On your mark, get set . . .

On your mark, get set . . .

I got cleared to exercise last week, but this morning was the first day that I hit the pavement. I know some people just don’t get it, but I LOVE running. It makes me feel good and keeps me sane. Giving up running halfway through my pregnancy was hard (admittedly continuing would have been harder and more disastrous). Even though I only went a mile and was so S L O W, it’s nice to be out there again.

Cooper already loves running.

Also for your enjoyment, here’s a brevity piece I wrote about my relationship with running.

Loose cotton shorts and a Lycra tank. Space enough for my skin to breath. Lace up the broken-in Brooks, my second feet. And the hair. Every primp-hungry strand captured into a ponytail: imprisoned vanity. The first push off the pavement initiates renewal. Breathing quickens as lungs drink in fresh air. Negativity oozes out of my pores and drips off my skin. My pulse increases, the blood no longer stagnant ā€“ catering to the urgency to purge.

Worries evaporate as frustrations and insecurities are beaten into the ground with every footfall. I concentrate on breathing, on moving forward ā€“ the fundamental, the necessary. Left alone, my thoughts disentangle, organizing and grouping themselves into something more manageable ā€“ categories to be dealt with later. I think only of passing power-walkers and dodging women with strollers. Cars politely give me the right-of-way. I am unstoppable.

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