I spent Thursday tossing and turning in bed, in and out of those fits of sleep that only happen when you’re sick. Sweaty, gross, sick sleep. Waking up with a tongue that’s dry and caked up some indescribable gunk that doesn’t go away no matter how much water you drink. You get the picture.
I’m sick of waiting for something to change. I’m sick of expecting things to be better or easier at the next turn. It doesn’t work that way. There is a next step. It exists. But there are six months before that step will actually be taken and until then I’m here – and I’ve got six months to work hard at ministry and fitness before a new challenge shows up.
I will survive Tough Mudder.