I divorced Idiot Boy in early July 1998. Independence month. I used to know the date and would celebrate it as a holiday: the day I was freed from an abusive jerk. But it’s wrong to celebrate any remembrance of an ex when you’re with someone wonderful that you love with all your being. So I only remember the month and year now (and not as a conscious remembrance, just that if you asked, I could say “oh, yeah, July 98″).

Idiot Boy was mentally abusive from the time we married (January 1997) until I was free. And physically abusive just that one time because, thankfully, I was smart enough to get out of the relationship after just that one time. I am nobody’s punching bag, thankyouverymuch.

After the divorce, I occasionally saw him, as we both attended school at Rollins college. And then he went back to Rollin’s to the Crummer School for his MBA (I know this because when I applied to the program, I saw his name on Dean’s List or something), and I was in the Bach Festival Choir which rehearses at Rollins, so I would occasionally see him on campus. From a distance. And I don’t think he ever saw me, as I tried hard not to be seen.

Whenever I would see Idiot Boy, I would return home to my wonderful sherlock and lament how horrible I felt when I would see Idiot Boy, and how shocked I was that he could still have such a dramatic effect on my emotions and sense of self-confidence. Truly, it’s a remarkable thing.

I have not seen him since probably 2001. He once said to me, after our divorce, “I never see you anymore. I’m afraid it’s going to be ten years, and we’ll pass each other on the sidewalk and not even know each other.” I thought to myself, “yes, that’s what divorce is. I don’t have to see you ever again!”

This morning, as I crossed the finish line, I saw Idiot Boy. He was standing at the finish line, with a baby stroller that holds a toddler and an infant. I picked his face out of the crowd at the finish line.

And I was scared. I wanted to vomit (not just from running 9.3 miles!). I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run and hide. I wanted to kick him in the nuts. I wanted to take those children from him and protect them from him.

Mostly, I was scared.

After congratulating Max and Candy when they crossed the finish line (1:20 after me), I called my wonderful husband, who I love more than I can express. He answered, and before I even gushed about crossing the finish line, I lamented, “Idiot Boy is here.” I’m not really sure what sherlock said. It was very loud at the finish line. And I just needed to hear my husband’s voice to help center me and calm me and help me cope with the shock of seeing my past.

Then, I latched onto Sam. I got close to her ear and pointed out Idiot Boy to her (it’s amazing the things she and I know about each other just from conversing on our Monday and Saturday runs). She hugged me tight and told me not to worry about that asshole. It was just what I needed at that moment.

Sam had somewhere she needed to be, so Candy and I walked around the the tents observing the festivities and eating bananas, blue snow cones, and oranges (since all the other food was gone long before we crossed the finish line). Then, she got into the long line for a free massage (all runners got a free massage, but the line was way too long for my liking) and we parted.

I went back to the finish line. I wanted to see Idiot Boy again. I didn’t want him to see me, but I needed to know if that was really him. We made very brief eye contact. I think I look different than I did a decade ago; Lord knows I’m fatter than I was. I walked past, and then tried to look like I was doing something while checking him out. That’s his face, he’s had that much scruff before, definitely him. And he used to be a runner, back when we were married. But then, he spoke to the person beside him, and that was not Idiot Boy’s voice.

I have gone onto the chip tracker site and searched for his name. It came up as not found.

That wasn’t Idiot Boy. It could be his twin, though.

I’m shocked and appalled at how much he can still affect me, though. And, I hope never to encounter him ever again in my life.

wRitErsbLock