I gotta get this off my chest. Been thinkin about it all week... keeps me up. Like right now, 2 AM, everyone else asleep. And I’m just... here. Staring at the ceiling. I ran the marathon last weekend. The local one, the big deal everyone talks about. Been trainin for it for like, a year. My one thing. My only thing, honestly. With Mom kinda... going, and the kids still needing me for everything even though they’re practically grown. Running is my escape. My head space. My time. And I was GOOD. Really good. Better than I ever expected. Got to that last mile, you know, the one where it’s all downhill and everyone’s cheering? And I could FEEL it. Like, I was gonna win. Or come damn close. Top three for sure. And this weird... PANIC just hit me. Like a wall. All of a sudden, I slowed down. Not because I was tired. I wasn’t. I was PUMPED. But my legs just... refused. It was like they had a mind of their own. I watched people pass me. People I'd been way ahead of. And I didn't care. It sounds stupid, right? Who slows down on purpose at the end of a race? To NOT win? What kinda idiot does that? But all I could think was... if I win, if I REALLY win, then what? Then everyone knows. Everyone expects. "Oh, there's the marathon guy!" My kids will be like, "Dad, can you run me over here? You're so fast!" And Mom's doctor, or the social worker, or whoever will be like, "Well, you're obviously very fit, so you can totally handle another few hours of care, no problem!" It’ll just be another thing I’m GOOD at. Another thing I HAVE to do. I don't wanna be "the marathon guy." I just wanna be... me. The me who runs to clear his head. The me who gets to be alone for an hour. Not the me who has to live up to some trophy or some time on a clock. I just wanna run. For me. Not for expectations. Not for anyone else. It's the only thing that's just MINE. And I almost gave it away. Almost screwed it up. By being too good. Sounds crazy, I know. But it felt REAL. It felt like I was saving myself. From myself. From another burden. So yeah. I finished. Somewhere in the middle of the pack. No one really noticed. No one asked about my time. And honestly? I think I’m okay with that. More than okay. I think I’m relieved. But it still freaks me out. That I had to do that. That I actively sabotaged something good. Just to keep it... mine. Just to keep a tiny piece of freedom. What kinda life is that, where you're scared of winning? What the hell is wrong with me?