The Groove of the Pavement
I couldn’t get it out of my head. I had been feeling the urge for a few days, an urge that only comes around every once in a while. I was ready to go for a run. The year after I ran a half marathon, I got burnt out on running for a bit. Now I get the itch every couple of months to feel the coveted runner’s high. I woke up on a Saturday ready to go, put on my running shoes, and told my husband I was headed out for a run.
It had been so long, his response lined with disbelief was, “A run? Outside?”
Not that I could run inside if I wanted to, as we don’t have a treadmill or a gym membership. I nodded my head and headed out. The first hill is always the hardest, and it’s the biggest in the neighborhood. Once I make it up that hill, I know the rest of my run won’t be nearly as difficult. It’s funny how my body syncs up to its old patterns, the familiarity of the route, the groove of my steps, the sound of my feet hitting the pavement. As I get down into the heart of the neighborhood, I’m taken back to the times I tried to trick my body during training. I would head down a street, acting like I was going to start in one direction, when I would turn my body, forcing myself to do another lap, then another, trying to hit 6 or 8 miles at the time. I thought if my mind could trick my body or maybe my body could trick my mind, the running wouldn’t seem as long. I was thankful I was not doing any more laps than one today.
I started to get quite warm, the sun shining down on me, my mind begging me to stop, but then a cloud provided shade just ahead. I forgot that God liked to do that on my runs. When I was sprinting up the biggest hill or pushing to the next spot and didn’t think I could go any further, he would provide relief to get me through. I was nearing the end of the run when I started to think about work, the looming week, the stress. I forgot to breathe in segments, which I was alerted to whenever my heart started to beat faster, and I wasn’t running as easily. I went back to the ease of counting in and out, aware of my body’s rhythm.
As I made it back to my driveway after my 2.5 mile run, I thought about the first time I achieved eight miles. I was calm, relaxed, and even waving at people as they drove past. I knew I just had to keep going at a manageable pace to finish. I wasn’t in a hurry, and my anxiety was at an all-time low. I knew I’d be running for over an hour and had mentally prepared to sink into my body and enjoy the endorphins. Today, while short in comparison, felt similar to that day. The sun shining down on me, my legs taking me along a sweat-soaked, victorious journey.