A really, really good run

Oh how I needed a good run. After a few weeks off from those dratted stitches then a few bad runs full of huffing and puffing and walking and worrying, I truly needed a run to remind me why I do this.

It came to me last night.

I came home from work and had almost gotten to that point of settling in and not wanting to go to the gym... It's cold outside. I need to buy gas. I don't want to leave the dog again. I'm tired. I haven't had a good run in weeks. Why am I bothering with this when I can't hit my miles and I can't make it to my training group?

Then I remembered that I had a few things in my RunnerBox that I had been meaning to try. I got myself a packet of a drink mix (which I will later review!). I made the shake and drank it mindfully. Then I got my butt in gear. I changed into gym clothes, took out the dog, and I was off.

I'm a treadmiller. It's how I cut my teeth in running. I have the uncanny ability to stare at the awning of the grocery store across the street and listen to my music and get into a zone where I don't even recognize my own name... (It's happened. My boyfriend has come to ask me something and I'm just completely zoned out.)

It wasn't easy--no, don't mistake this as a simple feat. This GOOD RUN was hard earned. I had to continually fend off anxious thoughts about my asthma, my slower-than-snails pace, my heart rate, my feelings about my out-of-shapeness (in comparison to others), and my lack of enthusiasm thanks to all of the above.

I let the thought enter my mind, acknowledged it, and then let it go.

That is SO effing hard. Especially if, like me, you're used to dwelling on things like those I listed above and letting them drive you into WorryWorld, population: 1; being your own worst enemy is awful. KNOWING that you're your own worst enemy is worse. Knowing that you're your own worst enemy and letting yourself continue to beat the pulp out of yourself--that is the worst. That. Is. The. Worst.

So I started running. I had to keep dropping those worry thoughts like they were razor-sharp, lava covered, disease ridden hot potatoes. (Trust me, you wanna drop those.)

I fell into my playlist and forgot about my pace (which I've been fretting). I got the three miles I was after and felt great when I was done.

Sense of accomplishment? You bet. And thank God, because I remembered that I started running because I was a worrier... and worrying about running? Yeah, that needs to stop.