Since dad’s passing, I haven’t run much. I’ve forced myself to take my dance-fitness classes twice a week, so I have done something. I just haven’t been training for the two half-marathons I’m signed up to run in a few months. (I’m doing the Disney Coast to Coast challenge — more on that another day.)
So, this weekend, I decided to get my behind outside in this unusually mild DC weather and run. I went out yesterday for a simple interval run/walk to get my groove back.
Funny thing about grieving. After you’ve felt numb for weeks, your body craves feeling — any feeling. And that craving led me to abandon my intervals and just RUN. Hard.
That was a terrible idea.
After a fast-for-me sub-9:00 pace for the first mile, I felt truly ill. I thought I was going to vomit and ruin my favorite running shorts, all at once. I turned for home and stopped by a creek to breathe the cleaner air and spit. A lot. I made it home intact and stain free, although I don’t know how I managed to run the last .5 mile or so. I guess being numb has advantages.
Today, I went out again for a simple 2-mile run. After the first mile, my body started to alert me to its discomfort again, but this time I didn’t push it. I didn’t walk either — I just eased back to a slower, 11:00 pace and breathed through it.
I wish I could say I had some epiphany about the relationship between the pain in my soul and the pain in my body, but I didn’t. I’m settling for feeling something (other than nausea) for now.