Flaws Found

You comb the record for the flaws.

The missed workout. The run cut short. The second of preparation that wandered. You find them, because a person looking for their own failures always does, and they eat at you from the inside.

You expect more from yourself than you have ever actually seen yourself do.

The receipts stack high. The work is there, logged, undeniable. And still you will not sign for it. You refuse to admit you have done enough, because some part of you does not believe "enough" is a thing you are allowed to feel.

It arrives before the event — anxiety flooding in, tightening your grip at the exact moment you need it loose. And it stays after, long past the finish, dressed as shame.

The standard that drives you to prepare is the standard that combs the preparation for sin. You cannot cut one without cutting the other. They run on the same motor, and that motor is the thing that made you.

The answer is not to kill it. Kill it and you kill the drive.

Carry it. Bleed less. Keep going.