is a single mama in the city, super-savvy editor, writer, video host and shameless shoe whore.
I wasn't sure. But now I am
Sunday, February 28, 2010 The last few weeks have been tough for running. I've already listed all the reasons here, but what I was most afraid of is that I would let a few stumbling blocks take me completely out of the game.
I was afraid I was falling behind in my training. I had visions of not being able to keep up in the relay. I was terrified I might (and this must be whispered so the universe doesn't hear) quit.
And then there was Facebook.
Last Wednesday, after I sent Lil E off with his dad, I sat at my laptop, still in my running clothes. I'd been to the gym earlier but I got there late and only had the time and energy to crank out two miles. And when I say "crank," I mean like my body was a rusty old wheel that hadn't been turned since the late '60s. I was frustrated with my body, irritated at myself. Then it occurred to me that I had an hour left before the dark and dusty fitness room at the park near my house closed up. It wasn't perfect but maybe...maybe...it would work. Not just the room. Maybe my calves would cooperate, maybe my head would be back in it.
Or maybe I should just call it a night and go to bed.
I debated that out loud on Facebook and within minutes, I had a comment. A friend told me to go to the gym, that I'd feel better. And then another, a mama I've only met once and have admired greatly since she's lived in Philadelphia and Germany and now Hawaii, took it up a notch. She said if I would go, she would do.
I told her she was on. She commented back that she would leave in fifteen minutes. Five minutes later, I was out the door.
My body did not want to play along. I was sore and I hobbled through the first fifteen minutes. Then something clicked and I thought -- maybe even out loud -- "Fuck this, I can do this."
I did. I finished the three miles I wanted to run. It wasn't all in one fell swoop and it wasn't the easiest workout. I was sweaty and exhausted when I finished just minutes before the janitor locked up the doors and made that dusty fitness room even darker and emptier. But I did it.
On a night off when I was unsure and unmotivated and afraid, I cranked it out. I didn't quit. I didn't let fear blind me from the greater goal. I finished what I started.
Outside, the snow seemed to be pouring down. The chill felt good against my flush cheeks. I was smiling, I was proud of myself, I was ready to go home and collapse into bed.
Then without even really thinking, I stopped on the path to my car and wrote this in the snow:
I'm sure my smile got bigger. I pieced it together, but I ran five miles in one day. Five months ago, I could barely run for five minutes.
I left the message there on the sidewalk, but as I left it, the thought came that maybe I didn't get it completely right. Maybe I should have written:
Because there is so much more to do. One comment, one cheering friend, one internal debate right there with me. One mile, one run, one time at a time.
That's all I can handle. And thank goodness, because that's all it takes.
