I welcomed 2015 with the right attitude…motivated, inspired, and eager to make my dreams come true. I had my eyes set on finishing my first full marathon at that time so I had something to look forward. The image of myself crossing that finish line and earning my first full marathon medal were what psyched me and kept me on my toes. And, run and finish it, I did. It was an exhilirating climb towards that goal, that dream. I knew with all certainty that I would reach it and yet can’t quite believed myself when I actually did.
I thought it was enough to make me love running more but sad to say, it wasn’t the case. Somewhere along my recovery period, I lost it, the heart to run. I didn’t listen to logic and reason. I didn’t give myself enough time to rest. Instead, I pushed myself to the limit. I let the desire and lust for running get the better of me. I hurt myself in the process.
It took awhile before I was able to run again and when I did, it wasn’t the same for me anymore. I was back to square one and after having gone through the struggle, I detest doing it all over again. The mere thought of investing long hours (again) just to get my speed back, just to get my strong back, tired me.
Somewhere along my recovery period, I also lost it, the drive to run. I found many excuses not to. Even fate seemed to agree with me because everytime I think of running, as if on cue, I get sick (or feel sick). I am ashamed to admit it but I let the bed get the better of me as well. Many mornings, I simply ignored that nagging little voice, telling me to get up and run. I didn’t listen to my body crying out for exercise.
I remember it clearly, that one afternoon when I rocked a baby and felt a snap on my hip. I tried to dismissed it as nothing until the pain became persistent. The doctor put me off running for weeks while I was nursing that hip injury. What I hate most about it was, I didn’t have a choice. It was forced on me. I have never felt more weak and sick in my entire life. The thought that I would never run again scared me. Suddenly, I miss everything about the sport, the adrenalin rush, the burn, and that sense of pride and accomplishment after completing even just a short run. At that time I realized, I would give anything just to get back on my feet again.
Simply running, that’s what makes me love the sport more because it is pure, unadulterated bliss to do so. It wasn’t the marathon. It wasn’t race to the finish line. In fact I realized, the competitive spirit of the sport makes me hate it. A steady run on a quiet morning or chilly afternoon…a wild, crazy run while beating the sunrise or chasing the sunset…a long, invogorating run after half-consciously dragging yourself out of bed….a slow, rusty run that ends up in a smooth stride…these are what gives that warm, wonderful feeling of being truly alive and strong. Now, if this isn’t love, I don’t know what is.:)
Maybe it is not running for you. Maybe it is something else like yoga, swimming, or biking. Whatever it is that makes your heart skip a beat, I hope you never take it for granted because every single chance to do so is a gift in itself.
Happy new year! Now, Go out there and, RUN! (or swim…or bike…or yoga…)