Mortifying

Old man Epicuris told us that pleasure is the absence of pain, and any woman who has ever been in labor will give me a big amen on that. Those blessed moments when the contractions stopped to let me breathe, those were some of the most intensely pleasurable moments of my life. Nothing has ever felt quite as good as when that pain stopped. Well, almost nothing…

I've been trying to figure out how to once again access that remarkable pleasure that is the absence of pain. Granted, I'm not talking childbirth pain or anything in that remote vicinity, but it’s rare and wonderful when I experience a complete cessation.

Look, I get it. It’s the human condition: we get old and our bodies betray us. I know I need to get over it, get on with it. That’s the question – how does on get over it and get on with it? Nothing distracts attention or interferes with the will quite like pain.

I went for a run in the pouring rain tonight. At my age and fitness level, it's more of a walk/run, but lately I’ve been taking walks with no /run attached. Tonight I finally got out there and pounded some pavement. As each foot fall traveled up my spine the phrase “mortification of the flesh” kept repeating in my head. Not some sick, sadomasochistic Opus Dei kind of shit, I’m thinking more about mind over matter, about subjecting the body to the will. Rather than fearing pain, doing everything to protect myself from pain, what if I sought it out instead? Desensitize myself by constant exposure. Certainly, I'm sore tonight after cleaning the freaking carpets all weekend and jogging on ashpalt tonight. I don't feel much better, but I don't feel worse.

Mortification of the flesh; food for thought.

Ultimately, who the fuck cares? As my beloved husband is fond of saying, it's just pain.