The idea, this theme, of restarting of rebooting seems to be a recurring one…
Check out this article I read today from Runner’s World!
Still a Runner
Sometimes, in running and in life, you have to hit the restart button.
By Elizabeth Comeau MONDAY, OCTOBER 5, 2015, 10:26 AM
“How’s your training been going?” a friend asked me as we walked out of the coffee shop recently.
“It hasn’t,” I said.
And that’s the truth, too.
Four weeks ago, I was starting a new job, juggling a new school schedule for my now-kindergartner, and, oh yes, trying to figure out my new life as a divorced woman.
On top of trying to figure out all of that, I’ve been house hunting (trying to find something closer to my son’s school and closer to my parents).
I’m in a new relationship, too. So running has taken a backseat.
Actually, to be completely honest, running has been pushed out of the darn car while I yelled, “I’ll be back in a bit” and pushed my foot on the gas pedal while dear old running watched me drive away.
Have I given up on calling myself a runner?
But I’ve figured out my definition has morphed as my life continues to evolve.
When I first started running, I refused to call myself a runner until I could run three consecutive miles.
After that, I felt comfortable saying I ran, but it still didn’t seem right to say I was a runner.
As I got more into running, and I completed 10Ks, half-marathons, marathons, and even triathlons, I finally told people, “I am a runner.”
Now, with the leaves starting to turn here in New England, and crisp, cool air making for more comfortable miles, I’m still calling myself a runner even though I haven’t raced for a while.
Why do I feel I can still call myself a runner even though my miles are all over the map?
The simple answer is because I feel like I’m starting from scratch with my life—and that includes my miles.
In the past, I had my schedule down pat. I knew exactly when I could grab a few miles and how much sleep I did or didn’t need to get my work done, be able to care for my son, and still manage to cook dinner without falling asleep at the dinner table.
Now, I squeeze in a run whenever I can, and running feels like a gift again. Not something I need to keep me sane and stable, but something that helps give me the gift of time to myself.
I’m still the woman who has more running shoes than high heels, who can’t help but look up the latest and greatest trend in marathon training, who thinks to herself that she needs to find a home near a facility with a pool so I can get back into triathlon shape.
I’m not as fast as I was a year ago, but I’m still stalking races I’d like to lace up for, picking training plans I think might work for me, and trying to figure out what to focus on next.
Right now, though, I’ve got my fingers crossed that I get the house I just made an offer on, and I can start mapping out new run routes in a new neighborhood, where my legs and my heart will get a fresh start.
I’m still a runner.
And, in many ways, I’m stronger than I have ever been.