Runners' World

I went for a run this morning.

If I could control the world (ha!) I would run every single morning, with maybe one day off. I used to think people like this were crazy, and I used to take great pride in saying that I didn't run unless someone chased me. I used to say that I had bad knees (true) and bad feet (also true) so I didn't run. But then I started running...and sort of got over all that. It's hard to remember how it happened because it was sort of gradual. I ran a very little bit in college, jogged with a friend of mine, and we would do a two mile loop that would totally wind me (as in, get me out of breath). Then I ran some in seminary, mostly to lose weight for my wedding. I did a race with a friend of mine and got hooked...the breast cancer race for the cure, which at that point was all women. I remember so very well that sensation of running down the cobblestones with thousands of other women in the breeze (Ohio in May) and people cheering, my friend encouraging me, and finishing the three miles so very happy and triumphant.

I've run on and off since then, through two pregnancies, up and down 100 pounds, in rain and snow and humidity. I've run races and one marathon, never fast, always pretty slow.

Someone (again!) said to me when I said that I run, "wow, you're so good." No, I'm not. I suck. And running is the grace in my life that keeps me going. It feels like a gift to be taking step after step, feeling my body actually working, my heart pumping, my mind clear and meditative.

I just thought about this again because I had to take about a week off because I took a stupid fall and hurt my knee trying to protect the babe I was holding. I was sad, I was tired, I was sort of depressed. Need to run. Got to run. Is that a bad thing?