I just got back from a run.
This is a strange fact since Not Running is a story I routinely tell. Once, I actually ran a marathon. When all was said and done, I felt like a badass with really bad knees. As the story goes, if I calculate generously, I’ve run about 5 miles since then. That was in 2000.
I have no idea how far I ran today (it was probably not very far). But you know what? That’s not the effing point.
As houses and gardens and crosswalks slipped by this morning, I felt like an animal coming out of hibernation. Or rather, like a 37 year old woman coming out of a reproductive coma.
My youngest kid turns 3 in a few weeks. Do you know what that means?! It means that I don’t have to constantly track him every minute because he might run into oncoming traffic. It means I’m only hyper aware of his movements every 15th second or so. And that leaves 56 other seconds of every minute for other things.
This is huge.
Imagine a tipping point, the top of a roller coaster, a slow, tedious lean that becomes a rushing tumble.
With every foot fall and raspy breath, I completed a circuit back to my former self. I was her, and she is me. I’m new now.
I used to run when I was 20. I did it because I needed a project. It was a performance. Now I get to run like this. On a whim. I have nothing to prove.
I was her. She is me.
I’m new now.