Exactly one month ago, I declared—loudly and confidently—that I was going to train for a 5K.
It was supposed to be a thing. A routine. A little plotline for my summer. The start of a new arc where I was going to become that girl—disciplined, glowy, hydrated, jogging through the neighborhood at sunrise while vibing to a playlist called “5K Slay.”
But instead?
Here’s what actually happened:
- A few half-hearted walks.
- A couple of nights doom-scrolling beginner runner TikTok instead of going to bed.
- Multiple “this is the week I start” pep talks… followed by zero actual running.
And then—nothing.
Just regular life. And depression.
And the quiet, constant ache of wanting to want things—but not quite being able to push myself through the fog.
There’s a word I’m looking for here—not motivation, not even discipline exactly, but that thing that lets you make yourself do something even when you don’t feel like it. The internal push. The engine. The whatever-it-is that people seem to be born with or build or brute-force into their bones.
I think I lost mine somewhere between burnout, sadness, and too many “maybe tomorrow” mornings.
To be clear, this wasn’t just a case of “I got busy.”
This was a full-body shutdown.
That fuzzy, foggy, gently-doomed feeling where everything is technically fine but somehow still feels like a cursed Sims save file.
And now it’s August.
Which hasn’t brought peace or renewal or momentum—but rather, a soft, creeping sense of doom.
Like I’m standing in the middle of a slow, sad montage where nothing is exactly wrong, but everything still feels like it’s unraveling. Not dramatically. Just… quietly. Just enough to make everything feel heavy.
I’m not trying to be dramatic—okay, maybe a little—but this month already feels like Little Miss Sunshine: emotionally unstable, slightly chaotic, and featuring an ensemble cast of tired people just trying their best. Everyone’s hanging on by a thread, the van won’t start without a push, and no one really knows what’s happening—but we’re still rolling forward, somehow. Just picture me in the metaphorical backseat, wearing heart-shaped sunglasses and trying to stay hopeful while everything teeters between disaster and weird, scrappy triumph.
To be fair, it’s not just me spiraling.
Hector’s been going through it too.
He’s still job hunting, and the stress of that alone is enough. But add to that the fact that his car was completely totaled (he’s okay, thankfully—the car is not), and we’re officially in “when it rains, it pours” territory.
He did get a job lead and passed the drug test (yay!).
But then… they found protein in his urine.
Which can mean kidney disease.
Which, for a guy who’s had kidney stones since he was a kid, is more than a little terrifying.
Naturally, I’ve been down a 1 a.m. rabbit hole Googling “can kidney stones cause kidney disease” like I’m studying for the MCAT. Spoiler: the answer is somewhere between sometimes? and maybe not?—which is so comforting, thank you WebMD.
So yeah. I’m not running a 5K this month.
I’m running errands.
Running out of patience.
Running on iced coffee and borrowed serotonin.
But I’m still here.
Still wanting to become the version of me who set that goal.
Still trying to believe in her, even if she’s currently curled up under a blanket, Googling “how to runaway from your life.”
The 5K may happen.
Maybe August will calm the hell down.
Maybe I’ll start by just walking. Or stretching. Or drinking water like someone who has a plan.
For now, I’m letting this post be the progress report.
A soft check-in.
A quiet reminder that some months are for thriving, and some months are for surviving—and both are still valid.
