This sums it up for me. My love affair with running. Running is my safe place. The place I’m free of doubt. Free of fear. I don’t care what my body looks like, just about what it can do. I am my most true self, and I am truly happy. I really feel like I don’t choose to run, but that running chose me.
Last week I had a no-good-very-bad run. I set out for 12 and had to stop at 6 because I was literally crying. Emotionally, mentally, it just wasn’t happening. Life had crept it’s way into my sacred space, into my run. So I relaxed this week, took a step back, re-evaluated some things. I’d been nervous about a long run since my breakdown, but with a race next weekend I needed to get some more distance in there. So mid-week, when a friend invited me along for his Saturday 15-mile training run, I accepted.
And it was perfect. PERFECT. The weather was perfect. My playlist (on shuffle) was spot on. I was happy. I was relaxed. I smiled almost the entire time. I’d never done 15 before, but it just felt good. I kept pushing pace and having to slow to let my friend catch up (I wasn’t trying to, I wasn’t trying to do anything other than the distance, but it just felt soooo good I couldn’t help it). And I needed that so much. I needed to have my safe place back. And I do.