Here's the thing about getting older, sometimes your bounce back loses some of its zing. My ankle and I went to war in December and we are still hard at the battle. But as of this week I am officially back on the street and beating my body into shape...again....or maybe it's more like still rather than again.
The thing is, I love running...still...not again. But running is hard. It hurts. It's work and as soon as it gets any easier at all, you just push harder.
This morning I woke up angsty and overwhelmed. Not for any particular reason other than the stars aligned and my hormones were having voo-doo practice, and I may have had PTSD from picking a six foot snake up on the end of a stick in order to examine the scales on its tail and determine if it was friendly or deadly (Scientific aside: brown water snakes have diamond shaped tail scales and water moccasins have ring tail scales. Our snake had diamond scales). What? Pastor's wives don't get to have angst for no reason?
It's days like today that running was made for. A gorgeous spring morning complete with sun showers and horizon to horizon rainbows. It ended with fist pumping and some serious pride.
They aren't all like that.
Sometimes you drag yourself to the end. You can't breathe; your legs are made of lead. You hate everyone and everything you ever whispered a word about running to. You hate yourself for thinking you have any right or reason to even try running. You throw your shoes and stalk off to the shower and swear you will never do that again ever.
It's a lot like life that way.
Sometimes you even get waylaid by a major-minor injury that keeps nagging you and tripping you up, making you afraid of falling even though you've stayed strong and upright a thousand times more than you've ever come down. You wish it was weakness because weakness can be worked through, but you know that some of it is just time, catching up, whispering in your ear that strength and health aren't a promise. That youth isn't your next door neighbor any more.
I'm not twenty anymore.
Gimpy ankles or not, I don't wanna be.
Sara Groves said it best: Less like scars, more like character.
We ain't winning any marathons around here, but baby, WE GOT US SOME CHARACTER. And sometimes we get rainbows and sun showers to boot.