then again, maybe that’s why people don’t run a half marathon every other weekend. I have some serious respect for full marathon runners these days, how the fuck do they do it?

So while talking myself through these thoughts the other day, I had an epiphany. Maybe the running thing is like the logistics thing. Maybe I’m not built for running. Maybe it’s not my thing and it’s always going to feel like I’m swimming upstream against a raging current and I just have to suck it up and move on with my life, accepting that I can’t do everything.

I’m not quite sure how to align that thinking with my AAAA+++ must always be right, must always be the best personality because in that world there’s nothing but,

“Do, or do not”

(with thanks to that small, green Jedi master).

Maybe it’s time I changed that to,

“Give it a try and see how you go. Live with the results you will.”

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2 thoughts on “Psyching myself out – or is that psychoing myself out?

Add yours

  1. “Part of me did think for a while that maybe I was running too slow, but after attempting to run faster one day, I can proudly report that running faster while you feel like shit running slower, does not make you feel any less like shit.’

    I totally appreciate the research you did on my behalf. I’ll be sticking to my Cliff Young-esque shuffle tyvm 😉

    I’m sure you’ll manage the extra ks just fine on the day…surge of the crowd and all that 🙂
    And then you can officially retire 😀

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