I’m a runner. It says it in my bio and I’ve always said that I’m a runner. I love it. Instead of exhausting me, it fuels me.
But I haven’t run in months. I got hurt in June while on a run and I didn’t run again. It hurt too much. I tried.
I took a break. It didn’t work.
I went to the doctor. It didn’t help.
I started physical therapy. But I didn’t make time for my exercises.
So last week I walked in, met by a different therapist and just word vommed all over her. I told her I was ready to quit. I told her I was extremely busy at work and didn’t have the time to be wasting here. told her I don’t have time for exercises. I’m a mother of two, have a house and a job. I’m not gonna sit around doing leg lifts.
I told her that I had accepted the fact I couldn’t run and I was READY TO QUIT. Not just physical therapy, but running.
I should have seen that as a red flag. Quit running? Not the girl who was the,opted to walk the Vancouver Marathon with a fractured pelvis.
She gave me a proverbial slap in the face and pretty much said, “You cannot sacrifice a part of who you are. You’re a runner. You need that outlet. You’re stressing over stressing. You have nowhere to channel that. You HAVE to make time for you. And that includes rehabbing so you can run again.”
Boy was she right.
So that night I gave it a shot. I put Allie to bed and said I was heading out for a walk. I did. I even ran a couple blocks (progress for someone who was previously gimping through the office at work).
It felt damn amazing. And it was me time.
I need the self care right now. Kind of a lot so I have to push myself.
I went out again last night. And I’m going to keep it up. Maybe it’s just walking with the occasional gallop, but it’s something. I ran.