My David Voice

For many years, my best friend David has tried to convince me that I deserve to be kinder and gentler to myself. It started when I was doing a race seven years ago, when my Achilles issues had just started being chronic. I’d limped my way through the Boston marathon and had limped my way through an Olympic triathlon in what I thought was an embarrassing fashion. I was slower than I had ever been in my life for that distance. (Yes, I still won first place for my age group, but that is neither here nor there.)

When I got home, I was telling the story of the race in my best Mette storyteller tone, joking about the pain of the limp-run being passed by so many people that I knew I should have been able to beat except for this stupid injury. And then I told the story of what happened after the race, when I had to get my body up from the ground I’d been sitting on for an hour at the finish line where they hand out awards. I limped all the way to my bike. Several athletes and numerous volunteers asked me if I was OK. I waved them away and assured them I was fine and would be able to get on my bike and ride it to my car.

“Have you considered that maybe you should have skipped that race?” David said. “And maybe waited for when you weren’t so badly injured?

I had not considered this possibility. But ever since then, David’s voice comes to me in certain moments. Like when I finished a race walking instead of limp/running. And when I asked to change my distance from the longer one to the shorter one because I wasn’t having a great day. And when I decided not to finish the second lap of the Ironman marathon nine days after the divorce started and I hadn’t eaten more than 400 calories a day.

I decided not to do the marathon last weekend and went over to David’s (and Neca’s) house for dinner even though I was sad and it was really my turn to cook and I told them I might cry the whole time. David heard that my kids had talked me out of the marathon and he said, “And also you heard your David voice, right?”

Yes, David, I heard my David voice.

My David voice says that I am enough, even if I don’t punish myself with physical pain at a level most people consider extreme.

My David voice says the divorce is not my fault.

My David voice says that lots of people love me.

My David voice says that I am smart and capable and incredibly talented.

My David voice says that I’m doing amazing things, even if I don’t think so.

My David voice says that I don’t have to race ever again if I don’t want to, and it won’t matter even a little about my worth as a human.

My David voice says that I can quit now and just rest. For as long as I want.

I hope you too have a David voice. It is a good thing to have.