A Thing

I started a thing this week.  This thing used to be something I did a lot.  It’s something I worked on for almost 2 years BBA (that’s before broken ankle).  I decided to start running back in 2013.  I worked my way through a couch to 5K program.  I ran in my neighborhood.  I ran at the park.  I ran on the trail at the golf course and eventually, I felt confident enough as a runner to hit the esplanade along the river.

I eventually made it to 3.1 miles and ran a few races and then up to the 10k… and then it happened.

I slid down an incline hiking in California and broke my ankle.

Running came to a halt for obvious reasons.

Running never came back to me, or rather, I didn’t find my stride again ABA (that’s after broken ankle).  I’d hit the pavement on occasion but didn’t get back into rhythm.  It was hard.  I was upset… no, pissed.  My brain convinced me there were other things to do and a few races was enough under my belt.

That was 2015.

Fast forward to 2018.  I’ve seen a bit of weight loss since February (25 pounds to be precise – so perhaps more than a bit).  I very randomly started waking up early without issue and am able to stay awake when watching tv at night.  I figured there’s no time like the present to add running back onto my plate.

So I started on Monday.  I ran.  I ran further than I thought I’d be able to do but not as far as I was hoping… if that makes sense.  It was hot.  Slightly humid (which is rare for Portland).  It was hard.  So hard.  But I ran.  And on Tuesday, I ran again.  It was hot.  More humid.  Still hard.  So very hard.  And today, I ran.  It was miserable to be honest, but still, I ran.  I concentrated on interval running again and did much better.  I’ve seen what I can do, am trying not to compare myself to where I was in 2015, and I’m okay with backing up a bit to  start again – at least not starting from scratch.

When I first started running in 2013, I could barely get a minute without throwing in the towel.  On Monday, I made it a mile before slowing down.  Not quite the 3.1 miles I’d be able to pull off 4-5 times a week when I was training up for the 8k… then 10k… but it’s nothing to laugh at really.

I don’t laugh.

Instead, I strut around work.  Admiring my new spirit.  Proud of my sore legs that are strong enough to carry me through a mile run… proud that I’ll be able to push out 2 miles, then 3 – with time.  I know nothing comes right away, but I’m excited to get back at this.  Maybe I’ll make it up to that half-marathon I started training for when I first moved to Portland.

For now, I’ll keep lacing up, hitting the pavement, and sweating through it.  One step at a time.  One interval at a time.  One day at a time.