Where have I been?

It truly amazes me how reading someone else's words really is the key to unlocking so many doors for me. This morning was no different. I have been running - in some way, shape, or form - for the better part of two years and change. However, it was not until I read yet another one of John Bingham's classic chapters that I realized I was a runner. Right, exactly. I had been running all this time, only just now to figure I was a runner.

I had brief moments of noticing this before, sure. Long runs, outside, last spring or summer, unveiled some of the most beautiful spring and summer weekend mornings with sunrises that I could not have painted any better had I been a painter worth his salt. There were moments that, with the help of some timely music, I was moved to a step just shy of tears. Strange for me, I know. But still...

Why has it taken me so long to make such an admission? Well, much like Bingham, I am not fast. I am not sure I am ready to label myself a Penguin, by any stretch, but I guess I am, in reality. My prior two efforts at a 5K showed me, in no uncertain terms, that I should accept my lot in life as a waddler. I will get there... one day.

That said, appreciating the fact that, for the past two years-plus, I have been able to move my body using nothing more than my two feet is nothing short of astonishing. I remember how rotund I used to consider myself. I still do, actually. But that is another issue for another time. The fact that I carry so much control over how fast or how far I run, at any particular point in time is an amazing thing for me.

Yesterday was a great example of this. I ran for about 80 minutes, just a shade over 7 miles. I cared nothing for pace. I simply wanted to run for a long time. I felt I could have run forever. Sure, at the 70 minute mark I ramped up the treadmill a touch to pick up the pace and my heart rate, but if I had kept the pace where it was, I have no doubt I could have run a few more miles. A half marathon? Perhaps. Well, maybe. I am not sure. But yesterday morning, I felt like I could have run to infinity. Or, in all actuality, run from all that has weighed down m heart and soul.

That is another interesting aspect of my running. Some choose to run towards something - a personal record, a medal, a t-shirt, whatever. I believe I am running away from a deep, dark history of pain and suffering. Short runs are nice and sometimes fun. But the real transcendental moments for me are when I run for distance and time. I attribute it to all of the stored body fat on my frame. Hey, I am built for running long distances... just look at all of the stored energy I have on my body, ready for use!

But I digress. Point being, on a relatively unassuming Sunday, I found that which running had given me. And it only took me over two years to realize it. Sad and exhilarating all at the same time. My life is on a better to being better. It may not be roses and fuzzy bunnies the whole time. But I will be a better person, someday.

Like someone once told me... This is who I am today. I could be better. I could be worse. But I will always work to improve from the day before.