Saturday morning rolls around and I wanted to sleep in.  Not that I really know what sleeping in feels like.  Quite honestly I can’t remember the last time I slept in.  I’m sure I have, I just can’t remember when.

I’m mentally exhausted and desperately in need of a cocktail-on-the-beach kind of vacation.  Reality says though, I’m waking up in my home not on a beach.  So I convince my eyes to slowly open and observe the four walls of an interior room sans sand, surf and umbrella drink.  In doing this I realize I have absolutely no excuse to be so leisurely.  You simply can’t be lazy unless of course you have an umbrella drink in your hand.

In fear of convincing myself otherwise, I immediately jump out of bed and throw on my running clothes as quickly as possible.  My running shoes are always ready to work.  Albeit persistent, they patiently wait in a worn-out duffel bag that resides on the floor next to my bed.  Quietly waiting but always on the ready.

I began my run.

My initial thoughts started as such and are typical for each and every run I go on: “I have so much admiration for those who run marathons.  I admire how hard they must train year-round.  I admire that they run marathons.  I admire that they can actually finish a marathon.  I don’t run marathons, I’m not worthy of being called a runner”.

I typically run 5-6 days a week sometimes 7 at a distance between 2-3 miles, sometimes 4 but I don’t run marathons.  I’ve run in the most brutal temperatures that have either scorched or froze my body.  I’ve run in pouring rain, blowing snow, over ice, through mud and even through my entire pregnancy.  I once resumed running just days after having my leg in a cast for six months.  But I don’t run marathons.

I’m sure if I trained like my warrior-marathon running friends I could run a marathon…maybe.  But I don’t.

For me running is the space in which I can totally focus and clear my brain of all unwanted clutter.  I imagine that many other runners feel this as well.  It’s how I keep my inner being somewhat balanced.  Running allows me to wave a magical mental “clear the crap” wand.  It allows me to cast the stress aside and clearly see (and appreciate) all of the things that are going right in my life.  Running allows me to reside in a total place of gratitude. But I don’t run marathons.  The fact that I don’t run marathons always nags me and for that reason I tend to feel unworthy of calling myself a runner.

And on this particular morning my run was harder than usual.  I was mentally exhausted and my knees were hurting.  My knees typically don’t hurt but they were definitely hurting this morning.  This only magnified my feelings of not being worthy of being called a runner. But I kept running.  I kept running because I knew a giant cappuccino awaited my return as a fine reward.

I just kept running.

And with every rickety middle-aged stride I took I started feeling better (mentally that is).  Not worthy, but feeling better nonetheless.  By the time I approached the gravel path that connects the first half of my run with the second half I was beating myself up again for not being a worthy runner.

But right after entering that path I heard someone shout at me “attagirl!”  I looked at a house a few feet away just to the left of me and I saw a small group of people standing on a deck.  They were waving and smiling at me as if they were cheering me on while I ran my personal marathon.  I guess in a way I was on a personal marathon.  I run on this path almost every single day and I never see people.  But today there were people.  People I’ve never met, standing there and cheering me on.  I responded with a very sincere “thank you” and a quick return of the wave.

In that very moment I was grateful for the gift of encouragement the universe delivered to me, completely grateful.   I guess I just needed a little “attagirl”.

I kept running…feeling worthy

I am,
The Urban Mountaineer