Phew. I almost forgot how to log into my blog, it’s been so long since I posted.
You guys, we all have setbacks sometimes. I’ve told you a little bit about what I’ve been dealing with lately, but I’ve also had some other nonsense going on that I haven’t even talked about because I was starting to feel like I might be one setback away from turning into a 93-year-old man on a park bench complaining to the pigeons about all my myriad ailments.
For inquiring minds, I danced around the topic here, and, while it ended up being a bit more of a deal than I originally thought, it’s (thankfully) rearview mirror now.
But for awhile there, it wasn’t. And it kinda sucked, but then it started to get better. And that ‘getting better’ is the stuff I want to focus on right now.
Because, here’s the deal: for the better part of 2015, I was on a pretty good roll. Slowly but surely, one step at a time, I put 8 full marathons and 9 halves under my belt throughout the year. It wasn’t easy, but I did it. And I was really proud of myself.
But then things came to a screeching halt and overnight (literally) I wasn’t running anymore. Or even walking for that matter. I did do my fair share of crawling, though. Possibly some scooting as well. Plus LOTS of sitting. And eating. And drinking.
And oh, WOW. Is it ever easy to fall into that deep, comfy rut.
But pretty soon I was healed enough to start running again. My doctor green-lighted my return to this sport that I had pushed so hard for over the last 12 months and my mind was suddenly like OH SHIT.
Now what? What if I lace up my shoes and get out there and it hurts or I get injured again or? I’m basically starting over, let’s be honest. What if I get out there and…
Guys, I was scared. At my healthiest, I’m a lazy runner at best. I am a professional procrastinator/excuse-maker and a shift in the wind can be reason enough to delay a work-out.
So now I was supposed to run again, coming off an injury AND surgery, combined with my lazy-ass tendencies? I was as skeptical as you are.
I did my first return-to-running adventure on the treadmill. I figured that if I was going to crash and burn with epic flair, at least I could do so in the privacy of my own home with only Don Draper on Netflix to judge me behind his Lucky Strikes and glass of scotch.
But I finished the damn run and might’ve given myself a quiet little ‘attagirl’. And possibly an air-five while no one was looking. (Hi, Don.)
And then the next morning I got up and dug out my dusty yoga mat and trudged off to my favorite bikram class that I hadn’t shown up for in many, many months.
It was hard and I felt like a rusty tin man, but it also felt really great. And, at the risk of being called a new age hippy, it felt … cathartic? Like the release of a weight I’ve been carrying around for what might’ve felt like forever.
I got done with that class and hurried out to my car, in a rush to get to work, to life, to the next thing.
I put the key in the ignition and I cried. I just sat there, alone in my car and cried and cried with the kind of reckless abandon that is surprising to your own ears.
I cried for the time I’d lost
for the mistakes I’ve made
for the slipperiness of the slope
I can so easily slide down.
I cried for the lack of faith I have
But I also cried because I didn’t want to run,
but I did it anyway.
I cried because I didn’t want to come to that class
and look stupid.
But I showed up, regardless.
When I got done crying, I cried some more. Sitting there alone.
And then I said thank you. Turned the key, and drove off.
It’s been a couple of weeks since that day in my car in the yoga studio parking lot. I’ve continued to struggle and make excuses and procrastinate my way out of a few work-outs.
But I’m still at this thing. Whatever this thing is. I’m not “back to normal” quite yet (aside: is anyone?) but that old adage is true: just one day at a time.
I’m gonna keep taking it, just like that.
Run on, friends!