
Went on a short run yesterday, not the run that I planned, but the run I could do. (This will make more sense in a minute.) Stopped on my way up the hill to take a photo. Grateful for these trees that surround me everyday.
Possibly I am getting a little better at ignoring the maddening sense of resistance that inevitably shows up when I think about doing something that is good for me, something that I theoretically want to do, but which is sometimes a little difficult and often very much not fun at the outset.
Like running.
(Confession: “Running” is not the best word for what I do.)
I jog.
Slowly.
My Nike Running App includes a helpful pace chart, and I have to scroll for an hour before I finally find my mile time, right near the end. There are not many paces slower than mine. Maybe one. Which is fine. But it just confirms that I am not speedy.
(But we are going to call what I do “running” for simplicity’s sake).
Running is good for me. I don’t like it much at the beginning, I don’t usually love it in the middle, but I am always happy at the end. And it’s not just because I’ve logged a few miles on my phone. There’s something about being outside and moving through space and being among the trees that makes my heart happy. It’s also good for my heart, at least that’s what my doctor tells me.
I rarely want to do it in the minutes before I lace up my shoes, though.
I can find so many reasons why today is not a good day for a run after all, why tomorrow would be better. I’m tired, it’s too hot, it’s too cold, it’s windy, the dog is tired, it might rain, it’s muddy, it’s dry.
This is a reliable occurrence, basically like clockwork. The time for my run arrives, and I do not want to do it. Continue Reading…







