Most folks would be starting a fire in their main rooms, curling up to a good book, their significant other or football game...
But days like these make me restless. Depressed even.
So I find my most devoted friend.
We have been through much together--listened to my rantings and sobs; my pity parties and my personal triumphs.
Still, battered from a year of daily abuse, I reach for them.
We know each other intimately. The miles we have covered, the hours of road and cinder and YMCA trauma...
I am talking about my favorite pair of running shoes.
Sure, I got a new pair, but they just don't feel the same. If you are a runner maybe you can relate to my story:
So, today I fished the old pair out of my closet (My Achilles Heel: I cannot throw out running shoes or bathing suits), put on the running garb, and made a 3-mile trek across the usual trails. Ahhh..the soggy, puddle laden track. I curse having to side step the mess and lose my stride in the process...It's not the same as summer. I usually retire my outside routine until Mid March-or early April. But today I HAD to go.
There has been too much crap recently that the only way I find absolute clarity is to do a road run. It's a lot like confession, honestly. And as I move along, the only thing I feel present is my mind. Putting Thoreau (or was it Emerson who spoke of the head?) aside, The body below is long gone--the legs, feet, arms, chest...I feel nothing but what I am currently working through at the time. I am a talking head.
When I stop moving, I am light headed (and still am 20 minutes later) and slightly frost burned. My throat is raw and my knees scream at me.
But the time was well worth it. I love my old running shoes.
They help me through even the worst of times.
