I’m a runner. I’ve been running since middle school, various distances. I remember my Pops timing my mile run on gravel tracks behind my middle school every weekend. I remember 3- mile runs after school, weaving in and out of neighborhoods near my house. The familiarity of the paths, the sound of my Pops yelling at me to go faster, the air filling my lungs, and the fleeting thought that I won’t finish. But I always did.
Recently I started running again. When I’m out of shape, the same issues resurface. Damn how long has it been? I don’t know if I can run 3 miles today. Do I have my inhaler? I’m tired.
All of these thoughts, as if my legs won’t carry to the end like they always have. All of these doubts as if I don’t trust my body. As if I don’t trust myself.