The deep fatigue, endless appetite and ache in my legs and hip are the legacy of the marathon. I went to bed early last night, after going in to work to conduct group, and collect the many good wishes from coworkers and clients. I knew I had another rest day due me, but by the time morning rolled around, I was stiff, cranky and realized I missed just being out on my feet. So I dressed in my gear and decided to just take a walk around the neighborhood with the ipod and enjoy the air, and see what it felt like again, to move, to get in a rhythm, and before I knew it, my feet were leaving the ground and I began a gentle jog....
Tunes I had during the race were playing in my head; my legs felt amazingly light and strong. I could feel the hitch in my hip, but I don't think its a serious injury, I think something is wound too tight or out of balance. I'm excited about the prospect of working with a certified rolfer, referred to me from my massage therapist. I have put body work on the back burner for many many years while I came up to this level of athleticism. And yes, I may still be a barely sub 6 hour marathoner, but I am a marathoner none the less, and I am still and want always to be a runner. My old injuries, the fibromyalgia can be resolved, I know it. I sense the level of endurance and strength I am capable of. Speed may not be my game, but somewhere inside me is a long distance runner. And I proved that to myself this weekend.
The slow moving over the neighborhood roads today, in an easy, steady rhythm was the animal in me, moving out, moving over the landscape of my life. I had a thought that this strange and nutty activity allows for any and every level of emotional outlet for me, from anger to ecstasy. The freedom running gives me to be totally myself is the gift I can never appreciate enough. To accomplish, to endure, to express, to nurture, to increase, to participate, to revel in my own great living. If I inspire others who want to feel the same, it is all worthwhile.
Welcome to your right body, and mind.
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