Tripping at the Finish Line

I am a horrible runner.

As a child, my aerobic activity of choice was always dance. I loved looking beautiful as the music pulsed through my blood. I loved having every part of my body in line, all the way down to my pinky finger, as I executed intricate combinations of coordinated head, arm, leg and foot movements. Every inch of flexibility gained became a battle won, and a huge source of pride and self-worth. To feel powerful and graceful simultaneously is a rush few people in this world experience.

So, what does this have to do with running? Well, I'm not dancing any more. I subbed dance at my old studio this past month while another teacher recovered from having a baby, but I have not personally felt the elating bath of precision, poise and passion through dance for some time now. Actually, it's been years. In the stead of this wonderful aerobic activity, I've tried to pick up running. I don't know a single dancer that runs--seriously. It's as though your body only knows how to do one or the other. But, alas, my life has moved me on to picking up "the other."

Last year, my friend and I set out to run a 5k at the end of the semester. We had one semester to work up to jogging 3.1 miles without slowing or stopping. I still remember our early days; it was a joke. We literally had to stop at the half way mark of each lap, not even half mile! Like I said, pathetic. I wanted to quit. I wish I had quit before I even started so I wouldn't have to be reminded of my achey body's weaknesses. But my friend was wonderfully supportive, and never a quitter.

So, I didn't quit. We ran almost daily together. I started loving it. I loved how I felt after I ran. I loved the sense of accomplishment I had each time I pushed myself a little bit farther and a little bit faster. I loved the effects it was having on my body.

Pretty soon, we were running our 5k at least 3 times a week. Success!

Then we stopped.

We got busy. Both of us understood finals were the priority. It was just easier to go "next time."

I've run off and on since that time, but it's been nothing like the drive and consistency I had before. Plus, I slide back in my abilities. ugh.

I'm trying to pick myself up again. I'm trying to go when I can. But I have a long way to go before I can again say, "success."

I feel like this sliding back happens in my life all the time. I set goals; I get excited about things; I work hard. But then life reminds me how difficult simply moving forward can be. Sometimes I believe I'd be more ahead if I'd just stop trying. With each effort to move forward one inch, I'm pushed back two. I know this isn't realistic, but the thought makes giving up look mighty good sometimes.

Lately I've wanted to do a lot of giving up. I find a lot to complain about, and a lot to be unhappy with.

I know giving up is rarely an acceptable answer (I should say never, but I'd like to reserve some loophole possibility to excuse myself on occasion...). I know it's not acceptable today. I just wish it were.

Sometimes I think I'm closer to a win than I realize, and I just need someone to pick me up and remind me I want to finish the race, to feel my pain and cheer me on.