I've hit a run rut. I've decided that I'm not going to run the race in Pensacola in two weeks. That will be my last weekend in Miami and I can't be on the road for 10 hours when there's friends to say goodbye to and caipirinha's to be toasted to a wonderful year spent here. So I'm a little stuck in my motivation since I'm not training for a race.
Tonight I stepped back up on that treadmill, after 10 days out of my Nike's. It felt a little like that of a desert wanderer who comes across a pool of fresh, crisp water after 10 days of dehydration. Oh, you haven't been lost in a desert recently? Me neither. But I'm pretty sure that the reuniting of a runner with her stride parallels the reuniting of cracked, dry lips with cold, cool water. At least that's what it felt like. Satiety had been harnessed. The first mile was rough: the right ankle is tight, the left hip isn't rotating all the way, the blister under my left big toe is adjusting to the sock, etc. But OH, did it all feel good. That's what I am, I'm a runner. I always have been. Maybe not on a course or a track, but it's been in me to sprint yards down a soccer field since I was five years old. It just something that my body craves, and might almost be an addiction. My body is dependent on the adrenaline, the endorphins, the blood surging through my... okay, let's not get carried away. At least at the end of the day I know I'll be back up and running, even when I'm stuck in a rut or two. I think things will settle out much better when I return to DC and can sign up for more races.
Soccer game Wednesday!