The Thinker
An injury can be a true test for a runner’s spirit. It can dampen a runner’s desire to run, making him question his own mortal limits, and most of all, and it makes him feel that every food he eats leaches inside his body, making him fatter and slower.
These thoughts hounded me while I was recovering from a nagging injury. I have eschewed serious running for almost a month and I feel I have lost my fitness since. I have tried to avoid eating too much but the period of inactivity, plus the lack of desire to cross train, made me doubt if I can ever go back into running again.
So I went back into why I started running in the first place. Back to my happy place, a place where tangerine butterflies are edible and marmalade mists rain down my mornings; where words are flying out like endless rain into a paper cup … wait that’s a Beatles song.
I started running because it’s the easiest sport to do – just put one foot in front of the other and repeat until you’re tired. I started running because of the desire to be fit, to be in some place on my own strength and power, to test my own willpower. I started running because the road is always open. I started running because I still can.
