I want to sign up for a marathon this fall -- likely the Hamilton marathon in early November. And I'd like to do the Run for Toad, which I had to miss last year due to the concussion. I've opened the sign-up forms for both races, but haven't had the courage to sign up yet.
I've been wanting to run.
Needing to run.
Running out past my thoughts, running long, running hard, challenging myself, getting up early. I couldn't get up early this morning (it would have been five early mornings in a row, in a week that also has held two evening readings, a drive to Hamilton, and another to Toronto). But I regret not running this morning.
I ache. I'm tired. But I want to run.
I think I run because it's the simplest hard thing I can give myself to do. It's the simplest challenge.
I also run because I can. I run while I can. I run knowing that my body has suffered injury and may again and I run because right now at this moment in time my body is healthy and strong. I run with gratitude. I run with deep thanks that can find no other expression.
I run with sadness and worry. I run with doubt.
I run it all out. And it goes, for that little while. It really does.
