November 11th... the day I triumphed over adversity

Today I came as close as I have ever come to quitting. I literally came within a hair's breadth of completely throwing in the towel. But I didn't. Week 2 sucks big time... I hope to hear some more from the rest of you novelers on how you're doing. Today it really became clear to me how completely insane it is to try and write a novel in 30 days- true lunacy. I think because I had the terrible idea of creating a to-do list of all the things I have to do at work this week. Bad idea. But here we are.
My inspiration came today when I decided that I would write myself a pep talk, by writing Annie a pep talk. And it worked. This is a long excerpt because this excerpt is what got me through my darkest noveling day, yet. I'm pretty proud of it, not because I think it's any good, but because I wrote it. I stuck with it, and today I got in just over 2,000 words. A triumph.

Interlude: On Annie’s Determination
When Annie was younger, she was a runner. As an adult she rarely had the time or the energy for it, but she returned to it whenever she was going through tough times. She had often thought that there was much to learn about life from running. Much to learn about determination, about grit, and about how to make it through anything. These lessons she had learned young, and she came back to them time and time again.
There was a hill, a rather large hill near the house where Annie and Tom had lived as teenagers. Annie had loved running that hill. It was long, and it was hard, and by the time she reached the top her lungs burned and her legs burned and her heart raced and she felt like collapsing, but every time she reached it (which was often), she felt like she had accomplished something. And the hard won accomplishments are the ones that matter the most, aren’t they? I think so. And Tom thought so. He wasn’t the only competitive one in the family.
There were a series of wooden telephone poles running along the side of the road, and Annie had developed the habit at some point of touching each post as she passed it. She wasn’t sure when or how it started, but once it did, it became a ritual. If she couldn’t remember when or how it started, she certainly understood why. She understood that when your legs trembled and you were gasping for air, when you felt weak and felt like giving up, sometimes you just needed to count on something, something tangible to keep you going. She touched each post, and each post was real, made of wood and covered with the dust of years and the handprints of one young woman struggling through sweat and tears, and it was one more marker on her journey. She took strength from that, from recognizing the marker, because there were a finite number of them, each one passed meant fewer to go. Annie learned from running that as hard as it is, and as endless as it might seem, each hill, each mountain has its apex. You can only go up for so long before you start to come down the other side.
She had returned to this metaphor many times in her life… when she faced writing her thesis, which had been a seemingly endless exercise in histrionic futility, when she faced a mountain of student papers, each more depressing and soul-sucking than the last, but none more clearly than when Tom was injured. She ran often in those days, despite the February chill. She craved the cold weather, would run during the fiercest storm, because the frigid air and pounding wind was the only thing that could even momentarily drive away the image of Tom, unconscious and bleeding and crumpled on the ice. She didn’t mind the numbness or the stinging of her exposed skin, because that was how she felt on the inside.
That first night, every hour that Tom lived was another small victory, another post she could reach out and touch with her hand, leaving a mark telling the world that once Annie Donovan was here. Annie Donovan was here and she didn’t give up, she kept fighting, she kept going. And she believed in Tom with that same iron determination, believed that if she willed it, if she believed it fiercely enough that he would get better. And for a while, he did.
It was a strange comfort perhaps, but it worked for Annie. It helped her to know that there were a finite number of emergencies that Tom would face. That the apex of the hill had to come eventually. And once it did, everything would change. The way down the hill was completely different. Annie didn’t even touch the posts on the way down, because she didn’t need to. She didn’t need to be reminded that there were marking posts, because she no longer needed to mark time. The way down the hill felt like winning. Sometimes it felt like flying.
This she had found to be true in every case, except for Tom’s. It was true when she had a pile of papers so terrible she sometimes almost quit teaching. It was true when she had another screaming fight with another man who never measured up to what she wanted, and who wanted more from her than she was willing to give. It was true when she lay awake for yet another sleepless night, afraid to face the nightmares that plagued her. Every hour, every test, every fight. Finite. Each one counted was one less that she would have to endure. But Tom’s hill went up, and up, and up, seemingly forever.
Annie’s determination was the stuff of legend. She was tenacious, and dogged, and she never, ever gave up. When she was tired, and felt weak, and didn’t know if she could go on, she thought of the posts, thought of each one marking another stop on the way to the top. The top would always come, and so she could always keep going. Annie was a fighter, and she never, ever gave up. So how was it that she gave up on Tom?
Annie had spent a great deal of time NOT thinking about that, but the time for that had come and gone. She wondered, and then she thought about the posts. She thought about the blood, and the sweat and the tears that she had left on each one of those posts over the years. Maybe she hadn’t given up after all. Maybe she had just stopped to catch her breath, the way runners build walking breaks into a long run, to pause, to catch your breath, to reset. One minute to catch your breath, to find your strength, to find a way to keep going. The minutes like the miles, like the posts, marking time. Maybe Annie had taken a walking break, and walking had felt so very fine that she had kept doing it. She had walked for so long and so far that she forgot that she was supposed to be running. She had allowed herself to forget, and she had gotten lost.
But she was here now, wasn’t she? That was something. She was here now, and though she was tired, hungover, heartbroken and bone weary, her legs were strong, and they were ready to run. She would run and by God she would reach the top, the top so close she could feel it only a breath away. Each of these obstacles were nothing more than posts marking the way, she would touch each one with her hand, give it its due, and move on. She would move on, and she would reach the top. She, Tom, and Ryan would reach it together. Together again, the way they had been when they had started out. Whatever lay between them, whatever pain, and anger, and disappointment they had shared, she knew that there was no one she would rather have at her side as she reached that apex, no one she would rather share that glorious achievement of knowing you were halfway, better than halfway there, because the hardest part was behind you, and the time for rest ahead.
She was at that point of the game where you dug in, dropped your shoulder, and powered your way through. She could do it, WOULD do it, had to do it. So that’s what she did.