I am the first person to say I hate when people write everything they did to exercise, or that they even exercised. It just isn’t something I feel like needs huge pats on the back, unless of course, it is a huge milestone for you.
That being said, this post is going to be about exercise. Well, sort of. Last night I went running. It is the first time I went running in probably close to a year. Maybe less, maybe more, time always has a way of escaping me. Anyways, we were watching a movie and it was starting to get dark and I decided, no, this is enough. I went and changed into my running shoes and work out clothes, slipped on a jacket (because it was raining) and went on my way.
I did not know where I was going. I did not know how I was going to run. I did not even know if I would make it out of the drive way of our apartment community without having to stop. Instead I ran and just gave myself over to the feelings of the run. I let the cool mist of the rain cool me down and the thick air choke my lungs but I did not care. I just ran. I ran until I found the old abandoned track about a mile away from my home. I haven’t ran that straight in, who knows how long. I walked down to the track and then continued to do laps around it, jogging, running, walking. Whatever I could do. I just kept my eye on the sun setting and the looming clouds overhead. After about three laps (because let’s face it I am really really out of shape) I decided to walk back up the trail and head on home.
I had to chant to myself in my head not to throw up, that I can keep running. I ran until I hit the stairs to my building. I got home and wanted to collapse. I had done just over three miles (at the time I thought it was closer to 4, but it was actually 3). But I felt free. In those moments surrounding by mostly nature, and just giving myself over to it. I felt free.
It was a great night for a run.