Spring is sooooo slow in coming this year. I blame that glorious week in mid-February when it was sunny and in the 70s and we started to contemplate (to our own peril) putting away coats and sweaters for good…and then we spent a week in the Caribbean and came home to an entire month where the wind blew and blew and temperatures never hit over 50. March came in like a lion and went out like an abominable snow monster.
It is supposed to be nasty again tomorrow, but the sun shone this afternoon and there were hopeful little signs of life on my run. It felt like a lovely, deep exhale to be running outside today. I’m doing a 10 miler in a few weeks, and after that the Hood to Coast relay in Washington State with dear friends. If you would have told me a few years ago that I would choose to spend my limited alone time this way, running increasingly longer runs each weekend, I would have laughed. But it turns out that this running thing matters a lot to me. The running itself, eh, not my fave (as evidenced by the amount of time it takes me to dilly-dally and hem and haw my way out the door). But being outside makes me a better person. And that time alone with my thoughts, that makes me more sane. And I’m pretty terrible at setting and achieving goals (possibly because I want to be everywhere at the same time, possibly because nothing motivates me like last-minute pressure), but training for a run (or possibly the fear of dying on the side of the road due to lack of preparation?) manages to make me focus enough to feel super thrilled at what I can actually set my mind to and accomplish. The rest of my life needs this lesson.
I came home to my kids playing basketball in the driveway. Running, eh. But there is something deep in me that is sparked by the feel of a basketball under my fingertips, and, watching them dribble and pass and shoot, I can see new days just ahead where I get to do this again, too.