Within my running trials and tribulations, every race that I have run has had a different purpose and a different story. Some races have been about conquering a mental or physical obstacle, some have been just about the experience, while others have been about a better time. To this day, only one race has included someone waiting at the finish line for me, in the pouring rain.
I stood at the start of the corporate run completely miserable. My shoes were already drenched from a 30 minute monsoon that seemed as though the gates of hell had opened in the sky. My plan for a new PR was thrown out the window. Had I not been the team captain for my company or had him waiting for me at the finish line, I would have driven home. I abhor running in the rain. I’ve done it and it royally sucks. I can’t see through my glasses, my feet slosh and I slide everywhere. Oh and I’ve also chafed on my sports bra line, which is the worst pain ever.
The race was horrific in every way. The start was an abomination. 95% of the people I was surrounded by were not runners. They were walkers, and I mean slow ass walkers. I think my grandmother walked faster than these people. I can’t remember the last race I ran where I was faster than the people around me. In fact, I don’t think there has ever been any such race. I was pushing through bands of people for a good 7-8 mins, exerting more energy elbowing and swerving to get around the crowds. I think I may have even screamed “Move!” at a woman instead of a polite, “Excuse me.” The course was flooded, the bridges were beyond slippery and I just wanted to get to the damn finish line. I was bitching to myself the entire time and cringed at my Garmin.
Before I knew it, I turned the corner and the finish line was in sight. Love was there, smiling, sans umbrella in his dress shirt and dress pants, completely soaked. My heart melted when I saw him. I still replay that moment in my mind. The sweetest kiss ever at a finish line.
I never expected that a few months ago, the guy I was blindly set up with while sitting at urgent care on a Friday night would wind up being the one, sitting in traffic for 2 hours ready to stand there in the pouring rain and wait for me at the finish line of this utterly dreadful 5k. Life works in the most mysterious ways and everything happens for a reason, at the very precise moment it is supposed to. And, sometimes, very unexpectedly, you discover that the worst races transcend into the best ones with memories that you will forever cherish.
It was my last morning run there. The wind brushed against my skin and the big beautiful trees wrapped their arms around me like a soft blanket on a cold winter night. There were very few cars on the road at the time. I remembered that distinctly because it was then that I started to dream while running. I will never forget that last 4 mile run. My music was louder than ever and every part of me was soaring.
It was October 14, 2012. I had run 39 miles in a period of 9 days with just 1 day of rest in between. I was about to make that 43 miles with this last run. It would be my highest mileage week ever. I was 4 weeks away from running the NYC Marathon for the second time. I finished my 18 miler just 7 days before in San Francisco. I was fearless. I was unstoppable.
My runs began in the darkness of morning dawn and finished in the bright sunlight. I took pictures during each run because I wanted to remember it all. I wanted to remember the minutes when the tears ran down my face in the dark, when I felt lost and unsure and I couldn’t see past it, and I wanted to remember when I ran up the hills of the trails into the light.
I healed my broken heart and learned more about myself in those 8 days than I knew ever existed. I realized what it was I wanted and deserved in all aspects of my life. Everything else was secondary because what mattered was that I was finally living free, finally living for me. I had rediscovered myself and reorganized my happiness.
My life changed that day. I got back on the plane and returned to Florida, a new person, a better version of myself. I never looked back. I stopped wondering if I made the right decisions all these years and I stopped questioning where my life journey brought me. I knew who I was, where I was and where I belonged. Some people search their whole lives and never find it. I knew with confidence what I had to offer myself and to the world around me. It was a mental list that I programmed into my psyche.
My dreams grew brighter when I returned. They weren’t new dreams, just more vivid depictions of the dreams I was already living. I forgot about all of the in-betweens, the days when I wondered whether I was meant to be a lawyer and not just a writer journaling in the big apple. I stopped thinking about why my health problems didn’t just correct themselves without the need for medication. I stopped wondering when I would find the effortless love that my parents found in one another. I stopped wishing for a fairytale fantasy. I abandoned it all during those 43 miles of running in 9 days.
Sometimes you need to stop thinking about what you want and begin to think about what you truly deserve. Sometimes you need to take a vacation from the life you have to appreciate what you feel in your heart about your life. Sometimes you need to photograph it all along the way so that you can reflect. Sometimes you have to stop listening to the voices that negate yours or the feelings you have within.
I would never settle again for one good moment in a sea of bad moments. I would never second guess my desires or my passion. I wouldn’t stop until I had the best in everything – - life, love and the pursuit of happiness.
I am a dreamer. I always have been. My dreams have been filled with good things and bad things. Sometimes in my dreams, I am running towards an object or a person, and sometimes I am simply running away.
Yesterday, I dreamed for 2 hours while running. My iPod was blasting in my ears, but I didn’t hear the music. It was as though I was running with my eyes closed, yet they were wide open and focused on the road.
My dreams took me back to one of the most memorable times in my career as a writing professor. I thought about him, how I changed his life by teaching him how to open up and express himself through his writing. He was the student who touched my heart and instilled an everlasting impression. At first, he was full of nothing but anger and rage. He came to my class late every time. His negative attitude was obvious. He hated the world and everyone in it.
I asked him one time after class why he was so hard? When you ask, they answer. Cancer did it to him. His mom went into remission and then the cancer came back. He couldn’t open up about his emotions. He didn’t know how to. He was the one who took care of his mom. His dad walked out on him and his siblings when he was just 2 years old. As his mom was living her last few months in an at-home hospice, he went to class in between sitting by her side.
One day I brought in a blank journal book for him.
“I am giving this to you. This is yours and yours only. If you want to share it with me, I will read it. I have one rule: you are going to write in it every day. Every emotion you feel, whether it’s anger or happiness, I want you to write it down. It doesn’t matter. Put on headphones, blast your music and just write.”
We had 10 journal entries that semester. Every journal was applicable to his mother, and that was okay because he was writing, because he had finally opened his heart up and he was living. The big essay of the semester was the autobiography. It became the most cathartic one for him. He wrote about how the only love he ever had was from his mom. She was a single parent and a teacher for over 25 years. He was in school because of her. She prevented him from living a life on the streets selling drugs. Everything he had was because she was there for him.
On the day of our final exam, he walked in and looked at me. I knew. His mom had passed that morning. I asked if he wanted to postpone the final.
“My momma would want me to take your final. I told her about you and how your positivity made me come to class. Will you please come to her funeral and read my autobiography?”
It was the first time I would step in a church. In fact, when I walked in, the pastor asked if I was at the right church. There was gospel music playing. It was his mom’s “homecoming.” It was magnificent. There was singing, laughter and a lot of family togetherness. It was unlike anything I could have ever imagined.
I took the podium and introduced myself as Keon’s writing professor. I told the 200+ people sitting in front of me that he was my most special student and that his writing didn’t just touch my heart but it allowed him to open his for the first time. He had rekindled his estranged relationship with his father. He was able to process the emotions he had about his mom. In between the tears that streamed down my face, I stood and read his essay to the entire congregation. When I was done, he came up to me, with his 6’4 lean stature. He hugged me, weeping like a 2 year old boy who was lost in a store and couldn’t find his mom.
Many months later, he called me up just to ask if he could visit me at the college campus. He came to my Saturday morning class. While the students were doing a timed essay, he turned on his laptop and showed me his journals. There were over 100. Before my class, he never wrote, and afterwards, it was all he could do.
We kept in touch for a few years, and then I stopped hearing from him. I thought about Keon yesterday as I was running and dreaming, simply wondering how he was doing, and if he was still living free and writing.
I remember when I was 15, I couldn’t wait until I was 18, and when I was 18 I couldn’t wait until I was 21. When I was 21, I couldn’t wait until I was 25. You get the point. We always wish to be older when we are younger, and when we are older, we wish we were young again. Now that 2013 has drawn in, I thought of 10 things I suggest everyone to do this year to keep us feeling vibrant and make it the best year for all.
1. Be Inspired Everyday. Whether it’s a quote or a photo, find something that inspires you daily. The only way to be a better version of yourself is to constantly be inspired.
2. Clean Out Your Closet, Often. I mean this figuratively and literally. Never be afraid to remove someone from your life who isn’t adding to the happiness in it. You create your own reality. Time is short. Surround yourself by the people who matter and weed out the ones who don’t. And literally, cleaning out your closet is just as cathartic.
3. Weigh Your Lifestyle. Don’t judge yourself by the numbers on the scale, but instead weigh your lifestyle. Focus on a healthy lifestyle. Switch to grilled chicken instead of fried chicken. Ask for vegetables on the side sans the butter. Buy portioned out snacks so you don’t overeat. Make exercise part of your lifestyle so that it doesn’t feel like a chore or work. A healthier lifestyle equals a happier you.
4. Make a Daily Goal and Abide By It. Maybe it’s 20 push-ups or 20 squats. Maybe it’s drinking more water. Or maybe it is putting your shoes away in the closet instead of leaving them stacked up at the front door. Make a daily goal and work toward achieving it.
5. Go For a Walk Just to Clear Your Mind. It doesn’t have to be a fast walk or a run. Take a stroll through your neighborhood and take in the sights, sounds and smells.
6. Wear Something That Makes You Feel Fabulous. Maybe it’s a new pair of shoes or maybe something as simple as a new lip gloss. Whatever the accessory, revel in it.
7. Listen to Your Favorite Song At Least Once a Day. Enough said.
8. Stay Home at Least One Friday or Saturday Night a Month. Appreciate the relaxation that comes from lounging in your PJ’s and making it a Blockbuster night. Sometimes the best thing you can do is have a quiet night at home, alone.
9. Have a Cheat Meal At Least Once a Week. Allow yourself to have that bowl of ice cream or side of French fries. Life is too short not to enjoy a gluttonous meal at least once a week. Just don’t make it a once a day cheat
10. Live Your Life. Life your life to the fullest extent possible. Maximize your potential EVERYDAY. Time is moving faster than ever. We can’t turn the hourglass and start the timer over. You want your dream career, propel towards it. You want to run a marathon, register for one. Do the things you want to do to reach your goals. Nothing is unreachable. Be unstoppable. Make sure to live your life for you and do the things that make you happy.
Let 2013 be your year in every way possible.
My eyes opened at 4:46am. I looked at the ceiling in my bedroom and realized I was wide awake. I toiled with the idea of running that morning. I had run consecutively for the last 3 days and put in just over 20 miles, including Saturday’s 14-miler. I needed a day of rest, but I had these beautiful new shoes I wanted to break in. They were my retail therapy purchase as I was in a funk, and needed a new pair of easy running shoes.
I got out of bed, walked over to my kitchen counter, poured myself a glass of water and took my Synthroid. It would be another 45 minutes before I could take any supplements and drink a cup of coffee.
I got back into bed and looked at my iPhone. I figured there had to be an amusing Facebook status to entertain me or perhaps make me realize I could get another half hour of good sleep.
I scrolled down my news feed. There it was.
“I have been a quadriplegic for one week now. If I did not have children, I would prefer to be dead. I am in a very dark place right now. Please pray for me.”
I must have read this status six or seven times before it really sunk in. It was written by my law school friend Michele, and it left me completely shell-shocked. Normally her early morning posts were filled with adoring and humorous stories of her young toddler children, Rowan and Asher, or about her Brazilian Butt Lift workouts.
I pinched my cheeks because I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming or it was a grim reality. I began reading through her page as quickly as possible. Last I read, she was at a restaurant. I read enough posts to gather she was injured in the hotel pool at her firm’s retreat and she already had emergency spinal surgery. She was paralyzed from the chest down and only had just regained feeling in her arms and hands. She was on a ventilator. My heart hardened.
I simply couldn’t believe what I was reading. How did I miss this? How could I have not known? I began sobbing like a baby and just continued reading the online journal her husband set up.
At 6am, I jumped out of bed, shoved my supplements down my throat, and realized I needed to run. I needed to run for Michele.
I laced up my purple Brooks Pure Flow shoes and they fit like a glove. I was walking on air. I may have thought I could have parted the seas like Moses. New shoes will always do that to a runner. Scratch that. New shoes will make any woman think she can rule the world, especially Michele because she loves shoes.
My run would not be long because I could only do a few miles in the new shoes. It was a quick 30 minutes, but just long enough to realize the purpose. As I came through the gate in my building, my emotions released. I began to cry uncontrollably, and it began to rain with equal fervor. It was as though G-d was crying too, crying for my friend who may never be able to run again on her treadmill, run after her adorable shih tzus or run after her beloved children.
I sat on my couch and just cried as I began looking through my Facebook messages for old ones that Michele and I exchanged. There were a lot of political ones as Michele is the most conservative right-winger I know, and I am the most liberal left-winger she knows. Then I found these messages from her:
July 15, 2011
“I can’t believe you are going to run a marathon – I could NEVER run that far. I’m so impressed. I can’t even do a 5K. Really I can’t. The last one I tried to do, I had to walk halfway through. I’m so out of shape.”
January 26, 2012
“I’m living a runner’s life vicariously through you. When I can get my schedule under some semblance of control, I’m going to start running again. I’ve only ever done a 10K, but I’m so out of shape now that I couldn’t even do a 5K. But my goal is to someday run a marathon (though probably when my kids are MUCH older).”
* * *
Within a few months, Michele kept her promise and started running again. She ran a 5K, she began early morning workouts on her treadmill and even dedicated Facebook statuses to me. I had inspired her in ways I never thought possible. I knew that morning I needed to run because Michele would have been up at the same ungodly hour on her treadmill or doing the Brazilian Butt Lift workout, knowing full well that I was up at the same hour. She would have been cursing the world and still pushing herself because I was pushing myself, because I had never given up.
Since learning about her accident, most of my runs have included thoughts of Michele and her precious family. I will accept her request to be her cheerleader. I will root harder for her on the bad days, the days when she gets frustrated at the world and her situation, the days when she keeps fighting because she is not a quitter, because I would never quit, because I still inspire her.
What really matters is not the times you get knocked down, but all the times you rise up from getting knocked down. It’s like getting to Mile 22 in the marathon and realizing you have no energy left, you’re in more pain than is even conceivable, there is no one to help get you through this, and the world around you is dark. You keep going forward no matter how slow you must go. There is simply no other option. The smell of victory is unknown, but it is out there if you just keep reaching.
As Rocky Balboa says, “It ain’t how hard you hit; it’s about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward. How much you can take, and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done.”
I will be her cheerleader, everyday.
My eyes opened. It was still dark outside, and my body was yearning to hit the pavement. New city. New running turf. 30 degrees cooler. What more could a runner ask for?
After one of the most emotional weeks I’ve had in a long time, I needed a good run, a run where I could get lost in the scenery, the darkness, the sunrise and in all of the thoughts plaguing my mind and my heart. A good run is like medicine for an illness. It ails you, mends you and heals your mind, your body and your heart. It gives you the ability to feel free, feel alive and recharge you. It can take emotional weakness and build greater strength.
I got lost in this morning’s run. I didn’t think about anything from this past week, but the beauty around me, about how it felt to be free and alive. The smell of the cool air as I ran through the darkness enveloped me. I was alone, but I was comforted but the feeling of my strides on the pavement. Trail pathways. Hills. A tiny bridge over the bay. It was breathtaking. I didn’t know where this winding road was taking me, but the curiosity consumed me.
Sometimes you need to get away to feel what you really want to feel. Sometimes I run just to run away from the pressures that life has built up upon me. No one can push me, no one can reach me, and I’m unstoppable. It is an individual moment, one that enables me to cherish the beauty that running has brought into my life. It isn’t about the pace, the distance or where I’m going. It’s about getting lost away from everything around me. It repairs my heart and my mind.
Running on the west coast. Running for me. Running to be free.
The fan was blowing air on my nails when she sat down next to me. She pointed and asked, “Is that a phone or a computer?”
I giggled with a little girl smile. “It is an iPhone. It is made by Apple.”
“What’s an iPhone? I don’t understand this technology.”
I giggled again. She was an endearing, very petite and very elderly woman. She was all dolled up for Saturday. It was her day at the beauty parlor.
“You have a very sweet smile,” she said to me as I stood up to leave.
“My grandma used to say the same thing.”
“She must have been a very wise woman.”
“The wisest of women I have ever known.”
Thoughts of my grandmother fluttered in my heart and in my mind. She always got her nails and hair done on Saturdays. As a young child, I loved to go with her and watch. I was amazed how they put ½ a can of hairspray in her hair and it still looked fresh by Thursday. She had the most beautiful long thin fingernails. Always delicately painted in red. Always shining. She never left the house without applying lipstick, rouge, mascara, and a dab of perfume. She was stunning in every aspect. She could dance on water with her exquisite beauty.
I walked out of the salon, smiling. I saw my grandmother’s reflection over me.
It’s amazing how the most inconsequential moments of a day can become the most consequential.
My alarm went off at 3:45am. I was ready for my 18-miler.
I arrived at Weston Town Center at 5:10am, filled my fuel belts, used the bathroom, and was set to run. I had some shin pain at about a mile in, and my coach saw me. We talked about dropping down to 12 miles this week to train smart. Some say shin pain is a sign of greater fitness, but it can happen with increasing mileage. Mileage building is supposed to be gradual and there are supposed to be drop-down weeks in between the 16, 18 and 20 milers to allow for recovery.
I had my heart and mind set on 18 miles because it was the 18th of August, one year exactly to the day that Rotem was diagnosed with breast cancer. Last weekend during my 16-miler, thoughts of Rotem stayed strong in my mind thanks to wearing the pink breast cancer bracelet she gave to me. The reflection of her strength is what gets me through the tough times of my long runs. When you’re running in the dark, sometimes dark thoughts take over your mind. Truth be told, even as positive as I am, I have had a lot of dark thoughts lately during my long runs.
Staring at the bracelet has enabled me to flashback to when Rotem had her head-shaving party during her chemo, how she sat there so stoic, so brave and never became defeated by her fears. When chemo got really tough, she still remained fearless. She never let cancer break her. Instead, she broke it.
I didn’t want to accept running 12, but I knew it was safe and smart. Terri reminded me that I am training smarter and I need to work on having patience. Sometimes I think she knows me better than I know myself. I am the most impatient person in the world. I am stubborn and set in my ways. It is hard to persuade me to think differently, particularly when I have made my mind up.
Running 12 was much more comfortable physically, albeit I felt dead from the heat and humidity at the end. I walked back to my car to get my recovery drink. As I closed my trunk, I noticed a sticker on my rear window. “RUN NYC.” At first, I did a double take. Then I realized it was from one of my friends who ran NYC with me last year.
When I got in my car to leave, I realized that because the sticker is double-sided, I see “RUN NYC” in my rear-view mirror. I immediately found the symbolism. We are taught to look at life through the windshield and not the rear-view mirror. If we harp on the past, we are haunted by it. But sometimes, we need to be reminded of the past to make our present moments stronger and our future path a glorious one. Looking at “RUN NYC” in my rear-view mirror serves as a reminder of where I have once been and where I am going again. In my sporadic moments of seeming frustration these last few months with my health issues, I needed a glimpse of the rear-view mirror to see how great the view through the windshield is for me. My health issues have been my greatest struggle and at times the one thing that has the ability to break me mentally, but they have made me much stronger than I will probably ever realize. The rear-view mirror isn’t always the best view; sometimes, it is dark, sad and depressive. However, we need to look at it every so often to be reminded of how our past has shaped our present, the transgressions we have made, and the trials and tribulations that have made us who we are. The truth is, without our past, we wouldn’t be at our present. We wouldn’t know what we are made of, what we need to do to better ourselves, and what we can become if we never give up. “RUN NYC” is something of the past, but it is also part of my future. I will continue to look through the rear-view mirror and appreciate what it gives me for my view through the windshield.
One of the best decisions I ever made in my running journey was joining an advanced running club. I have made great friends, received amazing mentorship and the camaraderie has always made the long runs appear less long. Sometimes I forget how much I have come to rely on the group long runs on Saturdays.
This training season, I will have to do a few long runs alone, particularly due to some travel plans. When you run long, of course it is challenging. But, running alone without your group is extremely cumbersome. You have no running mates cheering you on as you pass one another, you have to create your own makeshift water stops and it tends to be a bigger mental roadblock when you have pain or grow tired.
Since I was sick for the majority of the week, I needed to do my long run today. I ran 14 miles alone, and it proved to be equally physically and mentally challenging.
My alarm clock went off at 4:45. I hit snooze once. I thought to myself, ugh do I really have to? Can’t I just *pretend* I ran long today?
I did my usual pre-run routine. I packed coconut water, electrolyte fluid, electrolyte pills and gels to leave in my car. I drove to Aventura Circle, which, although seems rather ridiculous considering I live ¼ mile from it, I needed to use my car as my water stop.
I headed out the door at 5:45 to park my car at the circle. As I started my run in the dark on the circle, I realized right away that this was going to be a lonely several hours. The first 2.5 miles were unpleasant for me. I had horrible stomach cramping and pelvic pain. After a loop around the circle, I took off for the Lehman Causeway. Coming back over the Causeway at almost 6 miles, the pelvic pain started to worsen. I turned my iPod up louder and started running harder. Running through stabbing pain made me angry. I was shouting obscenities. I was cursing my body and my endocrine system. I wanted to stop and lay in the fetal position and just watch the Olympics. I wanted the pain to stop, but I refused to stop. I decided to run back to my car, get my keys to my apartment and run home to get Advil.
When I walked through my front door, I forgot I had left the tv on for Riley. There it was, the last 400 meters of the Olympic marathon. I stood in awe of what I was seeing. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. I saw Kara Goucher and Shalane Flanagan finish. I saw the pain and agony in Shalane’s eyes. That’s what a marathon does to you. It breaks you down physically. You go to the depths of hell, to a place you never wanted to go. You curse the race, yourself and you question your sanity. You feel pain that you cannot begin to describe. But through the pain, you are reborn and you refuse to give in to the negative.
I was deeply touched and moved by their finish. My eyes welled up. I popped the 2 Advil and was ready to finish my last 7 miles.
I forgot about the stabbing pain. I concentrated on moving past it because I was running long, running alone and I was going to finish. I didn’t even look at my Garmin for the time, but rather the mileage. I now wanted this more than I wanted to lay on my couch and watch the Olympics on my Sunday morning.
Long after I finished, I watched the Olympic marathon from beginning to end. Elite runners make it look so effortless as they are cranking out 5:30’s for 26.2 miles. I heard carefully what Edna Kiplagat of Kenya said in her interview: “Even if you are training and you feel lot of pain, you have to persevere because at the end of it, it is the success that you are looking for.” That statement defines every runner’s thoughts, no matter how fast or how slow your pace. It is the success of finishing that matters. You will put your body through hell to get to the finish line. In the end, you realize that it was all a test, the greatest test of human strength.
Running long for 14 miles. Running alone. Running for the glory of the finish.
Life is a series of pushes and pulls. Sometimes you are pushing and other times you are being pulled. It could be the right direction, the wrong direction, or an unknown direction. I’ve learned that no matter the direction you are going, you must always stand your ground and stand firm by your decisions. For many, it is hard to stand their ground and be firm, particularly when you want to give others a second chance or you are ruled by your heart. However, you can be ruled by your heart but still have control over your brain, at least I believe so.
Tonight I was set to run the 17th Street Causeway Bridge in Fort Lauderdale. My goal was somewhere between 5-6 miles. I have been trying to stretch out my long run shoes to last a few more weeks, and decided to give them a try tonight on a shorter run. Not only did I have terrible lactic acid buildup in my calves, but the shoes gave me horrifically painful shin splints. I kept trying to shake out my legs, take more walk breaks to stretch them but nothing worked. I thought that the pain would subside but it only grew stronger. Even worse, I felt the impact of the pavement when I was running. It was clear my shoes were done. I did 2 miles, most of which wound up being walking because it was too painful to run.
I drove home and I was pissed. I was blasting Eminem on the way home. The last thing I needed before my 12-miler this weekend was having my long-run shoes cash out on me. I knew they were reaching the end of their shelf life 2 weeks ago when I started to get shin splints. But as strong-willed as I am, I am also very stubborn. I hate parting with my shoes especially after a few months. I feel as though I never get my money’s worth. Yet, I know it’s because I don’t rotate my shoes the way most runners should and do.
I came home and I was pouting. Riley didn’t even get a belly rub from me when I walked through the door. He sat waiting by the kitchen for his cookie. I wasn’t satisfied with my pathetic 2 miler that was an 80% walk, 20% run. Being the overzealous overachiever I am, I needed to reach my daily goal of 5-6 miles. I switched out my arch supports into last year’s marathon shoes, took 2 shot block chews, and went for a run. My left calf was tight but it loosened up after a few minutes. Notably, I was feeling alive again.
As I turned the corner on the circle, I saw her running towards me, the woman wearing a t-shirt that said, “New York.” I was in an empire state of mind. I was thinking about the 5 Boroughs, the Verrazano Bridge and the last few miles in Central Park. My arms got goose bumps. I remembered what all of this hard-headed typical stuborn behavior was for.
“I’m doing me. I’m doing me. I’m living life right now.” Preach to me Drake.
Then came my runner’s high. I felt on top of the world. I was running to a different playlist on my iPod. It was fierce. I was fierce. The sprinklers were spraying me on the circle and I was running through them like a giddy little girl. I didn’t care that I smelled like a sewer or that I was running in the dark. I was embracing it all.
I reached 5.5 miles and I was in total elation. My daily goal had been met. Hell to the yeah.
My run may not have started out the way I wanted it to, but it ended with my feet on the ground, while I was standing my ground.