Tenacious M

On Sunday, during the most cordial conversation we've had in nearly two years, Donny commented on the fact that I still haven't given up on him, despite it having been nearly six years since our fray began (to be fair, it didn't start off this way... we were happy for about 3 and a half of those years). Whether he was impressed by this, or considering a court order, I do not know - but I'm hoping for the best, since I haven't received anything from the Ministry of Justice this week.

He has a point. I like to think I don't give up on things. Sure, I've done my share of fucking around (quitting my job at NZ Post after just two weeks is a pretty good example of this), but in general, I finish things I start. I recall one day - and I'm glad it was only one day - during my Worlds buildup, where I came home and crawled into bed, chewing on my sushi listlessly and wondering if I really wanted to go. In fact, if I'm honest, it was more than that. I didn't want to go. That afternoon was spent trying to convince myself that I did want to go. It took a lot. But I soldiered on, thinking of the glory I assumed would come attached to my world title (namely, Donny). There's been other occasions. I very nearly walked out on makeup school, about six days before graduation. I cried underwater during swim training before I went to Athens. When my leg was healing from surgery, I sometimes went without my splint in favour of wearing heels (those were the days when I could still wear heels, dammit). And perhaps worst of all, I decided running at the NTC final with a snapped tibia was preferable to letting it heal properly and giving me a better following season.

My pre-Athens nightmare

I don't know why Donny is so surprised. I care about triathlon, swimming, makeup, athletics, and heels about one million times less than I care about him. So no, even though sometimes, when you send me horrible texts at 2am with so many curse words and offensive phrases I lose count, I will not give up on you, ever.

Jerk.