Wednesday, June 10, 2015

So. I ran 3 miles at lunch on Monday. Then puked.

Maybe not actually like, toss my cookies puke, but throw up in my mouth a little bit puke.
Tell me why I used to love this so much?

Let me back track just a bit. I've been working at my original clinic (physical therapist assistant, hello ORS!) and I decided, hey, what the heck. I used to run on my lunch hours all of the time. Maybe I could do it again. So I laced up my running shoes and took off.

I ran my "old" path...and spent time reminiscing...I ran past the home where my grandpa took his last breath. I ran the path that I ran so many previous lunch hours with my friend Cheryl...where she told me she was expecting her little girl Grace, and where I told her that I met this man and "I think he's the one..."
Funny how being alone and hearing your feet on pavement can bring up all those memories.
And then I got to thinking...hey, I used to be able to run this 3 mile loop. Maybe I should try it now.
So I did. The first mile was okay. The 2nd mile was...hard. The 3rd mile. Just straight ugly. I remember thinking to myself..."oh my God. I'm that girl right now. The one I used to feel sorry for when I passed them and they were running and it was BEYOND obvious that it was tough."
Yea. Red cheeks. Hunched posture. Scuffing my feet would be more accurate than the actual description of "running."
All those mind games one plays with themselves..."just have to make it to the next mailbox..."and on and on.
I'm counting down the runs until it gets easier again.

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