It seems lately that every time I run, I am "coming back" to running. I haven't run much at all the last couple of months and before that, I trained for a half mary, and even then my running was inconsistent. As was my diet, my rest, and pretty much everything else I depend on to make the rest of my life better. I have been incredibly busy and that's not a bad thing, but I realized this weekend how much I have slipped out of shape physically and I know without question that this has a profound impact on my mental, emotional, and spiritual wellbeing. So this morning, I laced up my shoes to yet again, come back to running.
Coming back to anything is usually a mixed bag of emotions for me. Throughout the course of my life, I've come back to physical health and wellbeing several times. Everytime, bringing with me something new I learned about why I fell away to begin with, at least a little bit of shame about having yet again "fallen off the wagon," and a new desire to start over. I'm finding it much easier to let go of the shame of what I would have considered failing earlier in my life, but I'm choosing to hold on to desire.
It's a funny thing how desire takes root. How we can find our own desire by seeing someone else succeed or even struggle and want more for ourself because of it. We can see someone love something with abandon and want to taste that kind of freedom . We can experience want in a way that is not necessarily greed, it is want for more of something pure and true. A desire for better. This is how I came back to running.
Thursday night I found myself sitting on the dirt floor of a rodeo arena at a concert. I love music and big barns so I was perfectly happy with my place in the world that evening. We had great seats for band watching and people watching. So I watched. And I quickly noticed a young man sitting a few rows in front of us across the aisle. He sat very still in his wheelchair, just hanging out before the show started, but I could not have anticipated what would happen when the music began. As soon as he heard the first beat of the drum., he began to move. He moved his arms, beating his hands against his legs in perfect rhythm. Abandoned. Eyes closed. All I could think was "He's running."
He ran, song after song while I danced and jumped and sang and frequently watched him. Seeing him love the music and the moment so freely made me want to move my feet in rhythm to music as I had so often done without thinking about the beauty of the moment or the motion. And all of a sudden something that I had been trying to find room for on my to-do list became something I was willing to make room for. It became something I desired to do.
Coming back hasn't been easy. In fact, I thought I might actually throw up and possibly blackout this morning while I ran. But I kept running because I know if I want to run the way I want to run, freely and with abandon, then I have to get through the hard part. The desire is there. I just have to keep moving.
Coming back to anything is usually a mixed bag of emotions for me. Throughout the course of my life, I've come back to physical health and wellbeing several times. Everytime, bringing with me something new I learned about why I fell away to begin with, at least a little bit of shame about having yet again "fallen off the wagon," and a new desire to start over. I'm finding it much easier to let go of the shame of what I would have considered failing earlier in my life, but I'm choosing to hold on to desire.
It's a funny thing how desire takes root. How we can find our own desire by seeing someone else succeed or even struggle and want more for ourself because of it. We can see someone love something with abandon and want to taste that kind of freedom . We can experience want in a way that is not necessarily greed, it is want for more of something pure and true. A desire for better. This is how I came back to running.
Thursday night I found myself sitting on the dirt floor of a rodeo arena at a concert. I love music and big barns so I was perfectly happy with my place in the world that evening. We had great seats for band watching and people watching. So I watched. And I quickly noticed a young man sitting a few rows in front of us across the aisle. He sat very still in his wheelchair, just hanging out before the show started, but I could not have anticipated what would happen when the music began. As soon as he heard the first beat of the drum., he began to move. He moved his arms, beating his hands against his legs in perfect rhythm. Abandoned. Eyes closed. All I could think was "He's running."
He ran, song after song while I danced and jumped and sang and frequently watched him. Seeing him love the music and the moment so freely made me want to move my feet in rhythm to music as I had so often done without thinking about the beauty of the moment or the motion. And all of a sudden something that I had been trying to find room for on my to-do list became something I was willing to make room for. It became something I desired to do.
Coming back hasn't been easy. In fact, I thought I might actually throw up and possibly blackout this morning while I ran. But I kept running because I know if I want to run the way I want to run, freely and with abandon, then I have to get through the hard part. The desire is there. I just have to keep moving.
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