Once upon a time, I used to be very fit.
When I say fit, I mean that I could run 10km in under an hour, about 50 minutes or so. While this is not particularly crazy-far, not fast, it was pretty damn good for me as a 17 year old.
I was not particularly healthy, and I was not particularly happy. I enjoyed running though; that gave me joy. It was a release from the gray-ness that I felt in normal life.
I ended up overdosing on it, I guess. I was compelled to run this distance every day, until one summer afternoon in late-2010 I just stopped. I stopped running, and when I did, the rest of my body woke up. I noticed normal things in daily life that I had overlooked in the past. I ate with greater abandon (gasp – carbs!), and I let the colour seep back into my life.
Now, as a 21 year old, I begin again my love affair with running. Few things are as calming or as challenging; you are your own pace keeper, and your own instructor. Its not hard, nor is it easy. I find it a very mental exercise, as I find my mind gives up before my body does. Conversely, I decide how long I will push my body; I don’t say that I will run until I cannot move, nor do I stop at the first sign of fatigue.
It’s a slow process, but I will get there. I will get back up to my 10km/hour, but this time when I do it, I will celebrate with the knowledge that I do it out of love for myself.