With the air no longer stinging of ice and our sun forgiving the harshness of winter, I’ve been able to start running outside again. This is huge news! We live in Canada! You have any idea how hard it is to run in the winter months? Ice, suffocating wind and treacherous slush and snow bank obstacles make it almost a death wish – well, death for your poor lungs, ankles and knees mostly. I’ve been cooped up and antsy, despite my absorption into yoga and treadmill runs. I can act the part of yogi well enough, but it’s just not me. Bare feet and mats have nothing on solid earth and my sketchers.
Running is where I belong. This is my niche. It began years ago when I was a broke student suffering through a harmful relationship. Running was cheaper than therapy or booze. I ran to escape. I ran to feel. It became a life raft.
Today, I laced up, threw on a sweater and set off. I don’t listen to music while I run. I don’t carry my phone.
I am alone. I am strength. I am only me.
For years I’ve tentatively spoken of training and running in a half marathon or even just a 10km fundraiser but shied away with petty excuses as my only defence. As a new and sorely overdue commitment for this year, I’m going to ignore my aversions. By the end of this year I want to say that I’ve ran with purpose.
Cheers to a year of keeping track.