Thursday, May 27, 2010

I started running when I moved to North Carolina. I think I began out of pure boredom and in search of a new life. I remember my early pace, no time, no distance...just a run. I ran around the block, and then around a couple blocks. Sometimes at the gym on the treadmill and sometimes in town, and sometimes on trails. I had no running style, I had no preconceived ideas about running...I just ran. Mostly by myself, until Alex moved. Then he would run with me sometimes, but mostly by myself I ran. And I enjoyed it. I didn't complain about having to go for a run. I didn't whine. I didn't lose sleep over the 10-miler I had the next morning. I just ran.

Today I ran. I thought about it yesterday. I tossed as I went to sleep last night, convincing myself that I was going to go for a run. I debated how far I should go. Should I try to go fast if I'm not going far? Should I go farther and run slower? Should I run in the neighborhood, the track, the cross country course, the park? Should I call someone to run with me? Should I attempt to go it alone? All these questions! It tortured me all night and all morning.

When did running become so complex? When did I begin to dread running? Who was I running for anymore, because it certainly doesn't feel like I'm doing it for me. I want to enjoy it. I want it to be natural. Calming. Relaxing. Not full of agitation and disdain. Come back to me my love! I miss running!

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