I ache. I have not run. My soul begs -- No. No. My soul longs for God. My soul doesn't need to run. The rest of me, though, does, like a tongue needs taste, like the lungs require air.
My mind, my body, my heart, though -- begs to run.
My hair is short, but what is there needs wind. The slow wind which pushed it backed is missing.
My legs, laden now with stress, no longer as taut as in September, are crying for swift movement.
My thoughts are filled with things that need expunging. My mind wants to sigh.
My heart beats in a steady pattern. It rests well, but too long.
I need to run.
Why haven't I run?
At first, injury, more or less. No twisted ankle or anything obvious. Instead, my right calf tightened up in the middle of several different nights causing horrible pain. Hard like a rock used to smash corn into meal, my calf grew itself together. I'm not the first runner to endure this.
Water? Bananas? Overtraining? Does it matter?
Work, then, at my new job, has its own toll. The job is great, but busy. Excuses? Could be. No longer.
Tonight is what would be my butt kicking with the Jim Spivey Running Club. I will not be there. Not tonight.
I'll run alone. Slow. Walking, probably, unashamed. But I'll run. What choice do I have?
Such is the dilemma of the runner: He must run, no matter what shape or situation he is in. The dilemma is finding a resolution despite being older, fatter, slower than when running was graceful.