What made me crawl out of bed at 7:00 in the morning on a freezing Sunday, layer myself in clothes that were never going to be warm enough, and force-feed myself honey-sweetened oatmeal that tasted a little like paste? The appeal of running a half marathon on one of the coldest days of the year was so great that I just had to get my sleep deprived ass up and out.
I wish that were the case. I wish I could say I was so excited, so driven, so motivated that I couldn't control myself. The truth is I don't know why, other than I paid money and I promised Ciara and Marianna. I had barely trained for it; my mental state was not even close to half marathon thinking; and it was cold. Painfully COLD!
So, why did I do it? I have been asking myself this question on and off all week. After the marathon there were lots of "are you addicted to running?" jokes, and I'd chuckle along with the joke makers because, yeah, it sounds funny. I've never been addicted to anything in my life. There were a few months in college where I had to play spades every chance I got, including between classes. Sometimes I'd even skip class depending on my partner and my luck. But, that subsided. This running thing, though, is not going away. I don't know why. It's in me now and I can't escape it. No matter how tired I am, how grumpy, how much I don't want to get up, I do and I run. Maybe it's because I know when the run is over for the day I'll feel better than I did before I started. It's true. No matter what kind of run I have, when it's over I feel amazing. It gets rough physically, but mentally I am brighter, happier, balanced. And, I enjoy the physical pain because it's a reminder of my accomplishment.
I got out of bed and ran. First half marathon of the season.
My goal this year is to run every Grand Prix, rain, shine, or snow.
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