I’m not doing it today; I don’t care; I’m too tired; I don’t feel well…
Those are only some of the excuses going through my head all day at the thought of running after work. Hips aching, and shin-splints still pinching from my last run on Monday, I forced myself to suit-up and set out – I didn’t expect much, a sorry excuse for an attempt only to get too cold and go home.
As I made my way down the street, my inner monologue bitching and moaning louder than the headphones in my hears, I BARELY made it through my warm up and first 60-second jog, when I encountered a red light. Oh. My. God. Seriously! Was all I could think. Wiggling and bobbing against the chilly early evening, I waited for that little white man to give me the all clear to cross.
And as he did, my experience changed.
Trodding through the crosswalk, I crossed paths with an old Indian woman. She met my eyes, and as I smiled politely (an almost half-sneer), she returned with the most genuine smile I had seen all day, and a “hello, how are you?” So generous was the smile in that strangers eyes, as I passed her all my pent-up crankiness melted away.
Alone now, sun sinking low in the sky, stars beginning to poke out high above, sidewalk below me, and the cold February air all around, I found my stride. Each lamp post I passed, a goal-marker high-fiving me as I jogged by. One more, just one more light post became my mantra. Even as the coach in my ear’s told me I was finished and could cool down, the voice in my head, now a motivator, pushed:
One more light post, just one more.
Peace and Love,