This morning I decided that I would go on a run and not stop until I thought of something to blog about this morning. I ended up running for over an hour (knees are pretty sore right now). I listened to my feet pound steadily on the sidewalk and my breathing go in and out as I scanned music on my ipod. I ran past parks, ivy-covered gazebos, and gardens on a warm, sunny spring morning.
I thought about why I run. I never did until the Army and even then it was only so I didn’t have to hear the arguments and gripes that females can’t be as physically fit as males (a completely ridiculous argument since most of the female officers in my unit could outrun and outruck most of the males, we were some tough broads). But still, I felt I had to keep myself physically disciplined to prove myself. I never really enjoyed it, even though I did well.
So if I don’t have to prove anything to anyone anymore, why do I do it? Habit? To burn calories? After all, gone are the days when I could lose 4 pounds in one day on an Airborne Operation in July, just from sweating profusely, carrying a ton of weight, and going without food most of the day (honestly, I weighed myself).
It was right at about 57 minutes into my run when a song I loved came on my ipod. Then I found myself underneath a canopy of dogwood trees and reached my hand up to touch the white, fragrant blossoms. And I knew when I got home, I would feel great for the rest of the day. I don’t pace myself anymore. I don’t even keep track of how far I go. I certainly feel no pressure to keep up with anyone, or feel like less of a person if I fall behind a few steps. I guess I just do it for me now. And it’s a bit of a new concept. And it’s nice.