It’s not about the running.

Oh who am I kidding of course it is!

I use to love running.  I mean, I really, really loved running.  It wasn’t about being fast (no, quite the opposite in fact!), I just truly loved getting out there and for a brief while – just kind of escaping things.  I did run with friends and groups but mostly, I preferred running on my own.  Once I got into my rhythm, I kind of moved into another world where I’d have the BEST conversations with myself: I won all my arguments, slammed the evil jerk at work and solved most, if not all, world issues!  I was brilliant, I was in control and all problems were solved.  It was definitely like entering another dimension – not in a Star-Trek-massive-black-hole-time-warp kind of way, it was more like hey –check-out-me-Wonder-Woman-on-top-of-the-world kind of way.  It was great!  I loved running.

And I ran anytime, anywhere.  I made it a habit to have a run – even if it was a small one – in any city I travelled to.  And winter was my favourite time to run.  Fully incognito in my balaclava, shielded from the cold in my head-to-toe reflector gear, I was “WINTER WONDER WOMAN” who could conquer the sinister storm and trample the snow with each pounding step.  And after a run on Christmas Day, I could handle anything – just bring on that houseful of in-laws!

Then I had kids and my running ended.  Forever.   

It wasn’t that I couldn’t find the time, it wasn’t that I didn’t have THE coolest baby jogger, it was childbirth.  The labor, the drugs, the pushing, the drugs part 2, the pushing part 2, then the forceps….. .  That’s the last marathon this body will run.  I didn’t have a running injury, I had a childbirth injury.  Now, it’s too uncomfortable, too painful to run.  It didn’t happen over night.  I still ran a little bit after my first baby, but after the second delivery that was it.

It was hard at first.   I’d watch my fellow moms gather across the street and head out on what used to be our weekly run.  I remember the camaraderie, the short-lived escape from diapers, the wonderful mommy insights.  I’d come home sweaty and spent to screaming kids, a cranky husband and a mess and somehow, it was all OK.  I’d had my fix, I’d done something for me, I could handle this!

I still haven’t found anything to replace the running, my little escape from the world.  I’ve tried meditating (what? NOT to talk to myself for how long?), swimming (kept getting caught in the buoy line), even walking (well, it just doesn’t cut it).  Nothing seems to give me the same sense of being in my own world where the trees, the grass, the people just slip dream-like past me.

And just when I think, “Hey I’m over it”, I will hear in the distance the rhythmic tap, tap, tap of a runner’s steps.  A twinge in my stomach and something stirs inside me.  The tap, tap, tap gets a little louder.  (It’s surprising how light runners sound considering the 100 lb+ weight being carried with every step.)  And for a brief moment, I’ll feel the urge to step up my stride, to kick into gear, to shift into that “place” where I once left the earth just a little bit, where I used to escape this crazy world just a little bit and where I felt like something like Wonder Women just a little bit.

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