The week of Thanksgiving I started running again. I haven’t really been out very much since October 16, 2013. Yes, I do remember the exact day. And I remember why I stopped running.
My heart wasn’t into it. Something about losing your running partner just takes the desire away. I honestly had very little or no desire to run at all. I would hear about races, see photos of my friends and family members running, and not miss it.
I’d begun to miss it. I would have the old urge to get out and run. So the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, I tied on my running shoes, told the children I was running a mile and would be back in 15ish minutes. It felt good.
I ran 1.53 miles (yes, that .53 is very important…to me) in 21 minutes.
I set no speed records. I just went out and ran. And it felt good. I ran again (the same distance) on Thanksgiving and the following Saturday. I ran the same on Monday of last week. Tuesday of last week I ran 2.11 miles in 25 minutes. I’d improved my time. Half of that run (the wrong half too) was uphill and into the wind.
I took Wednesday and Thursday off. Wednesday because I have Bible study and need to leave the house at 8:30, and Thursday because that is my sabbath.
Friday I thought I’d try to add a little distance to my normal runs. So instead of an out and back, I rounded the corner and kept on running, turning a few blocks away and angling my way back home. I had to backtrack three times, but it was adding distance and I was feeling good.
Towards the end of my run, I could really feel the lactic acid in my legs, making them feel like they weigh a ton each and they just wanted me to stop.
Stop right now.
I hate it when my legs think they are the boss of me. I really do. So I pulled a Jensie and said, “Shut up, legs!” and kept running.
He did. I know it. How do I know it? Simple. He had this song start running through my head on repeat.
Eric Liddell said, “I feel God’s pleasure when I run.” Me too.