Give it a Minute

For the past couple weeks, running has been the least fun thing I've done. After the wonderful relay experience, I just lost it. It was like the wall of all walls. Every time I've put my shoes on and stepped onto the road I've been nowhere near into it. One day, my knee would hurt, the next day, a shin. I had a nagging tendon for a while and then an angry ankle. It was too hot, then too windy. Worst of all, my head wasn't in it.

I'm always the runner to say "I don't care how fast I'm running, I just don't want to walk." I hardly ever will stop a run to walk, even with pain. Over the last couple weeks, though, I've gotten somewhere around two miles into almost every run and felt the need to stop and walk. So I did. Some days, I'd complete all my miles by walking them. And I never once felt badly about it.

I don't think anyone should feel less-than for walking, of course, but this is just highly unusual for me. It's been frustrating that it's lasted a while. I can't really figure it out. I thought it was just one bad run, but then it turned into two and three and four. It kept happening. I thought the dangerous thoughts like maybe running isn't for me anymore or maybe I'm just a two miler. Nothing wrong with that, I told myself. I just stopped looking forward to it.

I came up with a few plans. Drop the mileage, then build back up. Cross train more. Get more sleep. I tried a lot of plans.

But then, today, forty minutes after I'd worked through lunch and eaten at my desk, I went to the locker room, changed my clothes and headed out. The skies were dark, the kind of clouds that open and pour for hours. I breathed in and waited a minute, but I didn't turn back. I'd just eaten, I could have gotten cramps. I didn't turn back. I just started running, letting the cool air blow my hair back and the noise of traffic fade into the background. I felt good after a mile, and still after two. Into the third mile I knew the rain was coming, so I headed back.

Just a 3.4 mile loop in all, but I felt like it could have been 10. Finally, I thought, a run that means I still know how to run. I'd hoped it was in there somewhere, even after all my end-of-the-world-as-I-know-it talk. And it was.

Of course I don't know how the next run will go. I don't know that it'll be pain free or exhilarating. But I'll go for it anyway and try to remember that running is not only part of life but is just like life. Sometimes it's up, sometimes it's down and sometimes you just need a minute.