Yesterday morning I couldn’t run 7.5 miles. To be fair I had never tried until yesterday. Even when heading out, I didn’t think I could do it and was thinking of ways to either end the run early or not go at all.
But I did try. I convinced myself to try. I knew I could run six miles over a similar route – I was just adding another hill. Just over a year ago I could only run two miles and now I have a year’s worth of practice under my feet which gave confidence to at least try.
It took about and hour and a half – because of five hill climbs – but I did it! It got a little tough at the end but I slowed down a bit and kept plodding along. Now I am someone who can run that distance. I felt so proud and couldn’t wait to share what I achieved with other people. They all think I’m mad. Then again, I am – diagnosis and everything!
The routine of running teaches me to keep going. That things will get tough but that’s ok because you’ll keep getting better and better. I can do it my way. I can do it on my own. Running alone can be strangely empowering; the mental fortitude is stronger than if I went to a club and be pushed along by others.
Sometimes I feel that we have been brought up with a sense of entitlement and expectation. Growing up we are made to feel that we can do anything and that we are important. Only when we realise that we can’t and we’re not, life becomes bit of a diapointment. Nothing comes instantly, it will come much slower than we had hoped. It’s fine to have a goal on place but adjust the timescale. You will get there – just keep on going.