Years ago, my friend, Mary Kathryn who is a mad athlete (she’s an Ironwoman. How cool is that?) and owns a runnign store, gave me a sticker that says,
A STRONG WOMAN IS A POWERFUL WOMAN.
Being in motion, I must admit, is tied to how I feel about myself. When I know that my body is strong, it doesn’t really matter to me what size it is, all I care about is what it can, how it can serve me, how it can keep me safe. But my body isn’t as strong as it used to be– gone are the four hours of lifting weights a week, not to mention the same amount or more of cardio, all replaced by the care and feeding of one little baby– and that makes me, mentally, less strong. And I miss that sharpness to my mind, the confidence in my body to move the furniture I need to move or lift heavy items into the attic where BF awaits them. So, I’m longing for my consistent morning workouts again (but, to be honest, I am not really longing for the running– just the feeling that running gives me. If only there were a running pill. Is that so wrong?) and, really, my consistent self-care time. In anticipation of beginning again, I went on a haul of a walk this weekend in my old running shoes (because I couldn’t find my very fun hot pink ones. And I am not even a pink girl but these are fab. Thanks, MK, for the hook up!) and came home with what feels like a stress fracture in my foot. I’m sure it’s not, but wouldn’t it figure that just when my spirit got on board with being in motion again, my flesh would get weak.
On my birthday list for this year is the desire to work up to being able to run 6 miles. I’ve had this goal before and only got to five miles before my running partner moved to England (Lee Ann, I miss you and Odie in the mornings!), but I am going to try this year to make it to six running miles covered. I can walk six miles. Surely, I can one day run them. It’s just one of the pieces in my plan to return to being a physically strong woman. And since I don’t have my running partners any more– Honey has a bum knee, Lee Ann is drinking Earl Grey tea, Jill is in Manhattan, Chris is in Atlanta (and I miss you all!)— you’ll just have to be the place where I hold myself accountable, my virtual running buds, if you will. Let’s lace ’em up.