I was on a run yesterday with my husband. That in and of itself is pretty amazing. Anyone who really knows me knows that there were years when I hated running. I swore I’d never run. My husband starting running. My daughter started running. My son even ran with them sometimes. But I swore I’d never run.
And then I ran. It started as something to do with my daughter. As she got serious about, and good at, running, I thought it would be fun to run with her once. So I started running. I was slow. Very slow. And not very good. So not very good, in fact, that I’ve heard her tell people how bad I was at first, although she never told me at the time. Still, I started running.
And I’ve kept on running. I ran with my daughter, that first time a few years ago, and I kept on after that. I had said, “I’m running so that I can run once with my daughter.” And I ran once with her a few Thanksgivings ago and I’m still running.
I enjoy it. At least I enjoy that I do it. I still think my favorite part of running is the feeling when you’re done. I think my favorite part of running may always be the feeling when you’re done. And running with other people, especially my daughter. I love that I can do that with her (although I slow her down). I love that it’s something we at least somewhat share. I love that she loves that I run. I love that she wants to run a race with me, and she wants me to run faster than I’ve run yet – to match her first race time. I’m hoping I can, and after I ran with her this week I’m thinking I can because she killed me with pacing. I was nauseous at the end, but I did it.
I also love running with my husband, which I was doing yesterday. I love that because it’s something that we share. I love that it’s a time when we can talk and catch up. And I love that he paces me way slower than my daughter does.
But one thing I love best about running is how much it shows me that I’ve come to take things just as they are. I don’t run fast. I probably never will. I came to it late. I have short legs. I have a list of reasons why I don’t run fast. But the weird thing is that that’s okay. And for me that’s miraculous.
I have, nearly always, been driven to be better…at everything. I still can be driven to get it done, get it right, do my best, do it better, stronger, faster, more perfectly. And running is something I’m accepting just as it is. Sure I love when my daughter paces me faster. Sure I’m proud of last summer when she got me up to twenty-one miles in a week. Sure I’m proud of the time she got me to run six miles. But mostly I’m proud that I do it at all, and that I’m okay with however I run. I don’t beat up on myself. I don’t push myself harder…well, okay, not too much harder. I still try to quicken my pace and lengthen my distance. But I’m totally fine if I don’t. And I’m totally fine with what is. And that’s more than totally fine. That’s amazing.
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