As I stepped out to the pavement, a nervousness gripped me. Was I really going to run for two hours? I don’t feel like running at all. I didnt even warm up! I started off slow, each step felt heavy, but I pushed on. The hard pavement seemed to push back each time my heel touched it as if fighting me each step of the way. I also knew the first mile was always the hardest as the body warmed up, but due to timing this week I would only manage only one run instead of usually two 45 minute runs and an additional long run in which I add 15 minutes each week. This was my marathon plan, but today it felt like a plan to fail. As I rounded my neighborhood block and closed into my home, I knew I’d hit bit over 2 miles in 27 minutes. My heart sank as it meant I was running well below my 12 minute mile pace (slow still but for me, fast), and I slowed to a walk as my thoughts bombarded me.
Fuck this. I will just run another time. I don’t feel good. I didn’t run at all this week. I don’t want to do this anymore.
For five minutes that went on as I walked on and then my heart beats slowed, and I realized that it was that thinking that stopped me from running the entire week so I began running again, and didn’t stop until the two hours passed and I got to 9 miles. It hit me that my running represented a lot of my life. Too often, I did give up when I convinced myself of not doing something, yet more and more, this year I did get back into certain things and started them up. I had a choice to make, and I learned to ignore the negativity. Not always, but way more often than before, and because of that I had so much to show for 2019.
I wonder now if I just continued on everything I had started, how the year would have looked, but that’s the thing also, not everything I began needed to be finished or perhaps not in that moment. It also gives me hope and motivation for the year ahead. So I look forward to running more, not just the actual act, but in my life as well.