I guess if I had really wanted to I could have just stopped that pathetic lope/stagger I tried to pass off as a jog but I was too prideful to quit. Besides, I had always thought to myself when forced to run, it'll end sooner the faster you go.
I was seriously reconsidering this philosophy as I tried to stagger up an enormous hill alongside a very public road in downtown Alexandria.
I craned my neck and with a great deal of effort tried to look up and spot Eddington unreachably far away through the tangle of hair and stinging sweat in my eyes. I spotted her running effortlessly. I fought a wave of nausea and was hit with a tremendous pang of homesickness for my past life.
It felt vague. I wasn't sure if I had actually lived it it felt so far away, rather something I had dreamed once, an echo of a memory. I knew that I wanted to be there.
More than anything I wanted to be sitting in Jerry's basement, drinking Dr. Pepper and eating sunflower seeds and watching movies on laser disk.
At that moment, it wasn't just a desire, it was a palpable need.
I also knew at that moment if I pined for that, if I didn't let it go, if I didn't accept the reality I now found myself in I was dooming myself to sheer misery. I had to let it go or I would never be effective as a missionary. I would be consumed by it. I had to let it go or I would go insane.
I swallowed hard and stumbled up the rest of the hill and the rest of the way home.
I served the rest of my mission and while I thought occassionally and with fondness of Jerry's basement, I no longer felt the need, the longing to be there. I had put it away. I had quit wanting.