springs in your legs

I run.
Did I mention that?  
I’ve been running for about a year now, although I stopped for about two months last winter because I hate that burning you get in your lungs when you breathe too much cold air.  I’ve been a serious runner since March.
It’s become somewhat of an addiction… I love how when I first get out there, my calves feel new, like they’re waking up from a nap feeling refreshed and energized.  The first few footfalls are a bit clumsy,  slapping the pavement and bouncing my body, but I quickly fall into rhythm.  
I am a runner.  
I finally feel that I have earned the title, that I am allowed to proclaim myself as such.  It now only takes moments before I fall into a steady pattern… foot, foot, inhale, foot, foot, exhale, foot, foot… I love the way my shoes sound when they hit the pavement, it fuels the springs I imagine stretching from my ankles to my hips.  The springs carry me through the tough hills and final strides when I feel I can’t make it a step more.





I love the sweat that shines on my skin.  The first drop to hit the ground beneath me is a celebration.  I know I look terrible, but all that matters to me is the next stride, the next breath, the next mile.  
Running is one of those things you’ve got to experience to really understand.  In the first few weeks, you hate it.  You’re self-conscious of your clumsiness, you haven’t yet found your rhythm.  You’re uncomfortably aware of every drop of sweat upon your body and you hope no one sees you because you’re afraid they just might faint at the awful sight.
But you keep at it.
And then one day, you get springs in your legs.  
You sweat.  And like it.
You’re a runner.





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