Puppy schmuppy. On the green earth there is no greater joy than a good run.
I know, I sound like I've been brainwashed by the exercise zealots. I can't explain it, but as I was running along the Central Park Reservoir yesterday, watching the sun go behind the Dakota, then its reflection on the East Side buildings, and finally the sunset on the West Side, I thought to myself, "I cannot remember any moment when I have felt more content."
I started running in a particularly masochistic phase in high school, when I had something to prove and felt the best way would be to keep running even though I was incredibly slow and it made me vomit. I won silly awards from my high school cross country team for puking on the finish line. The coach once told me, "You're faster this year. Last year I couldn't believe anyone could run as slowly as you did." I came in last place in all but three or four races over two years. No idea whatsoever why I kept doing it. But in college, I started to want to run. And after college it gradually became really important to me.
Somewhere along the line, I overtrained, and I wound up with injuries... So for the last year and a half I've been going to physical therapy, which has its pluses and minuses. The upside is that for the first time ever I have learned that it's possible to run without pain. Amazing! (Not necessarily without discomfort, but without pain.) The downside (besides the huge time commitment and the sometimes excruciating pain) is that it requires more dedication than I thought possible to a whole slew of stretches, exercises, self-therapy... and making what seems like a little mistake can have big consequences. Running once when my shins are kind of sore? Hobbling around for a week. Skipping the sit-ups? Sore butt.
It seems like I most want to go running when I can't. But there are times when it all seems to fall into place, and the run calms down my brain and produces this incredible feeling of... Unity? Rightness? Nirvana?
After the Lobster Festival 10k, which was a success for me, my shins were killing me. I felt so helpless and panicky and doomed never to run again. But last night, even though I was running slower than seemed humanly possible, running felt like the best thing I'd done all week.
Last week was brutal, and I'm getting the impression that it's a hard time for lots of people I know in the Blogosphere and in my everyday life. Here's hoping the general malaise passes soon... and that the good runs continue.
