Facing a fear

I wore a watch today for the first time in awhile. Here's how it looked:

1.25 mile warm up @ 8:20 pace
1600 @ 6:41
1200 @ 5:03
800 @ 3:11
800 @ 3:10
1.25 mile cool down @ 8:30 pace

Short and sweet...and not as slow as I feared. Maybe this love affair isn't over after all...

Still here

I see you there, running. I see you in the sunny morning, perfect for a long, leisurely trail run. I see you in packs of like-minded people, pursuing their passion. I see you running fast, swift, strong. I feel your joy, and I relish it from my distant vantage point. I see you in my closet, overflowing with shoes both tired and worn and a few still pretty new, waiting for their turn to go out again. I see you asking me if I'll race next week...hopeful, maybe, that I haven't given up. I see you on the roads and on the trails and in my mind.

I know that you know I am watching you from afar, and I know that you are looking for me too. Looking for a sign that I'm still here. This is your sign. I'm here. But I'm not the same, running. It hurts now....my whole body hurts. I run, but not like I used to. Not like I want to. I run until my body tells me to stop, and then I stop. No desire to keep moving forward. I stop when it hurts, and sometimes I sit down. 

The pain is overwhelming, running. But I'm getting help. Help you couldn't give me, and I could not have expected to come from you. I have a whole team, actually, helping me deal with the pain of past and present. 

Like all religions, running, an element of faith is required. I am putting faith in you, running, that you will be there for me when I have worked through the pain and emerge a whole, healed person. In the meantime, I'll do what I can to help and support others, and to give as much of me as I can to you. And I expect, in the end, that you'll give back to me tenfold.

Dear Running

Dear Running,

I have to go away for awhile. I don't know exactly where I'm going or how long I'll be gone, only that I have to go. Please know, it makes me very sad to leave you behind.

I'm not sure exactly what's led up to this. It can't be blamed entirely for that time I jumped off the cliff and got injured. You were there, true, but I understand you were powerless to stop me from falling. I think it has more to do with the box I've put you in. I thought by putting you in a box I could keep you safe from the dangerous things that can happen when you love something too much. But it's hard to breathe inside that box, I know, and that's left both of us panicked.

I won't be alone where I'm going. I'll have George Sheehan, Matt Fitzgerald, and other writers to keep me company and give me hope. Perhaps I'll occasionally visit you here. I trust that you'll be waiting for me when I'm ready to come back.

With great sadness,
Christy