We ran 10 miles today… and I didn’t even feel like I was going to die…
It was the first time I could picture me making it to the finish line at the half-marathon with my mom and little-love waiting there to cheer me on, I felt the pride of accomplishment, the joy of relief, and could see the big, cheesy grin on my face. It felt good to visualize it, to anticipate it. It made the training, the money spent, the hours invested–worth it.
We are half way through the training and it feels good to look at myself and see strength. Running is very therapeutic for me in that it forces me to come face to face with myself on almost a daily basis. I spend a lot time in my head while I run and I have been amazed at the amount of self-doubt and irrational thinking I have found there. Every single run I have to clean house so to speak. The whining, the “I cants”, and worse, the “I don’t wanna.” The critics and the doubters like to reside up there too. Not to mention, the physical pains and difficulty breathing.
At some point in every run, no matter if three miles or ten, I want to sit down kick my feet and pound the ground with my fists, I want to cry or yell or throw something, or I just want to lay down and simply refuse to get up ever again. No lie. Every. Single. Run.
What I found in my running is I am not always a very likeable person… or particularly brave or enduring… but I find myself in those runs. I see me. It is teaching me to be mindful of my thoughts, my breathing, my bodily form. Running is teaching me to be a better me.
That’s a good enough reason for me.