I know, right? Am I out of breath? No. Do my legs hurt? Nope. Am I just too old for this? Hell no. It’s my brain saying—oh you did great, now back to power walking for the last mile. And I have to reply—“Why? I’m feeling good, I can go a few more minutes, then I’ll walk.” Can anyone else relate to this? This little voice has been holding me back for years, but I am getting better at ignoring it, thanks to being a writer. Now when I start the run part of my routine, I think about where I am going with one of my manuscripts, or how I can improve an old one. My music helps me out too, but not enough. 

Running is a fine art. It really is. It’s not as physical as I thought. Recently, one of my new friends ran her first marathon, and I can’t stop thinking about what that took as a full-time working mom with a very demanding job and two kids. But she did it. I think about her when I am about to stop the run and transition into the walk too. She does it, so can I. I was an athlete for many years. A dancer. I underwent twelve hours in surgery. I am in good health. I can run. My big boobs are gone. I have perfect running boobs. See how much it takes? I am hoping as I run more it will get easier. I go back and forth with running, but I would love for it to stick. Because right now, I cannot call myself a true runner. My friend is a true runner. I strive for that. 

With every stride I feel my heart getting stronger. With every stride I feel like I can eat that slice of pizza without so much guilt. With every stride I can feel better about how my clothes fit because technically, if you look at those BMI charts, I should lose 20 pounds. I love food, so I should also love running! I should like the idea of overachieving on the pavement.

My goal is to use running as a way to organize my writer’s brain, so that I am productive in two ways. A meditation. An unorganized meditation. No rules. No order. Just a stream of gentle inspiration as I ignore that other voice in my head telling me—that’s enough. You’re a strong walker. I say--STFU. I’d like to hear the other voice telling me how my narratives don’t move quickly enough and how I should tell my stories with more movement. See, movement.

Happy running.

And writing. He knows: 

Elaina