Scratch - plus one

It was fifty five degrees and cooling quickly last night.  The sunset was just finishing as I pulled into the parking lot and walked over to the group.   I had my spy belt, my clip light, my Saucony running shoes over my technical socks.  Yes, there are technical socks.  I had my NOBO windbreaker and my favorite new comfy shirt.

I was ready to run.  

Is it strange to say that I’m a novice veteran or perhaps a veteran novice?  This is my fourth beginning running program.  I’ve had better and worse paths through these training programs.  I always begin simultaneously convinced that I can’t do this and clearly aware that I’ve already done it.  I know many of the running routes by heart. I can tell you with confidence that I will curse the hills, trip on the roots and wonder aloud why I ever thought this was a good idea.   I will also, with equal volume and enthusiasm, marvel at the accomplishments of the group, laugh with the new friends that I encounter, sleep better every single time I go running, and cross the finish line with a ridiculously large sense of accomplishment. I love that.

Here is the other thing that I know.  I always start from scratch.  I arrive at the first workout sure in the knowledge that I will be happy when it is over.  I don’t necessarily expect to enjoy the actual running.  The actual running is really hard for me.  I suspect that it is really hard for many of us.  The most accomplished runners that I know – and they keep popping up in new places in my life – will tell me that running is about working with your mind and your body.  Since my mind and my body don’t actually communicate all that well, every new session is a new beginning.  My heart learns the rhythm of my feet.  My voice remembers the limits of my lungs.  My mind understands that it isn’t allowed to stomp all over my new-found courage. 

So, it was fifty-five degrees and twilight when I laced up my shoes last night.   I stepped off with my friend beside me, my daughter in front of me and nothing but the knowledge that I will love this fueling my feet.   About 40 minutes and two miles later, I was back – in every sense of the phrase.