I Want That Old Thing Back

If Running were my husband, we would be headed to divorce court.

I swear I love him. I promise to spend more time with him. I vow at the start of every year that I will change. Yet, year after year Running and I are stuck in our sad, dismal state. No growth. No change. The only consistent ritual I maintain is, reminiscing through old scrapbooks marveling at the way we used to be.

It ain’t working.

What I have been attempting for the past eight years has not yielded any of the results I desire. I’m stuck. I’m in a rut. I’ve done the gimmicks. I created the vision boards. I had an app that charged you money each time you missed a workout. I lost fifty dollars.  I tried diet pills that caused me to get so hot and sporadically shake that people probably thought I was a crack feign. I hired a trainer to whip my ass in shape. After our time together expired, I reverted to my previous habits. I paid him three hundred dollars. Hell, I even feng shui my apartment to create an environment more conducive to healthy living. Epic fail. There is no substitute for lacing up and hitting the pavement consistently.

I possess over twenty years of running, training/certification, personal experience, and coaching. Am I applying my expertise to my own life? Nope. It’s comparable to someone with a Ph.D. in Nuclear Fusion working the window at McDonald’s; it makes no damn sense!

Surprisingly, once I blew the dust off of my old Puma running spikes (circa 1998), I discovered it wasn’t the workouts, distance, or how chiseled my abs were that caused me to be so enamored with running. Running used to make me feel a certain way. The physical attributes I attained as a result of it were just a bonus. The physical attributes were never the driving force. The track was my sanctuary. Whatever issues rode my shoulders at the start of practice, quickly diminished by the time I began my cool down lap. Running was almost therapeutic. Even if the workout entailed a grueling 400-meter repeater, there was a sort of euphoric feeling felt coming down the track for that last 200 meters.  Don’t get me started on the addictive adrenaline surge one gets from competitions. It’s aaaaaaamazing!

I want that old thing back! I need it! The reality is, I am not getting any younger and my immediate family is plagued with a plethora of medical calamities. I have the opportunity and responsibility to break this generational curse. I have to adopt healthier choices. I’m putting down the stopwatch, GPS tracker, and running journal this week to get back to the basics. I am rekindling my old passion. No treadmill, no gym, just me and my funky blue sneakers embarking on a brand new journey to find what I lost.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

photo credit: marksmorton Spring is Coming via photopin (license)