I’ve been running, on and off, as my prime form of fitness for a little more than a decade now. I ran steadily through college, starting with my time on the college crew team and continuing through my first job.
I stopped in grad school (Missouri was hilly! I kept erratic hours! It was cold! I had a lot of excuses) and didn’t pick it up seriously again until this spring, in spite of my abortive tri attempt last year (there were no sidewalks in my neighborhood in Maine! THERE WAS SO MUCH SNOW OHMYGOD! I was busy the first year I lived in D.C.! Like I said, I am good at the excuses).
But the half-marathon – there have been excuses, but at the end, there’s that race, staring at me, saying, ‘Everyone knows you’re signed up for this. You’re not going to bail again, are you? Yeah, you probably are.’ And then I’d just get mad at myself for being defeatist, and get back on track.
And good grief, am I glad I have. I remember why I loved running in college – you can just turn off your brain and zone out. It’s the most meditative state I’ve ever been in (I’m bad at sitting still for too long, and worse at keeping my mind clear in proper meditation – I’m working on that) and it helps clear things out for my day, gets me centered and focused and ready in ways I had forgotten about.
I love how proud I feel when I’m done, how accomplished, how strong. I love the wind in my hair and the pounding of my feet on the pavement, the muscles working in unison to move me forward. I feel like, if I can just keep running, there’s nothing I can’t do.
There’s nothing else like it, and I’m so glad to have found that feeling again.
