I am re-starting my running again today. I’ve been away from it for several weeks while I recuperated from the mysterious neck/shoulders/arms thing and while I loved it when I had been doing it for awhile, I am a really slow, difficult starter. It’s painful, I whine and bitch and I HATE it. So I don’t look forward to starting over again. I am going to be kind to myself, though, give myself time to get back into the groove, not expect to be running 4 miles again right away. But right now? I feel like I could maybe walk a half mile. And that’s with lots of gasping, and breaks, and maybe a tear or two. Of course my body feels like it’s been run over by a Mack truck at the moment. Or maybe just a Mean Guy. I’ll probably have more to post on that over in Pieces of Jade in the next few days. Regardless, it’s time to get back on the running wagon. Or something like that. Running made me feel good, made me feel physically strong, maybe for the first time in my life ever.
I am often at war with my body. I don’t like feeling like that, and I try not to let my daughter hear/see me being self-critical, but I am, horribly so. That’s why it was so hard to get okay with W’s photography thing. Which, conversely, also helped me see the beauty in myself…not just in my physical self, but in what I do, what I allow to be done to me. But running makes me feel that from inside myself. I am inside my body, pushing it to its physical limitations, and it’s not letting me down. I don’t fall apart, and I actually improved. My body did what it was supposed to do. I get a fierce joy from being out there, running until my body aches and not giving in.
But what I discovered is, once I broke through the painful start-up phase, I loved running purely for the sake of running. Not as a way to fight my body, not as a way to punish it for not being good enough (read: thin enough, toned enough, young enough), but as a way to celebrate it, to enjoy it. To love it. To love being me.
But I am sure gonna hate it these next couple weeks.