Most days marathon training feels like a quiet promise I made to myself that I’m trying to keep.
Not every run feels strong, especially this week. Some runs start heavy before I even get through the first mile. Some are me negotiating with my own thoughts from the moment I wake up…just get up out of bed, or you’ll regret it. Just get through this part, then the next. It’s pretty heavy on the negotiating with my own thoughts right now. It’s summer, and I want to wake up when the Lord, or the kids, wakes me…But I know that if I do that, I will be running in what feels like the literal depths of hell.
And then there are the days that surprise me. When it stops feeling like something I’m just trying to do and starts feeling like something I’m doing.
Because that’s what it really is.
It’s not perfect runs. It’s not always motivation.
Just consistency in a life that is already full.
Work. Kids. Home. Everything that needs me pulls in a hundred directions all at once. I understand the time I’m taking from that to carve out space that belongs only to me. But I feel the loss of family time when I carve out that time to accomplish something big for myself.
There’s something strange and honest about running in the middle of all of that. Before the run starts, it’s thinking about dinner, schedules, school, laundry… Once the run starts, it’s a clear mind, finding flowers, throwback jams, and putting one foot in front of the other.
Just quiet miles adding up over time.
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