Running on Empty

There are days when you glide across eight miles; and there are days when you can’t fight your way out of a bag of Cheetos. And to the folks at Glutino, for providing gluten-free Oreos for Celiacs, I love you and hate you.

The day before Easter, I had a fantastic eight-mile run. My son went with me on his bike, and he talked the entire time. His narration was so intriguing, the time just flew by. He promised to record something for my iPod (for the marathon).

 By Monday, I was ready to burn off Easter’s marshmallow salad. It was just me this time—nary a tractor in sight. I didn’t even see my deer. It was eighty minutes of joy and praise as the sun rose.

Then Tuesday happened. It was a frustrating day full of technical and emotional difficulties (thus the Cheetos). Finally, I scrapped my to-do list and took the kids to the park. I sat in the sun, frantically pushing pencil to paper, while devouring a bag of gummi bears. The kids raced and climbed their hearts out, and I slogged my way through my own personal Schwarzwald. By the time we left the park, the kids and I felt better.

Some days, my runs are fueled with gladness. Other days, my runs are fueled with anger. And that’s okay. I can take my frustration, my worries, my fears, and litter the track with them, because God will pick them up.

By the end of eight miles, the dark fuel is gone, and I am left only with contentedness.

As long as you are breathing, there is something in the tank. Whether it is anger and worry, or joy and praise, there is something inside to keep you going. The important thing is to release the negative and cling to the positive.

After all, you are never really running on empty.

Stats:

Miles: Saturday 8, Monday 8.5, Tuesday 1,000 (mental), Wednesday 8

Weather: aahhh…spring! Sunshine and upper 50s

Wildlife: I saw at least 5 tractors today and 2 jackrabbits. By taking a new route, I discovered a large group of deer.

Overall feeling: Today I achieved “flow,” which means you are so focused on running you don’t realize you are running until you are done running. Although, I have to admit, the first two miles were filled with aches and pains. I kept ignoring them until they went away. Now, where’s my ibuprofen?