Pain is a good motivator.

My most painful moments act as catalysts for my own resurrection.

When Andrew’s first marathon was done and we were pigging out at Red Robin he told me that while he was out there under the relentless heat of the sun he began to bargain with the marathon gods. He would do whatever they asked of him if it meant getting out of this marathon early. He told them that he’d go bald. He’d lose all his hair if they could please, if only just this once have mercy on him and get him out of this god-forsaken race at 16 miles instead of 26.2.

Bald is fine for most people but for Andrew, it would be catastrophic. To say he loves his hair is an understatement. I once mistakenly went to grab his hair during a make-out sesh before he had to go to a work appointment and let’s just say that when he ducked out of the way, Suzy didn’t get to the next base.

He’s hot, so he’s allowed to be all about his perfect hair. But I knew when he told me he had offered up his locks in exchange for an early out, that he really must have been in a lot of pain.

Marathons hurt. So does guilt. And mental illness. And cancer. And eating too much and being fat and having people stare. And sitting alone in a city full of people where nobody sees past your acne scars. And wearing fancy clothes while you live in a fancy house on a fancy hill while you sip fancy wine on your fancy furniture and everyone assumes you have it all and all you want is for somebody to see past all the fancy shit and just love you in all your ugliness.

I’ve been in so much pain that I’ve curled up on the ground of the shower in the bathroom and cried so hard that I thought my internal organs would push through my stomach muscles. Even with the slightest discomfort, the Julia Roberts vein in my forehead shows up like a traffic light.

But it’s in these moments, either the big ones on the shower floor or the small ones found in the flush of my face, that I find myself at a crossroads.

Does it hurt bad enough to change directions?

Have you ever looked back on your life and been thankful for the pain that motivated you to change for the better?

Yep. I have lilies tattooed on my arm for that reason: as a reminder that we are all capable of being resurrected. We need to accept where we are right now, take responsibility for our lives and then ask ourselves: what are we going to do about it? You can grow flowers from where dirt used to be.

Have you ever bargained with the running gods?

Reposted with Permission from Suzy Has the Runs