I was supposed to run 5 miles yesterday.
In February, my dad’s trainer told me I should start running. It’ll change your body, he informed me. I’ve always hated running. But I tried it.
And got hooked.
I have run diligently for ten months, three times a week. I’ve seen my friends run 10ks, 5ks, half marathons, full marathons. I loved the freedom running gave me. The joy of being outside, of rocking out to a killer playlist. I upped my mileage to the point that anything less than 5 miles seemed wussy.
And then it stopped being fun.
I grew too hooked. Too addicted. Too obsessed.
My hips were locked. Every time I did yoga, I screamed in agony whenever we went into pigeon. I would lose all hunger for hours, then return home at the end of the day and feel the urge to clean my fridge. My playtime with my nephew, time spent with my family, all compromised because God forbid I didn’t run. I’d return tired, sweaty, and a bit sad.
Don’t get me wrong, I love running. I’m good at it.
It’s not enough to just be GOOD at something.
I love the feeling of being strong, flexible, and enough more.
And let’s face it, my hips are seriously craving some TLC.
And let’s face it – running hurts. Running is punishing. I don’t want to punish myself anymore for something I didn’t do.
So until the New Year, no more running. Just the elliptical, crosstraining, and hot yoga 4 times a week. I’ll probably run again. Heck, I might even train for a half-marathon next year.
But it’s not about the distance, or the splits.
It’s about the joy of running.
Running gives my mind great joy. But it causes my body a hell of a lot of pain.
Yoga has taught me over the course of the last year that who I am is perfectly good enough.
I don’t need a marathon right now to feel good enough.
I’m more than good.
I’m pretty great.
And that’s a feeling 5 miles in subzero temperatures will never give me.