This morning I took my dog Madigan for a run/walk along the river. We had just finished the first 3.5 miles and a lovely breeze kept me from getting too overheated, which is good because it’s already nearing 90 even though it’s only April.
Madigan started lagging a little so I slowed to a walk. For a split second I was frustrated that we were walking more of the trail than we were running, but then I passed a sign that showed it was 1.1 miles back to the car. I realized that when I first started “running,” I was lucky if I did a mile. Now I can run the majority of this 4-mile trail and still do another workout later in the day.
I started running again and thinking about writing this very blog post. I was going to put something about how I never really walked much until I moved to Scotland and got used to relying on my legs as my main mode of transportation. How when I lived in Boston there were probably days where I walked at least 10 miles with no issue. And how those routines made it easier to consciously get more steps in during the day now that I’m back in Arizona with easy access to a car and no need to ever walk more than a few hundred steps in a day.
Britney Spears “I’m a Slave 4 U” started playing through my headphones and I picked up my pace a little bit because, let’s be honest, that song is awesome. I was excited about my blog idea and feeling good with my pace. With a new pair of running leggings and bright orange shoes, a baseball cap, and sunglasses, I felt like I actually looked the part of a runner.
And then I fell on my face.
It wasn’t just a light fall, either. It was one of those embarrassing ones where you can tell it’s going to happen before it does and may or may not say “shit” as you step into a hole and end up sprawled out on the ground. The kind where there are other people around who say, “Are you okay?” and make the entire situation just a little more embarrassing.
I stood up and was glad to see that my new leggings stood up to the task of sliding across the pavement without tearing. As I put weight on my left ankle, I realized it was in no shape to continue running. Ha ha, Universe. Funny joke.
Madigan and I hobbled over to a bench with some shade and I sat down to rest my ankle. This is not the first time I’ve hurt it and I know it won’t be the last. It has been weak ever since I injured it one summer in Boston. I wish I could say it was for a glamorous reason like running or playing sports, but the truth is that it was a really windy day and I had long hair. The wind blew my hair in my face and as I flipped my head to get it out of my way, I stepped off my shoe and rolled my ankle.
Not my finest moment.
Anyway, instead of immediately limping back to my car or deciding to forget about the blog post after this latest fall, I realized that this was maybe a sign that I should write the piece. Because no matter how far along you are in your journey, there are always going to be hiccups and trip-ups and all kinds of other “ups” that make you want to stop. But even if you have to hobble a half a mile back to your car, you’re still moving forward.
And it’s important to appreciate your effort and even the smallest victories so you can always laugh at the Universe and its cruel sense of humor.
