The Extra Voice in My Head

In November, when I last saw him, my neurologist pointed out that I have had MS for 5 years now and not running anymore, well, that’s kinda what happens. He sorta shrugged and said “yeah, sorry Kiddo. That happens with this disease”.

It turns out that I wasn’t really ok with this.

So, I started running. I’m used to the voice that starts, oh, maybe 3 minutes in. That voice says this hurts and it’s stupid and it wants to go home and eat cheese and drink wine and this hurts and have I mentioned that it hurts. I’ve been ignoring that voice for the almost 10 years I run. I acknowledge it and I move on.

What’s new is the lesions. That comes with new voices.

There’s the voice that comes in about 2 miles in, which warns me for about a split second, before I lose the vision in my right eye. Now, this sounds terrible, but I’m running on a treadmill and it actually doesn’t matter if I can’t see.

There’s the voice about my left leg. Now, what happens is a bit weird. It’s not that my leg stops working. It’s more that my leg and my brain stop talking. I lose all sense of where my leg is in time and space. My leg is working fine. My foot is making contact, I’m running.

The problem is with the voice, the one I call Alice. Alice is, well, she’s a pain the ass. She has no solution to the fact she doesn’t know where my left leg is. She just wants you to know that he’s hooked deeply into my lizard brain, the part of my brain that wants to be able to run away from a bear and Alice wants me to know that she does not know where my left leg is in time and space and she thinks I should panic.

It’s mostly fine. Mostly I just don’t think about it. It took me a bit of discipline to do this. I have to carefully not think that I don’t know how my left leg is working. I know it sounds bizarre, but please believe me, it works.

Well, mostly. Except for the fact I guess I listened to Alice. Or she distracted me. Or maybe someone said something about cheese.

Anyway. On Sunday, around about 2 miles, I fell off the treadmill. Which is dumb. So today I got back on.

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2 Responses to The Extra Voice in My Head

  1. I realized as I read this, that I, too, have an ‘Alice voice’. She is also a pain in the ass. She’s the voice I hear when I’m trying new things, that voice that constantly assures me that I’m not quite up to the task.

    Following your example, I think that I’ll give Alice a bit of sass the next time she starts running her mouth.

  2. Jane in London says:

    I’m playing catchup. I find it hilarious that this voice is called Alice…

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