For the first time since my disastrous run in January, I went out running. I laced up my shoes, bid the lady at the front desk adieu, and ran down A1A.
I'm honestly shocked at how much I ran. Your body reverts back to "lazy" at an alarming rate, so I genuinely had no idea if I'd even get to 3 miles in one piece. But I got to a solid 5.3 miles before stopping -- and even then, I stopped because the calluses on my feet were almost nonexistent and I could feel the blisters starting to form if I wasn't careful.
You get something from running that you just can't get anywhere else. I can do an intense yoga class, I can teach tai chi with nearly an hour's practice beforehand, but nothing compares to running for at least 45 minutes. You spend the rest of the day feeling more efficient. And it's way more than a, "My legs ache but I'm getting stronger." You feel it at your core -- your metaphorical core, not the one comprised of muscles and ligaments.
Part of me was worried that taking a hiatus from running would result in me never going back to running. This little jog reminded me that there's hope for me just yet. I might not be able to sign up for any half marathon anytime soon, but, hey, maybe a 10k or two.
(Although technically two 10Ks is almost a half marathon.)