I've decided, with a little help from the wonderful Dr. Walker, that this would be one of my Lenten sacrifices. Running for 40 days straight. To hurt. To heal. To progress. To endure. To improve. Repeat. Every step I take with a bit of pain reminds me of His suffering He made for me.
I'm ready. Here I go. What to wear? I look in my running drawer. Black running pants. That'll do. I'm scrabbling now looking for a top. Black? Pink? Something I'm selling? Perhaps my Moab Half shirt? I was so excited. I had tadpoles doing jumps in my hungry belly. Like a 7th-grade school girl getting ready to see her new crush of the week. I remember him. Mark Braitlin. It was a long affair... I think four days. But I digress. I settled on my pink top with the pocket in the back. An all time favorite and so loyal. A yellow cover top completed my ensemble. The next step to this beautifully-choreographed dance; I pull my hair back in the familiar pony tail, took a puff of my Advair, brushed my teeth for the second time that morning, got my mittens, ear warmers, and...my shoes. My shoes. Sitting there in my closet. Waiting. Patiently. For 76 days. We said hello. I carefully unlaced them. Would they fit? Oh yes. Perfectly. With room to spare. I Laced them back up never forgetting the runner's knot. They felt strange. I introduced them. Wiggled my toes a little, grabbed my hat and glasses and stepped outside. I took a glance at the sun and the big beautiful Utah mountains. Which way to go? Up hill -or- up hill? I headed straight up, my IPOD tucked in my back pocket blarring Katy Perry's "Teenage Dream." Of course.
I walked a few steps smiling widely. The passion of my love was stirring. Will the roads love me back? Will they recognize me? Did they miss me as much as I missed them? Still walking but my pace is quickening, yep getting faster, my heart thumping waiting for my first kiss. There's nothing to do but RUN. Go! I'm running. Oh my gosh I'M RUNNING. Yes, that's me. It's a bit tough on the legs. But I forge on. Breathing deep. Fresh air is a comfort to my obvious discomfort. I am filled with complete joy. So much joy, cold tears are streaming down my face. Still a wide smile upon my face. No one can take this away from me. Not an unkind word, not a disdained look, past regrets, nor the normal day to day routine. I was blissfully happy. And what was this? Discomfort. But not in my feet. This was familiar pain. In my calves, legs. I could handle this. And now, a decent. I picked up the pace. Like a creaky bike. I was working the kinks out. The Tin man had his oil. It was all coming back to me. I'm feeling a sweat coming on. A lovely, lovely sweat. A slight uphill. No worries. And another decent heading back home. Now it's PitBull, "Oh baby, baby." helping with a stronger pace. Okay, not as strong as before the surgery. But I'll get there. Slowly. I finish my canter into my driveway. I finished. Nothing really to rave about. It was only a mile. I mean, I have 40 days. But, I was a sticky sweet mess and so, so content.
Hello old friend. I'm back!