I’ve been swamped lately. Regular end of term stress coupled with housework that never seems to get done and kids who are flirting with sickness. I’ve been so busy that I’ve been slacking on my runs. One or two a week, and because I’ve been running less, the runs have been harder. And because they’ve been harder, I’ve been less motivated to go. And because I’ve been less motivated to go, I run less. And, well, you get the picture.
At times like these, I always feel like I’m not a “real” runner. What with the lagging motivation, it seems that surely I’m not actually someone who loves to run, merely a fair weather runner.
Yesterday after I sent my kids to daycare, I sat down at the computer and started working on my term paper. By early afternoon my brain was turning to mush, so I laced up my five-day-old sneakers for their inaugural run.
The air was cool enough for a jacket and toque, my feet thumped on the pavement and I knew within the first 200 metres that it was going to be good.
A relaxing 10k and by the time I was home, I felt amazing. I had shaken off all of my stress about school and family and friends and over-extended to-do lists. The dog and I came home and I stretched while she panted happily beside me.
Runs like that, the ones that happen exactly when you need them, exactly when your faith in…. whatever… is running low, that’s why I run. Because it’s good for me, and I don’t mean in that Doctor’s recommendation kind of way.
The world seems a better place today. It snowed last night and a white skiff is covering the roads and trees. The kids are happily watching their morning cartoon while I sip my tea. There’s still laundry to be run and bathrooms to be cleaned and an enormous term paper to be completed, but it doesn’t seem so overwhelming today.
And I can’t wait to get out for that first snowy run.
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