I went running this morning.
Not earth-shattering, headline-making news, but for me, it was significant.
Four months ago, my mom bought me a new pair of running shoes because I asked her to and because the desire was in me to pick up a habit I’d neglected for too long.
And for four months, I’ve made excuses.
Too cold. Too dark. Husband’s new schedule. I’m sick. Too tired. Too many other more important things.
Today, my husband had the day off. And my pants have been fitting too tight. And I ate some delicious food this weekend, and too much of it, so I had fewer excuses.
I’m not sorry I ate the food or that I prioritize other things.
But I am sorry that I have broken a promise.
A promise I made on this blog and then slowly let slip out of my “important” pile.
Less than three years ago, I took up running, training to run a 5K (my first ever) with my husband. And I found out I liked it. I didn’t lose a ton of weight by doing it, but I felt good. I had more energy, and my body was in better shape than it had been.
So when the 5K was over, I kept running occasionally, not as often as when we were training. And I had this idea. I would pay better attention to what I ate. I would exercise. And when the pounds dropped off, I would donate money to a worthy cause. I gave myself six months.
And I failed miserably.
Now, almost a year and a half later, I haven’t lost as much weight as I’d hoped and I haven’t given any money to that worthy cause.
And I could spend a lot of time beating myself up about that or I could do what I did today.
Lace up the shoes.
Stretch out the legs.
And start over. In the rain, no less.
But in a way, I was grateful for the rain as I completed day 1 of the Couch-to-5K plan.
Because starting something good won’t always wait for the right conditions.
Sometimes you have to splash in the puddles and be drenched in the downpour on the way to your goal.
I won’t lie: I didn’t feel great when I finished.
My body ached. I wanted to go back to bed. I was soaked. And all day I’ve felt reminders of what I did in my calves and hips.
But the pain will pass.
And discipline is always hard. Training your body–or your mind or your spirit, for that matter–to do something it doesn’t normally do is hard and takes work and perseverance.
But it is worth it.
I can’t make any promises this time. I won’t tell you that in six months I hope to give $100 to women and children in Liberia or that I’ll be running a half-marathon by the fall.
All I know is today, I ran.
And I will run again.
