Different year. Different foot. Same problem.
I’ve sat out for one week now. So minor in the grand scheme of things, right? My head knows that, but my emotions. . . those are a different story. I’d be lying if I said I’ve handled week one off with the maturity of. . . well, an adult. Unfortunately, my childlike I want it and I want it now attitude has reared its ugly head as I berate my foot, my luck, and every runner who is able to run right now (sorry about that, Chad.)
I am an early morning runner. Six out of seven mornings you will find me with sweat pouring down my face as I log mile after mile. . . not because I have to, but because I want to. I’ve talked about it often here. . . my love for running. It’s like free therapy. Now, when I wake up during the 5 o’clock hour I find myself lost. No shoes, no pouring sweat, no endorphin rush. . . just waiting.
I’m not a good waiter.
Today I had a plan. . . therapy comes in all different forms, right. I decided to take things into my own hands. I woke early and slipped out the door with my faithful little companion (aka: camera) before the sun hit the horizon. I headed toward the place that I knew would give me a double dose of perspective.
I walked among the trees, and plants, and flowers and required myself to notice. To notice the intricacy of nature. To notice the perfection of the simple. To notice the peace of the moment. And while there was no sweat pouring or no running shoes pounding there was a different kind of rush. The rush that comes with the understanding that life is so much bigger than a hurt foot.
As I walked amidst the beauty, the hot dry summer was evident. Flowers seemed to be fighting for dear life and the thirst of the grass was evident. It didn’t matter, though. What was most prominent to me was the light. The sun that had just peeked over the horizon was now sending its rays forth with such force it seemed the place was on fire.
That’s what I call a good morning.