To get up before six o'clock and run in the chilly morning air. For over an hour. Before breakfast. Barefoot. This is a thing I do now. Regularly, even. Just a few years ago the very thought would have appalled me, but as it is I even find myself looking forward to it. Seeing as it was my ambition to learn to love running, I welcome this shift in personality.
Because wow, do I ever love it now. Teaching my feet to fly across mud, grass and gravel, feeling them growing stronger by the day. Learning how to breathe my way through pain and struggle until a sort of serenity makes its home in my body and movement just for the sake of movement becomes a thing.
Even on the days when every step feels like uphill and hopelessness weighs heavy on my heart. Even then, when even running becomes an ordeal I'd rather do without, I am still thankful for the gift of moving forwards. It takes the edge off sorrow, heartache, anxiety, rage, and all other feelings I would otherwise drown in.
I dream of running long distances and in dangerous places. I'm still slow and weak, but my will is strong and I have come a long way from where I started. So I'll keep dreaming and running in parallel. For the moment I seem to be having my health back, and I'll be damned if I don't enjoy it.
Love and motion,