It is painfull obvious to me, that on day 18 of no running, cycling, or even rapid walking, that I miss running terribly.
Pure bliss? Satisfaction? Accomplishment? Success? Pride? Joy?
All of the above is more like it.
When I run, I am at peace. Everything, all the shit going on in my life that is terrible or stressful, for the duration of my run it is gone. For the time I am on the streets or the trails my mind is at ease and I am just a runner. There is nothing that comes in between us. It is me, th open road and my music. It is when I do some of my best brainstorming and planning.
But more importantly, it is all mine. My running became my passion. It is the one thing I did entirely selfishly for myself. And as a single mom even, no matter how hard it became to squeeze in, I made time still for running.
Nothing in my life can seem to replace it. I know, it might sound crazy, but at the end of a bad day I do not have much comfort in anything else. Running, it is always there. Running, it became my first and only love for such a long time. And it makes sense to me.
Running is the one area in my life that I can completely control. I train, I work hard and I get the results. I know how to do it, I know what it takes. And it gives me the pure joy and satisfaction without much garbage.
I wish I could tell you I had a solution. But I do not. I have been focusing on other things, like swimming, rowing, and weight lifting. It should be enough, I should be grateful I can do all of those things and belong to a gym that allows it all. But still this nagging feeling of wistfulness comes when I see a runner on the road. When Peanut asks me why we do not go out in her buggy for a run, when I see my running sneakers sitting lonely in the closet. I miss it.