Stride

When I run, I feel terrible - at least, when I begin to run.  I can’t think too much about the goal because it’s so far away.  I just focus on my pace - one step at a time.  

You can do it, Chris.  Come one.  One more step.  

There comes a point when I hit stride.  My mind just zones out.  My pace is even and quick.  My lungs are full and the repetition comfortable.  It is very much like prayer.  

But it only lasts so long until I am again aware of the aches in my muscles and kinks in my joints.  I trick myself into running the necessary distances by getting myself too far from my starting point.  Laps never work because I stop early.  But there’s no options when you’re 6 miles from your car.  You’ve got to make it back.  There’s no quitting early.  

My nature, and perhaps all human nature, is akin to this - on a larger scale, of course.  My life is busy and turbulent.  I’m tired and trying to keep pace - and I’m alone on the trail of life.  No one is in sight.  I keep moving because this is all I know - the pace is everything.  

I know running is good for me.  I feel accomplished after I’m done.  I like being a runner.  I like who I am because I push those boundaries.

But running is hard.  Those reasons mean nothing when you’re miserable and soaking wet and hungry and thirsty.  And life is just like this.  At least for me.  

But each run comes to an end.  I just need to pace myself. 

This isn’t profound.  It’s just necessary.